Thursday: Every July 3rd, the BPO plays at the Bisons game. Baseball, a selection of patriotic symphonic tuneage, and fireworks. God Bless America! This year was kind of interesting for two reasons. One, the game went 13 innings and the BPO portion of the evening didn’t start until eleven. We are delicate flowers, the BPO. We were cold and fussy by that late hour, but we soldiered on, as did the always fantastic Bisons crowd. I always like this gig. The other reason this year at Dunn Tire Park was notable for me was this:
I caught a home run ball!
Okay “caught” is a bit of a stretch. It’s an outright lie, actually. In the eighth inning I was wandering around on the Dunn Tire Park grounds behind center field. I was coming back from the bathroom, and I was not paying one whit of attention to the game. Suddenly, a ball drops about ten feet in front of me, bounces, whizzes past my head, ricochets off a picnic table behind me, and then rolls gently to my feet. I might have let out a girlish squeal of delight. I spent a LOT of my childhood at Twins games praying that someone would hit the longest home run in history right to me in my cheap cheap cheap seats approximately ten miles away from home plate. I spent a lot of time concentrating on this dream while at baseball games as a child. The fact that a home run ball came directly to me while I was daydreaming of Lord-knows-what was a bit of a twist on the plan, but that did not detract from the “dream realized” aspect of the situation. I spent the remainder of the game gloating and showing my ball to anyone who would look.
The home run was hit by Rochester Red Wing, Matt Macri. I just now realized that the Red Wings are the triple A affiliate of the MINNESOTA TWINS. So basically, Matt Macri is my new favorite baseball player. His home run ball might as well have been a marriage proposal, because I could not possibly love him more.
Friday: On Friday morning I woke up groggy and hungover. I had a plan for the day, though. I was going to watch and live-blog the Nathan’s Famous Coney Island Hot Dog Eating Contest. I’ve watched this event in the past and it’s filled me with soaring love and horror. It seemed like an ideal event for a live-blog. Well, I did watch it, and I did live-blog it, but during the hot dog eating contest I became SO GROSSED OUT that I couldn’t bear to publish the results. Even now, two days later, I feel a little queasy thinking about the whole thing. Just so that the live-blog (which I actually worked quite hard on) doesn’t go totally to waste, here is an excerpt from the very end of the event:
“I am currently cowering in horror, occasionally peeking up at the television, more and more traumatized with every glimpse at the carnage. Seriously. It’s so gross.
It’s neck and neck. I can’t look. I wish I was dead. It’s so terrifying.
What the FUCK?! It’s a tie! Joey Chestnut and Takeru Kobayashi have BOTH EATEN 59 HOT DOGS IN TEN MINUTES. The announcers are talking about OVERTIME! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! Please judges, for the love of God, make it stop!
THEY’RE GOING TO DO A FIVE DOG EAT-OFF! OH MY GOD! THIS IS DISGUSTING HISTORY IN THE MAKING! IT’S LIKE THE HINDENBURG ONLY REALLY REALLY HORRIBLE!
Oh. My. God.
Joey Chestnut won.
I want to puke.
Happy Birthday, America.
I think that pretty much conveys my thoughts and feelings about the event.
I spent the remainder of the day lolling about the apartment and trying not to think about hot dogs.
I took the evening off from work, so I found myself with a rare 4th of July away from the salt mines, and I decided that I wanted nothing to do with crowds and fireworks, so Robin and I headed out to the movies. We went to see “Kung-Fu Panda”, which incidentally is hilarious. Then, because we are ferocious BADASSES, we snuck into see “Wall-E”. That’s right, I spent my 4th of July watching cartoons. And it was awesome. “Wall-E”, is incredibly good. That little robot taught me that I want to stay fully engaged with my environment and to live each moment to the fullest.
Saturday: I slept most of the day on Saturday.
I played a concert out in Ellicottville, enjoyed a rather hilarious ride home with some good company, and then sat in Dinesh’s backyard looking at a fire, eating toasted marshmallows, and drinking scotch. I don’t drink nearly enough scotch. Perhaps my way of staying fully engaged in my environment and living each moment to the fullest can involve drinking more scotch.
Sunday: I decided to watch some Wimbledon tennis. I had no idea this would wind up being an all day commitment. Tennis is one of those sports that I pay very little attention to but that I randomly and periodically enjoy.
I’m not a real tennis fan, so I really have no business commenting on its stars, but since when has “lack of qualification” stopped me from writing about sports?
Roger Federer: Cool as ice. Incredible hair. Amazingly winning. Adorable girlfriend has a zit on her chin- I love her. No unseemly grunting. Possibly unbearably aloof.
Rafael Nadal: Intolerable deployment of manpris. Seriously fancy for an underdog. Nice arms. His mad skillz on clay help to make Federer more likable (at least for me).
Sometimes it’s nice to watch sports with no real rooting interest. I was just rooting for a good match, switching my allegiances multiple times as the drama unfolded. And it was an INCREDIBLE match. Yay for tennis! This will sound incredibly cheesy, but I honestly wish both of them could have won.
(One little question, though: Don’t they have LIGHTS in London? I would have been SO pissed if the match had been stopped for the day without a result. The announcers were going on and on about how it was getting darker and darker, and I was thinking “Yo, just turn on the LIGHTS dummies!” Electricity: look into it, England.)
And that was my holiday weekend.