I know where the caveman sings

I'd never been to a football game before. In fact, I haven't been to anything but baseball games, but that was years ago before my protest of the Giants and that new (although quite sweet) stadium. My former boss unloaded his premium season tickets on me for the 49rs vs. Raiders game. Lower level, 18th row, VIP parking. I guess I didn't appreciate the value of the tickets, having asked one of my guy friends to go. All my girls were jealous-who knew? All I cared about was the amount of blood splattered that I'd get to witness (sadly, it's not like my fav hockey), and the junky stadium food I'd get to scarf down. As we drove into the parking lot, I pressed our golden VIP parking passes against the window and mocked the poor suckers trekking in from the mile-away public parking. Once in, finding a spot was still a challenge. Every car was a huge, thugged-out RV flanked by lawn chairs and BBQ grills taking up spaces on either side. We finally wedged ourselves in between two Yukons and went in, got our seats and acquired our grub. It seems like every guy in the park was huge-a mix of girth and bulk, with rolled skin around their necks that closely resembled the hot dogs we were eating. Semi-shaved heads, with a mullet or three, baggy jerseys and pants hanging down their asses as far as the eye could see. The women were a combo of white trash (many sporting a mullet similar to their male counterparts) or semi-thugged out hoochies.
Now, "Monster Park" (formerly known as Candlestick) is damn cold. I felt like I was in Miami again. Who the hell wears jeweled strappy heels and halter tops to an evening football game I ask? Maybe the ladies were looking to score their own touchdown (ok, that pun sucked).

Anyway, during halftime I got caught in the professional sports game mosh pit equivalent. One guy gyrating amongst the chest bumping, beer spewing fans was dressed as "Duffman." That was my highlight of the evening, along with watching the 49rs mascott (a lame-ass goldminer who looks like Yosemite Sam) try to jump around on a po-go stick.

Oh, and yes the game. My problem with football is the constant stops in play. They huddle. They throw. They scrub. Then, regroup for 5 minutes. The remaining play-times are a joke. It's like in an Indiana Jones movie where he's trying to get out of a room and the walls are closing in. In real time, he would've been squashed in seconds, but each cut shows the walls slightly further apart. Uhhmm, ok-so hopefully you see my point. Anyway, the 49rs embarrassed themselves with the new quarterback (replacing him at the end of the 2nd), but turned it around by the 3rd quarter with no hope for the Raiders. We cut out just shy of the end of the 4th quarter to avoid 3 hours in traffic gridlock.

All in all-it was ok. From a sociological perspective it was amusing. I spent most of the game trash talking, not the players, but the fans. Game on!

R.I.P. Biyatch

I didn't have time to swerve I swear. He ran in front of my car too fast. I thought he would go between the wheels, but when I looked back, he did the road kill roll. I hate to see animals hurt or killed, unless I am eating them in a non-identifiable form from the market. Anyway, RIP little squirrel. I'll see you in hell.

The rest of the mini-break was awesome. I'd never gone to a hotspring before. The folks up there are a little hippie-dippy. And places that suggest clothing optional areas should also provide blinders for some of us. Just kidding. I used to be an artist. I can find beauty in just about anything. The rest of the week was funfilled. I got drunk. Bought some sweet art. Got to hang with my friends. Spent time outside. I definitely needed some fun after the visit from the family (see Little Napoleon post). Yes, they did get drunk. Yes, they did fight. There's something so wrong about a 20-something reprimanding her 60-70-something family members about their infantile behavior, ya know?

Anyway, the show really reminded me how much I love to work with artists, plan stuff, boss people around. While I really miss creating art myself, I don't miss the frustration of my skills not meeting the expectation of what I am trying to create. So, I choose to find inspiration and release in other's artistic visions. Wait-who wrote that? Maybe the hippie flow of the hotsprings did have an effect...