pyroguysr's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A Long, Drawn-Out Way Of Telling You How Fucked Up This Weekend Was 20040503 I actually started this last night. I don�t know what made me think of it � possibly it was the rudeness of the drivers up on the north central east coast � most especially those driving $50,000 cars and having more money than sense and / or brains! (my next car is going to be an Abrams armored troop carrier with a nice, loaded 50mm machine gun prominently displayed on top, dammit!). Anyway, this is what popped into my head last night as I drove home with an eye bothering me (I managed to put a slight cut/abrasion on both my upper and lower lid� both better now) Back in 1990, I was elected to the board of directors for the Evansville, IN Arthritis Foundation. It was spring and we had a softball tournament to raise money for the charity. I offered my services to be an umpire. The first game was at 9 am on Saturday. Now, anyone that knows me understands I am NOT a morning person, but I did manage to drag my butt out of bed and off to the 55 degree slightly drizzly weather for this game. I got two large cups of coffee and then got the teams to take the field. This was a slow-pitch softball game; one where the pitcher throws the ball in a high arch and simply has to hit the plate with the ball in order to score a strike. If it lands anywhere outside the plate, it is a ball. A good batter can spot a �ball� and won�t swing. One team was there for the fun of it and they were great� they were losing, but they were great. They laughed, joked and had fun. The other team� well, their CATCHER was one of those alpha types that make everything into a serious competition. Perhaps their pitcher was as well because he was trying to �finesse� the ball into the strike zone by making it just hit the front edge of the plate. I kept calling those pitches as balls and the catcher started riding me right after the first one because these �finesse� pitches were walking batters. They�d now loaded the bases and had walked one run in because I wouldn�t call those as �strikes.� The next pitch came and the pitcher again was trying for the front edge of the plate. �BALL!� �Jesus,� muttered the catcher, �Just where IS the strike zone with you?� �Chill out, it�s just a game,� I told him as he called time and ran out to talk to his pitcher. The next pitch came, obviously a strike. Before I could call it, the catcher said snidishly, �Are you going to call that a ball too?� �TIME! You. Stand up.� �What?� he said, looking up at me. �I said, stand up.� He stood. Jock type. Tall, athletic, good looking. Probably had a sports scholarship of some sort. He towered over me by some four or five inches. �Let me tell you something, buddy. I volunteered to be here. I gave up my Saturday morning with my family, a warm breakfast and things I�d like to do around the house because I expected to have fun and make friends. YOU are making this become work and I didn�t come here to work. If you have anything to say, you damned well better say it to your pitcher and I�d suggest you tell him to start by getting the freakin� ball over the plate if he wants them to be strikes. Right now, your mouth is doing nothing but costing your team the game. If you talk to ME like that one more time, you�ll be watching these pitches from the bench, you GOT THAT?� He stared at me for several moments before his team manager came out to see what the problem was. His pitcher had already come running up and had heard most of the conversation, as had the batter, even though I�d kept my voice low. I told his manager the same thing and the guy argued with me for a bit. I kept quiet and let him rant. �Are you through?� �For now!� I told him HE could tell the pitcher the same thing: Get the ball over the plate if he wanted strikes. The game went on. The catcher would give me looks at calls that were questionable in HIS mind, but said nothing. They eventually DID win the game and went off to celebrate. The players of the other team came over to me and told me that they appreciated my honesty and consistency in calling the game. I didn�t give in to pressure. After thinking about it, I guess what triggered my reaction was Kat�s, erm� curtness to the volunteers at Fairie Fest. Especially the ones directing traffic into the festival the first night. They didn�t deserve it. They were volunteers, thrust into a situation that was bigger than they thought it might be and they dealt with it as best they could. The woman that Kat took some of her frustrations out on (not to her face, but to me, loud enough to be heard by others though) was not a stupid person, but an engineer by trade. I�ve always found that a little honey (i.e. a back/shoulder/neck rub) a little flirting and some kind words generally get me what I want� maybe not right away, but sooner than most. I did all three to this lady, got to know her and got perks out of it. She was intelligent and competent. She was a good volunteer, doing the best she could with what she had� which was no radios, no shade and no water when she was thirsty. I bribed her too. I talked to Kat about it and hopefully resolved some of it, but I�m still a little perturbed that she wasn�t all that remorseful about it. She doesn�t get off on the energy created at Fairie Fest� I do, or did. Part of her negativity threw me off this year. I may try to go alone next year� then again, we didn�t do all that well THIS year. Next year, there will be no sharing of the booth either. That�s another story. I do love this festival for its Beltane energy though. I got to get out the boudhran during the bonfire and drum with the rest of the folks. Something was missing this year, though and I�m not sure what. Perhaps it was the whole �communal� thing that permeated it this year. I don�t mind communalism and I don�t mind vegetarians/vegans� but I didn�t like the fact that it was �pushed� on me this year. They had a link for us to click on �if we had any dietary concerns� and I was tempted to use it to say �Um, I�m allergic to soy (I�m not, really) so, instead of the vegetarian meal you�re going to serve with caterers, could you have a nice, thick, 22 oz porterhouse done up for me? I like it rare.� The caterers backed out at the last minute. Part of the $10 per person camping fee was for that. The other part of the camping fee was for the showers that never happened. Thankfully, they never asked Kat nor I for our camping fee. I guess the camping troll got too stoned to remember! LOL Justice. Dinner didn�t happen on Friday night because nobody bothered to start the cooking fire after they dug the hole, so we pretty much ate beef jerky and chips. That was the start of the vibes not going right. Drumming came after that. I went to Frodo�s Hill and participated. We all wanted the bonfire to start, but this year they had three handfastings (a wise Celtic trial marriage ritual that lasts one year and a day � after which you choose to either dissolve the marriage, continue another trial year or get hitched permanently)� so we had to wait until those were through. Then the fire was lit, the firedancers started and I got into the spirit of the moment� with much help from the Bushmill�s Irish Whiskey I brought and the meade that was being passed about. I connected with absolutely no one. Solitary practitioner again. A sad thing with literally hundreds of people around you� but I didn�t let it discourage me. Stumbling back to the campsite (going DOWN one steep hill and then up an even steeper one in a very inhebriated state is NOT a fun thing, lemme tell ya! At least not when you�re almost 50!) and I come back to the tent at 1:45 am to find Kat all disturbed because the teenagers that camped next to and across from us don�t understand the meaning of the word �whisper� and �lights out.� They had to be told three times to keep it down. Frustrated, I finally went over and told them to shut up and go to sleep. They got their come-uppence from the rest of the performers and campers the next morn when we all woke up at 6 and 7 am to get ready for the day. The girls all bitched because we woke them up too early. I�m sorry, I just was not kind to them and they resented us� but they were RUDE. If they wanted to talk and stuff, that was what the other bonfire was for! Sales on Saturday were surprisingly good. I met a few old friends and had lots of great conversations. Kat went to the Sheep and Wool festival a few miles away (she also spins wool on a spinning wheel and does demonstrations) so I had the day to myself to make things work. She was very happy with the sales because they surpassed the entire weekend for last year. That, and we always seem to do soooo much better when she's not in the booth! *LOL* But because she doesn't "like" this festival, I think that she probably dampened the whole weekend for me. I'll take it out of her hide later, though! Now, I�ve commented on the �good� volunteers. They are people that actually think, try to plan for some of the unexpected and do the best they can with the little that they have. Now for those OTHER types� That evening, we actually got a cooking fire going. It amazes me how some people think that �communal living� means that you just show up, totally unprepared and expect everyone to provide for you! We had one kid that actually went around to each and every group going, �Is that food communal?"(he had actually helped himself to a hot dog that someone in our group had put together for herself. I mean, we DID offer the rest of our uncooked hot dogs to the group. We DID try and share SOME things... just not everything!) He continued making his rounds and always ended up back at our table (the one WE brought, not the ones provided by the festival) saying, "Do you have a fork? Can I take one of those plates? (pointing to my bottle of Bushmill�s) Hey dude, I salute your choice of whiskey!� I replied �So do I!� and ignored him by not offering him any. I am notgoing to share a bottle of $45 Black Bush Single Malt with a kid that wouldn't know a bourbon from a rye or a single malt from blended. He just wanted booze and there was plenty of communal rotgut on the tables). WE brought our own table, our own chairs (yes, he tried to sit in one of our chairs) our own food, our own tents, our own ice, our own coolers and our own stuff. WE were a little prepared and not totally clueless. WE shared what we had excess of. It was more pitiful than funny, but I had to laugh about what happened later the next day. He tried to bum some cigarettes and a soda off some girls and one girl looked at him and said, �Dude! Did you bring ANYTHING with you?� He replied, �No, I�m a volunteer. I thought this was supposed to be communal.� The girl laid into him for that line. It turns out he didn�t even bring a tent or sleeping bag, he "borrowed" one from the person letting him sleep in their tent! I couldn�t keep silent. � Dude, � I told him, my voice dripping with sarcasm, �That is why I gave up socialism and communal living back in 1978. There is always someone like you that is totally clueless and thinks that �communal� means �I show up and everyone else provides.� It�s not. Marx said �to each according to his needs, from each according to his abilities.� You haven�t even tried to provide or do anything. You, my friend, are a mooch!" The girls clapped, but I didn�t win the Socialist of the Year award. I wear the title of Bush-Supporting Republican / Capitalist / Libertarian proudly. (Speaking of the latter, I just visited a website of someone that purports to be a Libertarian, but supports every whacko group under the sun that wants more and more government interference in our lives� what a hoot). I�m sorry I ruined the kids day, but jeez� get a clue! Join the Boy Scouts / Army / Peace Corps! Learn to be a LITTLE self-sufficient! Mommy isn't gonna take care of you forever, ya know! Christ man, if you ain�t got a job or an income, don�t be a volunteer! So, no� the really good positive energy wasn�t there this weekend. Sunday sales were only about $100 more. After the show closed, it was an absolute nightmare getting the cars down the hill over to where our booths were to pack stuff up, hopefully before it began to pour rain (I�d stayed in the campsite that morning to take down the tent and pack our camp stuff� a total waste of time because I could have done it while we were waiting to drive down the hill). It took us two hours to get the cars down to pack up! Kat does not drive well in the rain because she can't see the lines in the wet roads through the rain on the windshield, even with excellent wipers. She white-knuckled it behind us all the way to Baltimore. I�m now debating whether or not to do this show next year or find another festival that�s a little better organized. This one is getting just a little too new-age-ish for my tastes. They are definitely a victim of their own success. We�ll see. We spent the night at Tiger�s, our old landlady in Baltimore, because of that rain. Back to where I spent most of last year. Lissar, her cat, has gotten fat and sassy. She misses Kat and I though. Crawled into bed with us and slept the whole night. While at Tigers, I got a call from my friend, Lindsey, who lives in the Bay Area. She had lots of good news. Some background is due here. I "met" Lindsey through my friend Henry down in Florida. She's been calling him for the last four or five years. Henry wasn't feeling well one night and asked her if she wanted to talk to me instead. Since then, Linds and I have become pretty good friends, even though I've never met her and only have her word on what she looks like (though I really don't care... she's a nice person and that's all I need to know!). Lindsey is a music therapist at a VA hospital and Veterans Home in Yountsville, CA. She has all these WWII vets and their spouses living there, most of them are in their 80�s and 90�s and in late forms of senility. Her job is to sing to them and make them feel better and possibly respond to treatments more effectively. (it must work, she�s been hired on full-time) She had one woman of 89 that she took outside to walk in the sun. She was singing the song �Makin� Whoopie� to the lady and the older woman looked at Linds (who is 23) and said, �Honey, you�re too young to know what �makin� whoopee� is!� Then the poor lady couldn�t remember the words to the song so she just kept singing the words �makin� whoopee� to the tune. All day long she�d say Linds was too young to know what it was and would cackle at the joke. Linds is a funny lady. Tall, but funny (she�s 6 ft, cute and single for any guys interested out there). Linds also called to tell me that she got to meet THE diva of the San Francisco Opera� Someone by the name of �Frederique.� Yes, Linsey is also an opera singer. I believe she holds a Masters degree in music and performing arts. She�s been applying to all the M&PA schools on the east coast, but has been rejected. She met someone at the winery where she works part-time on the weekends and they found out she was a singer and asked her to sing an aria. She did and had them in tears. That person happened to be Frederique�s next-door neighbor. He arranged an audition for her. Frederique wants Linds to send her the CD of (Lindsey) singing opera, a list of all the schools she applied to (and was turned down from) as well as any other schools she wants to attend. I think Lindsey found herself a Patroness! In addition to all this, Linds was approached by a major mall chain while she was in their store and asked to audition for the model search they are having! The meaning behind all this is that Lindsey has been having guy troubles similar to that of Wenchie. I kept telling her that the fates were trying to steer her away from all these guys she was supposedly �in love� with and direct her on her career path. She didn�t believe me at first. She doesn�t think she�s that pretty and she doesn�t think she�s really talented enough to become a famous singer� but she IS! She now understands what I�m telling her. She�s destined for great things! On the drive back to Raleigh, going down through Virginia, though, I saw the first complete rainbow I�ve seen in YEARS! Wow...It was awesome! Lastly, I wrote a poem for someone special this weekend. It�ll be in your email. I may post it here later. I�m also in the process of writing three stories� and may have to start another after reading the latest adventures of Kikkles! LOL That�s all for now. Fingers are tired. 2:07 a.m. - 2004-05-05 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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