I got another random-listener phone call today. Different listener, this time from a non-blocked number. This time I had the presence of mind to ask, “Where did you get this number?” She said, “I, uh, heard it on the radio.”
So either she misdialed the number, misheard the number… or I need to break some kneecaps somewhere. Either way, if this becomes a trend I’m going to be talking to someone in charge. This could quickly become absolutely absurd. Ugh.
Alexander’s prize for being one of the top picks in his school’s science fair was a pair of tickets to this afternoon’s Portland Beavers baseball game. We turned it into a bit of a father-and-son outing, traipsing through the rain to the MAX station, buying food at the vendors, and climbing up into a relatively uncrowded portion of the station with a good sidelong view of the action.
And then came time for the singing of the National Anthem. The PA system at Civic Stadium… I mean PGE Park… isn’t the greatest in the world, which meant that we missed the introduction of the Anthem’s singer for the day. We could only tell that it was a youngster of some sort. “This will be cute,” I thought to myself.
I was wrong.
Oh, it was bad. Beyond bad. The kid had Celine Dion pretentions with Roseanne Barr singing talent. At first people were smirking. After about thirty seconds, most everyone around us was giggling, cringing or both. Me? I was struggling to keep from howling.
Allow me to illustrate. The poor kid apparently labored under the mistaken notion that all instances of the letter “a” should be pronounced long, which turned “The Star-Spangled Banner” into “The Stare-Spayngled Bay-ner.” I swear to you, this is the gods’ own truth. I heard it with my own, tortured, bleeding ears.
Once the song (and the crowd’s laughter) subsided, Alex and I looked at one another in disbelief. I said to him, “You know, that’s pretty much got to be the high point of our entire afternoon. It can’t possibly get any better than that.”
I was right, as it turns out. The visiting team vaulted into the lead right off the bat, as it were, and then during the top of the 6th the rainclouds arrived, sending the players scurrying for shelter. We chose that moment to bail for warmer and more entertaining locales.
You know what the really sad part of this is? Somewhere, a bunch of people are telling that kid, “You did great! That was wonderful!” Wow.
Dear Radio-Listening Public,
Don’t call me to gripe about your dissatisfaction with K-something-something-something, your (most or least) favorite radio station. I can’t help you. I can’t make it better. I can’t even be bothered to care because, you see, I don’t even listen to the radio. No, really, I don’t.
Here’s a bonus tip, just because I love you all so very much: On the off-chance you come across some direct-dial numbers for various people who work here, please exercise some brainpower before actually dialing any of those numbers. I say this because, as stated above, I cannot help you, and additionally, because making me answer random phone calls from complete strangers who want only to complain about things I can’t fix is one of the fastest ways to get my mood from “tired but generally upbeat” to “ravingly pissed off at humanity in general.”
I only mention all of this because somehow, someone out there (whose caller ID was blocked, sad to say) called my direct line in order to spout something pithy along the lines of, “Hey, why don’t you play more music on (I don’t even remember or care which station)?” (If anyone I work with is reading this: I was polite, I told him I couldn’t help, and I sent him on his way cheerfully and professionally. I waited until the phone was firmly on the hook before starting in with the bad language and rude gestures.)
Thank the goddesses that it’s Friday.
Well, Sis has had her baby girl, one Judy Ryoko Ball, so that makes me an honest-to-goodness uncle. I know, I’m just as shocked and amazed as you are. Still, a big congrats goes out to John and Christine on their new blessing. (And by “blessing” I mean “bundle of joy and trouble.” Heh.)
Judy missed sharing a birthday with her maternal grandfather by just a single day, too…
In case anyone’s wondering: No, I’m not going to see that new Star Wars movie yet. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not this weekend. Hell, it may be June before I see it.
I want to take in the pretty special effects on the big screen, but I’m not braving the insane lines or participating in the opening-weekend hype machine. Forget it. Not this little grey duck. I’m sure it’ll be fun to look at but as ultimately meaningless as the last two. So what?
I’ll probably end up seeing the Fantastic Four movie when it comes out, too, and it has just as much chance of being pretty-but-stupid. (I leave it to folks more keenly perceptive than I to figure out why I’ll watch movies that are pretty but stupid, but won’t date women who are the same way. Hmm.)
I don’t know how to explain why this BoaSaS comic amuses me so much, but it does.
No, really, that’s all I’ve got so far, today. Maybe inspiration will strike, later.
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