Wherein Irene wonders if she should be cool, or if she should be her usual wacky self

SummerFest is in 4 days.
I wonder how many people are going to be there? I wonder what the chances are of me getting a photo of him? I wonder what the chances are of me getting of a photo of him with me? I wonder what the chances are of me getting him to leave with me ("follow me, Mr. Copeland...")? Where would we go? Anybody have any recommendations for someplace to take a world famous musician (and your husband*) in San Diego? Oh, and could you give me a topic list so I can study up ahead of time on things to talk to him about?

I wonder what the chances are of me driving Patrick crazy?

Luckily, I have a distraction: tonight is the first night of Wind Symphony (this is the last time I will refer to it thusly; henceforth it shall be referred to by me as "band"), a class I just signed up for and about which I am excited/nervous (would I be me without anxiety/nerves?). I have no idea if it will be good, I have no idea if I will be good, or if I will like it or if they will like me or if there will be 9,000 flutes and 10,000 other piccolo players. I practiced flute all weekend so that I could feel in shape (lots of scales, some long tones, then I got out the Godard and the Poulenc; I was feeling French). Other than high school, I've never played with a band (I've played with a few orchestras... but not many). Hopefully 20 years with the flute choir will count for something.

Jesus Christ, did I just say "20 years with the flute choir"?

I would like to be competent, in tune, and professional. Perhaps mentioning my obsession with Stewart Copeland will be something I save for later.

Anyway, how can I wrap this up and get back to the man I'm supposed to be writing about? Oh! One of the commenters ("the only commenter") on a previous post directed me to somebody on Flickr who has posted many photos of the Police and of Stewart in particular (these photos confirmed that the man a. is gorgeous [no confirmation necessary] and b. was in Germany around the time I mentioned it), and in one of the photos, he was wearing an almost all beige outfit. Two years ago, when Patrick and I went to the Hollywood Guitar Center and met him, I too was wearing an all beige outfit, and I was extremely self conscious about it (quote: "Stewart Copeland, you do not make me think of beige!"<-- Ah, now if only I had actually said this to him, our conversation might've been more successful).

Do you think Stewart did this for me? "That weirdo chick I met in Hollywood back in 2007 was wearing all beige, and damn it looked good. Maybe I'll try it myself!" Hmmm. I'm considering wearing something green on Friday, but maybe beige is the way to go.

Our seats are far away. He will most likely be a small blurry speck. We will look like everyone else to him. What I wear is really not an issue.

Oh, but I wish it was.

*I did not mean, your husband. I meant, my husband. Your husband is, um, yours, and while I'm sure he's a perfectly nice man, I am not interested in going anywhere, let alone some undisclosed location in San Diego, with him, my husband or Stewart Copeland, or any configuration of the same. Sorry for any confusion.