I remembered to take a picture with Jaleen, but I didn’t get one in which I don’t look goofy. This one is the best option, of three. Jaleen is perfect in all of them. She’s a performer and always knows what to do. Currently, she is starring in a show called Baloney as the Lovely Assistant; she is expecting the couple she’s dating to come from Las Vegas this weekend to visit and see the show. When I ask her if they’re flying in on their private jet (I guess I have some preconceptions about people who live in Las Vegas) she scoffs and says ruefully “Mostly I’m just impressed that they own two cars.”
It’s a beautiful day, although the wind is adding a very considerable chill to the air. On the arcade, it’s tolerable, but when we walk down to the 415 to visit a friend, the wind getting funneled through the Marina Gate is absolutely punishing. I already figured I hadn’t worn enough pants for the kind of day it turns out to be, but being in the 415 makes me wish I had brought long pants, a heavy fur coat, and maybe a St. Bernard. Later, on the arcade again, one of the Mets fans sitting in my section says to one of her companions “Yes, I’m wearing shorts and a hoodie while it’s freezing; it’s the most California thing you can do,” and I feel a little cooler, although no less cold.
Jaleen has had what in some ways could be described as many lives, although in toto they add up to just one, which is uniquely Jaleen; at one point I was privileged to be instrumental in her decision to run away from an office job in San Francisco and literally join the circus. She once called to tell me she was going to be touring the United States as an aerialist with a show that would be performed in old Federal armories; this time when we’re catching up, I ask her what she’s doing these days, she says “It’s not as glamorous as the circus. Nowadays I teach businesspeople how to be empathetic.” When I say that that sounds pretty cool, she adds “Also, I have a gig as a showgirl in Vegas.” When I point out that a side job as a Vegas showgirl is at worst a lateral move, glamour-wise, from the circus, she laughs indulgently and says “It’s not a side job – just a gig.”
Jaleen was smart enough to wear a big woolly coat to the park, and it both makes her look like Eminem trying to stay incognito and makes her an object of envy for every woman who came to the game in less than that. In spite of everything, we do manage to pay some attention to the game: Jaleen even surprises me by asking what I think of the pitcher and batter clocks, having read an article in the New York Times about it which she says was fairly even-handed but which seems to have prejudiced her in favor of the new rules. I have other prejudices, which I may detail in another post but which in some ways amount to “You kids get off my lawn.” I manage to talk about it for ten minutes, and she greatly indulges me by listening to all of it, but tl;dr – I can’t support any rule that allows an umpire to levy a ball or a strike when no pitch has been thrown.
It’s a good game, a 5-4 Giants win with some tricky going when the Mets tie it up in the sixth, but in the eighth, Joc Pederson scores on a Yastrzemski double, and all is well again. High points on the arcade include an uproar among the mixed group of fans when Michael Conforto – one of our many former Mets – drops a fly ball in right field and is both reviled as a fifth columnist and lauded for being a fifth columnist (later on, Conforto pulls in a fly in pretty much exactly the same spot; opinions are reversed). With JD Davis and Wilmer Flores on the Giants, my sister must be in heaven, except for the end when the Mets lose.
Go buy tickets for Baloney if you still can.
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