caroline's stuff that doesn't go anywhere else.

i was there for 756 and all i got was this little button and a whole bunch of advertisements for merchandise i don't need.

The fireworks!!!
August 7, 2007: a day I will never forget.

But I suppose it won't be for a lot of people, especially anybody who was at AT&T/SBC/Pac Bell Park on the same night. It was a night for me that was absolutely magical and boring at the same time, but yet, I decided that I wasn't going to keep quiet for the whole game. I had this strange feeling he would hit the one that everyone was waiting for, and I wasn't going to take "no" for an answer.

Bonds was up at the plate two times before he got the one he wanted, and I have to say both of his at-bats weren't bad. He had hit base hit after base hit, and it was great, but at the same time, you know that the crowd (and especially Bonds) really wanted the one. For a while, I figured it was going to be like any other night I'd come out to see the Giants: a tease, an almost ... but this time, it was for real.

So it was 3-2, bottom of the 5th, and he hit it. I mean, he really hit it. I had to check myself, due to the fact that before he got it, thousands of flashbulbs would blind me for a split second. But it wasn't until the fireworks and orange and black streamers came flying out of the sky that I knew that I had just witnessed something I would never ever see in my lifetime ever again. I screamed, jumped up and down, hugged my aunt (whom I was with). It was just ... amazing.

For a split second, it made me forget about everything: forget about the scandal, forget about the stupid people that come to the games with asterisks thinking that their presence there would dampen anyone's spirits, forget about anything I ever knew before then. It made me remember why I love baseball in the first place. I remembered how it could take everything away in a split second, and let you get caught up in the moment. I don't know if any of the asterisk people felt that way while they saw a roaring crowd on their feet to the background of fireworks and streamers. But I think it would be pretty hard not to get caught up in all of it.

As for the asterisk people, I have to ask them ... why were they there? It's a question that I'd like answered. They don't like him, they think he's a cheater. So why the hell are they there to witness something like this? I think it's total crap. For people who think they're making a statement, I think they just look foolish. I liken it to my hatred of the condiment mustard. I hate it. I can't stand it. But, let's just say this: If I hated mustard so much, then why would I subject myself to going to mustard festivals where I'm surrounded by people who put mustard on everything? The smell engulfs my nostrils, people are splattering mustard all over themselves and myself in the process. I hate it, I hate everything that mustard stands for/is all about. But yet ... I'll go in order to watch people I hate celebrating something I hate. Just because I want to. You just have to ask ... why would you do that? It's a weird way for me to describe the whole Bonds scandal, but I think it's got some similarities. It's hard for an SF native to actually talk about the scandal, mainly because Bonds has meant so much to the team and The City all of these years, and he's primarily our one marquee star athlete. A lot of people accuse us of bias, and I have to say, it's true. But even this SF Giants fan has her doubts ... ask me about it when the truth really comes out.

But back to the game, it kind of died down afterwards. We ended up losing the game to the Washington Nationals, 8-6. It seemed like we were going to win, but we didn't. I guess everyone got so caught up in all the hooplah. It took probably about an inning for them to start hocking merchandise like a Bonds prize pack or something. It made me roll my eyes, but it was expected, even with the $60 price tag. Seems like everyone wanted to commemorate the night in some way, and while leaving there was a huge line outside of the Giants Dugout where people would get their orange "I Was There" shirts. I passed.

A magical night ... the season is pretty much lost, as we are in last place. But I hope that this will be a turning point for the Giants. The Detroit Tigers were the worst team EVER a couple of seasons ago, and they ended up turning it all around. I hope it's a sign of good things to come. Especially with our "big 3" pitchers: Cain, Lincecum, and Lowry. Young, talented, and oh so yummy!



Talking to the fans, tearfully. Surprisingly enough, I didn't think his voice sounded as high as it did.

Some guy ran out on the field! Awesome! I think it would have been way cooler if everyone in the lower deck ended up rushing the field.

Crews surrounding him.

The craziest thing was when Hank Aaron appeared on the screen. I pretty much cried and screamed as loud as possible. All that stuff about Aaron not caring pretty much dissolved in one video message. The part about the record inspiring others "to chase their own dreams" got me. Like... right here.

I got my button! It's pretty freakin' awesome.

Visit: With or without an asterisk, Bonds joins immortals, MLB To Place Asterisk, Pound Sign, Exclamation Point, Letter 'F' Next To Bonds' Name In Record Books (ha!)

Labels: baseball, long

posted by caroline @ 11:54 PM 0 comments

general hospiTALE: seriously, WTF?

Pic courtesy of Wikipedia.
Also, this shot is from the 1984 credits, which quite frankly looks lame but who cares.

While I love me some soapy goodness, and have since I was probably five (Y&R with Grandma), I have come to realize that soaps are nothing but that: soapy goodness. Ludicrous, gratuitous, conspicuous (?) soapy goodness.

I admit it: I have had an on-and-off again love affair with "General Hospital." Over the years it has thrilled me, disappointed me, thrilled me, bored me to death, disappointed me for probably three years straight, and then thrilled me once again. I suppose it's me being co-dependent on a world that does not exist, but then again, I just think that sometimes the stories that they come up with reel me in (case in point: the monkey epidemic that briefly brought back Robert Scorpio and Anna Devane, Laura waking up for a minute, Patrick and Robin, etc).

If there was a character that I had to pick as my all-time favorite, it is the wonderful Lucky Spencer. The son of the legendary Luke and Laura, he was cute, fun, and oh so dreamy. This was when he was played by Jonathan Jackson, my first true teeny bopper crush (if you don't count Mike Myers. He was cute by default of being so damn funny). And quite frankly, if you asked me a couple of years ago who my favorite female character was, you know damn well I would have said Elizabeth "Lizzie" Webber.

And now ... here's the problem: I don't like Lizzie anymore. Why? Because she has become the epitome of what's wrong with most soap characters these days by the sheer fact that she has not been held accountable for ANYTHING (at least not lately). My god, do you know how many free passes this chick has been given? Hmm, leaving some dude in a burning building to die while pregnant with his child? Check. Lying about the paternity of your newborn son in order to "save" your husband? Check. Lied to the real father only to tell him the truth when you thought you were going to die? Check. Lying every day? CHECK, CHECK, CHECK. I would like to recall a line uttered by Lizzie herself back in the day when she was seen as underdog #1 compared to her saint of a sister Sarah: "What is she, the poster girl for perfection?"

My answer? No. I frankly think that the writers of GH have not only destroyed Lizzie, but in fact, destroyed Lucky in the process. Yeah, he was addicted to painkillers. Why? Because some hussy named Maxie Jones has been in love with him since she was a kid and the only way that she could get him to notice her was to feed him drugs. Yes, this caused Lucky to lie, cheat, steal, you name it. And hell, Lizzie has never let him forget about it. Lucky, so blinded by his love for Lizzie finally came to the realization that the drugs were no good, so he quit and did everything to change his life around. Meanwhile, Lizzie slept with Jason "the Borg" Morgan out of spite when seeing Lucky and Maxie together, thus creating Jacob Martin (oh, how clever you are Lizzie). She then convinced herself that she didn't want to be with Lucky OR Jason, and decided that she would be on her own. But then Lucky, bless his heart, decided that he couldn't fight for her anymore. He wanted to let her go. Free pass dished by Lucky? I THINK SO.

But NO. Lizzie took this as a "For the first time I saw that boy I fell in love with" sign and decided that she wanted to marry him again. Why, oh why Lizzie? You had a free pass! You didn't have to tell Jason (yet) and you didn't have to tell Lucky. But no, you just had to complicate shit. Great. Fan-tastic.

So you can imagine me feeling absolutely no sympathy when Baby Jake got kidnapped. okay, I know. A child being kidnapped is terrible, of course, but this is the soap world, so I think I get a free pass (my first since Lizzie has hogged all of them). Lizzie of course blames.. Okay, herself, and all I could do was laugh when Lucky blamed her too! Hahaha! That's right, Lizzie. YOU did this to Jake. Meanwhile, the borg finds out that his kid has been kidnapped and he emotes the same way a breadstick can: crummy, but still firm. The story is still ongoing, but I have a feeling Baby Jake will turn up soon enough. However, heads are turning towards a certain someone who knows that the baby is Jason's ... hmm ... a certain disgruntled girlfriend perhaps? ... (I find myself feeling sorry for Sam, by the way. Never thought I would see the day that I would side with her rather than Lizzie. That's how I know it's bad.)

But how I feel about Lucky and Lizzie has depressed me far beyond I could have ever dreamed of. I remember their love in the early stages, and now it's all shot to hell. I suppose Lizzie always felt this obligation to Lucky, hence the "boy I fell in love with" remark, especially since he practically "saved" her after her brutal rape on a cold Valentine's night. But of course, as bad as Lizzie was, she couldn't resist the badass charms of Jason Morgan; I suppose Lucky always knew that she felt drawn to him. Now there's this triangle that has been created out of that history, and I suppose it makes for a compelling storyline, but at the same time, a part of me just wants to go through the screen and ring their necks. The lies are what truly get me because how on earth did Lizzie come to the conclusion that passing someone else's baby off as Lucky's would make everything right? Not only does it shut out the true father, but it just makes the whole situation more complicated---to a point where the truth explodes out of nowhere and ruins many lives. All the while, this makes for good television as I witness someone's world spiraling into a black abyss.

Anyway. That's how I feel about the whole thing.

Visit: General Hospital Happenings, Clarissa's GH Screencaps (where most of the screencaps are from), GH @ Wikipedia

Labels: long, television

posted by caroline @ 5:28 AM 0 comments

perfect from now on.

I figure coming from the blog-dead includes me doing something that I hardly do. Okay, so something that I never do, and something that I'll probably never do unless something moves me to do so.

But if you know me behind the bloglines, you know I'm not a reader. Book reader, that is. I hate reading. I've hated it ever since I was a child because I was stuck reading books like "Rascal" and "Harriet the Spy," which I suppose are both children's classics in their own right. However---if you flashback to a young me, you will note the chubbiness in my cheeks and the stubbiness of my legs. I liked watching "Night Court" even though I didn't quite understand what they talked about, and I loved to stay up to watch Arsenio because it satisfied my R&B/Urban Contemporary thirsts. In conclusion, you will see a child in front of you that does not read unless forced. And by forced, it's always those damned summer reading lists. Can we do away with those? (I'm kidding. But I sure as hell wished they would do away with those when I was a wee lass.)

This is the part where I tell you that it's ironic that I hate reading, because I absolutely love to write. Letters, email, snail mail, cards, short stories, screenplays, announcements, letters that scold people without like a righteous ass, whatever. Anything that needs to be written, I'll get it done. I hate going to the bookstore because to get to the magazines, I must pass books. While wandering around North Beach the other day, I actually wandered into (for the first time) City Lights Bookstore, one of the most famous bookstores in the history of the universe. Some guy named Kerouac hung out there (unclutch your heart, dear hipsters: I know who he is). It's just downright famous if you ask me. I went in there and quickly stepped out. I felt like books were going to rain down on me at any moment, as if to know there was an intruder in their presence. Like on "Lost," how the French chick calls the black smoke the security system. I'm sure all bookstores have a reaction when they smell foul.

But lately, this so-called "I don't read" soul has stepped into bookstores and not winced at the sight of thousands of spines and booksleeves that don't interest her. I guess this is due in part to the fact that I've acquired an internship as as music reviewer, and with this, I've had to expand my vocabulary slightly (how many ways can you say "awesome" without saying it with that word?). And I figure since I'm writing about music--- I might as well know about it other than whatever I think I know about music.

So one fateful moment in Borders, I decided to check the music section, and there are tons and tons of music books. Books on rock, books on pop, books on Britney Spears that I laughed at, and so forth. I didn't want to read about rock music for some reason, but I still looked through the standard book on The Beatles or how John Lennon changed music. Yawn. My dad has that stuff.

There were two books that caught my eye. The first being "Love Is a Mix Tape: Life and Loss, One Song at a Time" by Rob Sheffield, who writes for Rolling Stone. It's more of a true story rather than fiction, but the idea of music fiction/non-fiction is the first thing to intrigue me since I discovered bit torrents (another day, another topic). The second, of course, was this book that caught me off guard:


"Perfect From Now On: How Indie Rock Saved My Life" by John Sellers is not what I thought it would be. And the questions of the moment are: what did I think it would be, and why in the world would you pick now to talk about it, let alone recommend it?

Answer: I don't know (and cue the Jim Halpert puzzled look).

But what I do know is that I loved it from the moment I read it. The first words in the book are "I hate Bob Dylan" and for the love of me, I don't know anyone who does. It's one of those crazy things that it seems like everyone and their mom loves. Sellers' dad worships Dylan, and I have to say, my dad worships Dylan, too. I bought my dad one of Dylan's most recent, and while Dylan is good, I can think of a million other things I'd rather listen to in the car than any more wax-poetic tunage from back in the day. (By the way, in the car while with my dad, lately it's been The Beatles' "Love" soundtrack. I enjoy The Beatles, but sometimes, I think a break is due. He's been spreading his wings a bit, and I think he's now obsessed with The Shins and their awesomeness. It started when I lent him the "Garden State" soundtrack.)

Part of the title is "How Indie Rock Saved My Life" and with that title, I figured it had to be good. And seriously ... I think this book is perfect if you've ever obsessed about a band. Sellers fancies Guided By Voices, which I'm sad to say, I've never heard a record by. But reading about his fan-boy devotion just made me want to pick up "Bee Thousand" (almost did; ran out of money) and also--- this is the sign that I'm truly interested in something --- Wikipedia-it or YouTube them. His fandom reminded me a little bit of myself by some of the bands that I've found myself obsessed with at some point in time-- Wham! (when I was like, FIVE), Immature, The White Stripes, Green Day, N.E.R.D. ... and most importantly during my youth, a secret love affair with Hanson. That's right: I said Hanson. And if you don't know, now you know --- "The Walk" hits stores May 22nd in the US. I've previewed some tracks (okay, all) and it's their best album yet. I also YouTubed their Underneath Acoustic tour and put on my favorites Part Two, because it includes two of my faves from "This Time Around," which are "If Only" and "Runaway Run." The last one was arranged quite differently from the original, and I have to say I totally fell back into love. Or obsession, which ever you might think is the right fit for me.

Sellers also mentioned that someone says that you should never meet your heroes. This is a major thing for me when I go to concerts of people I enjoy. At the last Jason Mraz concert I went to, I had some butterflies once he began to play, mainly because I thought that maybe he'd be outside to meet the fans and such. He wasn't, but the thought of him being outside signing, or the thought of him walking down the street to the 7-Eleven made me go crazy. What if I ran into him? What would I say? Would he think I was stupid?

And that's another thing: while I love Mraz with all of my heart and soul, I kind of liked him better when nobody knew who he was. I had heard about him through an ex-blogger, and I remember going to the store to buy "Waiting For My Rocket To Come" out of curiosity. I had yet to start my obsession with singer-songwriters, and Mraz was the ticket into heaven. I began buying everything he recorded that I could get my hands on, and I just thought to myself: job well done. I think the minute he became super popular was the moment that I realized he wasn't technically "mine" anymore. Actually, the moment I realized he wasn't mine anymore was when this chick in front of me sung every single lyric to every one of his songs at his acoustic show at The Fillmore in '05. It was deathly quiet during "Please Don't Tell Her," which sounded beautiful acoustically without all of the hoo-hah production, and all I could hear was HER VOICE. She ruined the experience for me, and I will NEVER FORGET IT. I hope someone ruins something she loves. (That's the worst I can wish on someone without wishing their tragic death.) Other artists I liked a whole lot more when nobody cared: James Blunt, N.E.R.D., Plain White T's,etc.

I recently overcame my fear of meeting my heroes when I went to an in-store at Amoeba, starring Sondre Lerche. Oh, how I loved that show. Is it just me, or does everything sound better stripped down? My favorite track that he played was "On The Tower." It was the first time I heard it, and it's one of those songs that'll get you the first time. Overwhelm you, emotionally or something crazy like that. Whatever. I actually went up to him, met him, mumbled "You played a great set" and he said "Thank you" in his awesome Norwegian accent, and I took a picture with him. I was also sweating very, very badly.

But, what's this really about? Oh yeah. Reading "Perfect From Now On" really just solidified all of the thoughts in the back of my head I never got a chance to say out loud, or think about in full detail. I'm making it my first (and most likely last) recommendation for all you kiddies out there who "love" to read. If you've ever loved music, here's your chance to read about a guy who probably loves music more than you ever could. I've picked up some great tips, both music-wise and just in general about loving your favorite bands. Hopefully I've learned something. Haven't figured out if there was a moral to the story yet. (There probably was. But things go over my head. Not because I'm short, but because I'm slow.)

Buy it at: Amazon.
Visit: Angry John Sellers, mySpace, johnsellers.net

Labels: john sellers, long, music

posted by caroline @ 12:16 AM 0 comments