nags of a similar ilk

Did you know if you Google for Andy Crews with no space in between Andy and Crews, you get my blog as the first hit?

Yeah, I didn't know that either.

Andy told me about it today. I have to admit I'm a little embarrassed about this.

But not too much.

Well, maybe more than that.

Since I won't be around here for my birthday, Kris allowed me to have a small birthday celebration tonight. Andy came over after practice, as did Mark, Megan, Mirabelle and Meter. We ordered in food. Andy and I went to pick it up. After consuming, we all drove California Carpool style to Coldstone for ice cream. My birthday ice cream.

I (unsurprisingly) brought my camera. After walking into Coldstone, I lifted up the camera and said, "Smile!"

This is what I received in response:

Megan? Quick on the draw.

Andy? Not so much.

Mirabelle? Well, she knows how to smile and laugh. Oh boy!

The whole trip was fabulous. Like Coldstone would ever be anything but fabulous.

Flew out to Arizona today to pick up Sam for this not-quite-annual-but-we're-getting-there visit to California. Because the timing of my flight out didn't really work well for both our normal Velocity class and any work time for Kris, I asked Andy if he could take me to the airport. I'd even make it as easy as possible on him, by driving my car to his work, and he could keep my car for the day, as I'm returning with Sam tomorrow.

That worked for his schedule, so before lunchtime, I headed over to his work, and he headed out to drive me to the airport, noticing as I did the twelve squirrels running around the tree next to my car, under my car, and near my car. I've never had four squirrels pause three feet up on on a tree trunk and stare at me, wondering what I'm about to do.

So, Andy pulled to the exit of his work's parking lot, an exit which happens to be one side of a four way stop. He made some comment about how a coworker was almost hit at the intersection, as he looked to the right to verify the car to the right was stopping. He looked to the left, to see a fire engine stopped at the stopsign. He looked right again to confirm with the car on the right, and pulled forward, accelerating into the intersection.

Just as a moron in an black SUV flew around the fire engine and into the intersection to our left.

Now, not only did the SUV run the stop sign, he went straight through in a left turn lane.

Andy was still looking right when I yelled "WAIT! WAIT!" Now, technically, "STOP! STOP!" would have been a better call to make, but even "Wait!" is better than "UHN!" and a lot of pointing. I was pleased I was as coherent as I was.

Andy hit the brakes hard just as the SUV (driven by a man of Indian descent, and not, as you might stereotypically think, an Asian woman) also braked, and we missed each other by a foot.

As Andy accelerated away, the SUV driver looking sufficiently sheepish for his moronic move, I commented, "Well, I hope that doesn't set the tone for this trip."

It didn't. My plane landed safely.

Andy, on the other hand, was nearly hit in the same intersection on his way back to work, by another driver running the stop sign by going straight through the left-turn only lane.

After the tournament, Lyndsay (and her roommates) hosted the team (and other teams) at their house in Santa Cruz. As a sidenote, the house (the downstairs being all I had really seen of it) was great, with the grounds spectacular. They have a tightrope made of nylon strapping that was quite entertaining to watch people use.

In the car on the way over, Andy drove me, Steffi, Andy Fisher and Heather over to the house. We used the navigation system in my car, which means we didn't go the most efficient way to the fields. As a matter of fact, we ended up stopping at a slew of stoplights, driving down small streets, and meandering through the neighborhood in a most circuitous way.

At one of these particularly annoying stoplights, I turned to see a couple walking along the sidewalk beside the car. The couple were both heavyset, with glasses and a slouched appearance. They walked arm in arm and seemed quite happy together. Someone, it might have been me even, made the comment that people tend to attract those similar to themselves: ultimate players date ultimate players, Techers date Techers (okay, no one said that), sporty people date sporty people, that sort of thing, leading to the comment that slightly overweight people date slightly overweight people.

The couple, then turned the corner. As they did, I started to roll down my window. Everyone knew I was going to say something to the couple walking by, the timing was too close for anything else.

And so I did.

"PULL UP YOUR PANTS!"

The guy was walking along with his pants in the style of today's youth, with his pants' crotch in line with his knees. His steps were abbreviated. I find the look incredibly retarded, stupid, inefficient, ugly and dumb. Yes, I repeated myself with three synonyms - that's how annoying that look is. Worse, that look will be back around in 20-30 years. Argh.

After my call, the guy pulled his arm from around his girl friend and lifted up his hand. I, and everyone else in the car, expected the usual response, and the response I certainly would have given had I been in his place.

I expected the finger.

Instead, he reached down, and pulled up his pants.

We were dumbfounded.

The light turned green. Andy accelerated through the street intersection, and we all burst into laughter.

The guy had actually pulled up his pants. Unbelievable.

Kris and I went with Andy and Stacy to see Andy's dad perform in the musical Fame tonight. I wanted to go see it for the simple fact that Andy's dad was performing in it. Performing. Singing. You know, in a musical.

We showed up at the Sunnyvale Community Center at 7:21, to a near panic phone call from Andy. "Hurry! Hurry!" he said, so we ended up running up to the theatre, giggling and laughing, about a minute after he called, and with enough time to arrive, go in, use the restrooms, find seats, and sit in our seats.

And settle in for the show...

Now, Fame, as a musical, really isn't that good. The songs are disjointed, incoherent and not particularly well connected. I prefer musicals that tell stories, not ones that are a bunch of songs sung one after another with random bits of talking in between.

Doesn't matter how good the production is, if the basic musical is bad, the best singers and dancers and actors won't save it.

But, these people tried.

Oh, how they tried.

About half way through the first act, I realized that one of the performers had his family in the second row of the theatre. The theatre isn't very big to begin with, maybe 12 rows, fifty seats in a row, or so. So, there isn't very much space to look over the audience's head to project to the back of the theatre. As a result, when your family is in the second row, and are sitting about 10 feet away from where you're jumping, and singing, and, well, in this performance, groping a fellow performer, you kinda notice your family.

At least, this particular performer of note. And when he started singing to his family, and they started whooping back at him, well, I couldn't stop laughing. Kris thought I was crazy, because I couldn't stop. and was shaking the seats around me.

Eventually, I did manage to calm down, and stop laughing, but I still spent less time listening to the performance, and more time watching the performers and their particular mannerisms.

Most musical productions Kris and I go see are the big, travelling ones, coming into town for a limited performance: Wicked, Rent, the Phantom of the Opera, Les Miserables, (and some of the lesser big ones like Miss Saigon, Evita, Sunset Boulevard), etc. These productions are typically expensive ones, with top talent, and big names. However, even with the top talent and big names, the productions aren't necessarily very good. Sunset Blvd was attrocious when we saw it. Enough so that I told Kris it was a horrible musical. He claimed it was just a bad production.

Yes, I'm deliberately not including the Viking Operetta, and the various musicals the Smiths were in, in that statement.

So, watching the community theatre production of Fame tonight was very much like watching a bad production of some musical, except that it wasn't. Sure, the people performing may not be as talented as the people who perform on Broadway, but can you say they have less fun, or are less passionate doing it? I don't think you can. No, they can't project to the back of the theatre, and have problems looking the correct way when singing, or moving with big, demonstrative movements that translate well on stage, but the joy on their faces makes up for it in ways that are somewhat indescribable.

What is describable, however, is the moment of shock I experienced when the set started shaking, when the cast started climbing the stairs and finally (FINALLY!) gestured big enough to rock the framing. Maybe a little better structural work might have been good.

As Andy said, it was better than expected. I had a good time, and, based on the smile on Kris' face, I think he had a good time, too.

Still haven't figured out Stacy. I think she thinks I'm nuts. Even Andy looks at me funny when he's around her and we're with them. Maybe she gives off a crazy-inducing pheromone.

Yeah, that's it.

Oh, and note to self: send an email to Ben D'Angelo, who works at Google, and invite him out to lunch. He reminds me a lot of Mark Rubin. Though, since he works at Google, he probably has little desire to head off-campus for lunch. Ask anyway.