I’m sorry, Fed. It’s all my fault.

I can’t discuss the results of the US Open. The tennis US Open, golf fans. There’s one for tennis, too. Yes, I’m totally serious. Could we maybe start inserting the sport category into the sporting event from this point forward? I’d hate to be discussing my deep distress over the results of this year’s US Open and get into some sort of argument about Spieth. Because I like Spieth, and I rooted for Spieth. And, wait, how did this become about golf?!?

Even now with plenty of time for Fed’s soul-crushing loss to sink in, I’m still not ok. I walked around the office today like a giant, pulsing, red, raw nerve. And gross. I don’t know what’s up with all those adjectives. I’m just trying to help you envision my inner turmoil. And guilt. Because you see, it’s my fault. My FAVORITE MALE TENNIS PLAYER EVER lost due almost entirely to the fact that my new toothpaste is the wrong flavor. OK, I should probably explain. I have a very unique, but entirely rational, jinx philosophy. It’s very involved, and I won’t go into it all here. I’ll save that for another blog post. Just know that I brushed my teeth halfway through the match and discovered that I had purchased the wrong flavor of toothpaste. If I’m being completely honest, I’d say that another member of my household, who shall remain nameless, purchased the wrong flavor of toothpaste, but why kick a man when he’s down. And, if I’m going to continue with the honesty, he didn’t exactly know it was the wrong flavor, but, again, let’s not get into finger-pointing. It’s such a nasty business. Regardless, the minute I tasted that detestable flavor, I knew Federer was sunk. Sorry, Roger. The inability to capture your 18th major title rests entirely on my shoulders.

As an aside, why is it that every single blog post I compose comes to me in the shower? Why is that the time when my muse chooses to visit me? Could it possibly be any more inconvenient? I have to rush through my shower and all post-shower tasks, so I can dash to the computer to complete the transfer from my brain to my blog. It’s just a real pain in the ass is what it is. No, Dragon, that doesn’t mean I only take as many showers as I have blog posts. What? Yes, I could indeed have a blog reader named Dragon. In fact, I’m sure I do. ‘Sup, Dragon? How you been, man?

It’s a verbal vomit post because it’s been that kind of a day.

You know when you have those kinds of days that don’t seem to have a thread of connectivity running through them to ground you? So, you’re kind of like the tasmanian devil dude spinning around everyone, and …. Look, let’s just be honest. I was manic today. And it’s Tuesday. So, according to The Bangles, I can’t even do manic correctly. But anyway. It was a wild kind of day. Rollercoastery. No, spellcheck. Rollercoastery, NOT rollercoasters. I’ll write my own posts, thank you. Why don’t you take the evening off? I believe I’ve got this covered as it’s a BLOG. I’m not writing a thesis.

I’m just going to be honest. I can’t write the final two posts for Mad Men just yet. But I have to write them at some point because I have to finish! So, they’ll appear at some point. No one will care. But I will have finished the task. I just can’t quite face the fact that the show is over. Yet. It’s Breaking Bad all over again.

So, welcome to a verbal vomit post. Let’s get to it, shall we?

  • First. Who has watched Montage of Heck? If you haven’t, you must do so now. You will be grateful you spent your time on that instead of reading this crap. It’s incredible. And it got me wondering how my genius hasn’t been discovered yet. <snort> OK. No. What it actually did make me wonder, for real this time, was how many people focus on less weightier matters and topics, because it can be too emotionally-draining to dig into their psyche? I know there are many times that I just don’t look too closely for deeper meaning in things when I’m feeling particularly fragile. Usually, I’m all for poking and prodding at the dark corners of my mind to see what’s in there, but I know my limits and when to look up at the sky and just think, “Yep, it’s cloudy today.” He (Cobain) spent so much time in his head, and I can’t fathom the depth of his loneliness; although you definitely get a sense of it in the movie. It’s really well done.
  • Next. Gimelstob. Was it you? I’m not sure. If not, I apologize. One of you French Open commentators was complaining about Nadal being called for his CONTINUED time delays on his serve on a break point. Look. I get your point. It’s valid. However, I have an opposing point which is also valid. When he’s been called in the past on points that weren’t important, it hasn’t stopped him from taking extra time before every serve. Do you know how many times he went over the allotted time on his serve? Do you? Well of course you do because you told me during your diatribe. EVERY SINGLE TIME. That’s fairly significant, no? And my opinion is that if you call him on it when it HURTS him more (perhaps like on a break point?), it might make more of an impact. You immediately started blabbering about how this must NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN. THIS CAN NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN. Dude, chill. Have a beer. And he was eventually broken by Sock (Yes, non-tennis fans. The man’s last name is Sock. It’s fairly ridiculous, but what are you going to do. Also, he’s American. A male American tennis player. Who is damn good. I’ll take his ridiculous name and chant it, if it will make him successful.) See, that probably will stick in Nadal’s noggin. Hmmmm, all this time I’m taking before my serves is being noticed and becoming less and less tolerated. Maybe I should do something about it. But mine is also just an opinion. Just like yours. Guess what? The chair umpire? His is not an opinion. His is the ruling. Move on, man. I’m just grumbling about you on my little blog. You made an ass out of yourself on broadcast telly.
  • Veep. This show, people. You can’t even laugh out loud. You have to giggle to yourself as quietly as possible or else you’ll miss the next bon mot which is coming 2 seconds after the last.
  • Entourage. Yeah, woohoo and all that. I’m not even talking about the movie. Or the show. I just suspect that I’m supposed to be a part of certain celebrity entourages. It has just not happened due to circumstances. But if these celebs knew me they would almost certainly make me a part of their circle. I say almost because you have to account for a public mask that doesn’t match the private persona. If that’s the case, then all bets are off.
    • Jason Bateman. He and I would be thick as thieves. We’d probably be a threesome (not in that way, sicko) with Will Arnett with nearly constant banter. It would be endlessly entertaining to certain people, but confusing for others because we’d have a shorthand where we’d never quite finish a conversation or sentence because we’d be all crazy simpatico.
    • Amy Poehler. This would be the hardest to get in. I’d have to audition. And again. But I know who she hangs with, and my edge would win her over in the end. I trend dark humor, Amy. Call me. Plus, how could she say no to anyone. She’s so nice.
    • Lauren Graham. If she is anything at all like her former character, Lorelai Gilmore, then she and I would either get along like the closest sisters ever, or we’d fight constantly, because we are the same person.
    • Melissa McCarthy. I just need to be around her. Watch her do her thing. If you’ve ever seen This is 40 and haven’t watched until the credits finish, then you missed probably the best part of the movie. Melissa just goes to town. And I need that in my life. But I think I could roll with her. One of my favorite people ever moved out of town years and years ago, and I’ve never seen her since. I miss her terribly. She was my non-celeb Melissa McCarthy. We worked together and were a traveling comedy show which can be hard to manage in a law firm. But we made it work. So I think I could make things work with Melissa. I think.
    • Dave Matthews. I think this dude is probably in my family tree, and I just haven’t discovered it yet. I believe discovering begins with looking, but that could be a nasty lie. But I digress. You know the part in “Dancing Nancies” where he’s all — could I have been your little brother — and I’m like I’m certain you ARE, dude! Except not my little brother since you’re older. But you listen to his little bits on stage and he’s really strange and talking just “mad-crazy” talk, and I’m thinking, “Yeah, that sounds weird-trippy, and he’s doing that rambling thing. Sounds like me.” I’ve even turned to Matthew before and said something along those lines. Matthew kind of gave me the patient look that says, “Yes, it’s not one of your better qualities, but I’m rolling with it.” Anyway, as I was saying. Similar sense of humor. And did I mention that my confirmed brother has musical talents? Hi, Greg! Well, just put all that together. I don’t think I need to paint the rest of the picture for you, right? So, I’m looking forward to my holiday gift this year. Yeah, I didn’t know if it was a Christmas gift I should be expecting, or one of the other holidays, or a generic holiday gift. So I just figured I’d slip holiday in there to cover the whole shebang. Make sure I get my gift. Dude’s got mad cashflow. Hell, I’m bringing some of it TO YOU this summer, possible bro. The least you can do is reimburse.

Good news. Tasmanian devil left the house, yo. I’m tired. Time for Tito’s. Yeah. This post wasn’t even brought to you by alcohol.

How does this kind of thing still happen? At a tennis MAJOR, no less?

I have so many blogs to write. Two in particular are eating away at me because they are so delayed as to be almost ridiculous to produce at this point. Mad Men is over. I’m sure nobody cares to discuss anymore, but I still have so many feels about it that I’m going to write my blogs about the final two episodes anyway.

But this post is about the fact that despite Monica Seles being stabbed during a tennis match TWENTY YEARS ago, effectively ending her tennis career, we still haven’t figured out a way to keep a random brat from running around on Centre Court at the French so he can take a damn selfie with Federer? [Ed. note: it’s actually Court Philippe Chatrier. I think SOMEONE is looking forward to Wimbledon.] That is the most ridiculous shit I’ve ever typed, and I’ve typed some very ridiculous shit. And anyone who wants to argue that Seles’ career wasn’t ruined, please be assured that I’m not hearing you. She was Graf’s most serious competition, and a Seles who hadn’t experienced that career-altering experience would have changed tennis history with the records that Graf holds being pretty significantly reduced. I should mention that Graf was one of my favorites. I loved her game, and she was head and shoulders above everyone but Seles, in my opinion. I just know that Seles had a game that was a terrific counterpoint to Graf’s and would have made that period of tennis far more interesting for tennis fans.

And I’m going on and on about very ancient history. I’m much more appalled that this lack of adequate security is happening now. We have a historical event that exemplifies what can happen in the near worst-case scenario. So, I’m not even asking for planners to have to imagine what types of events could occur. The answer is right there in the Seles incident. So, what kind of idiots are planning the security for the events? And follow-up question, how pathetically inadequate was the security employee I saw in the background who took FOREVER to actually respond and grab the kid and remove him from Federer’s vicinity? Follow-up to the follow-up, why did I then see the kid in question take another lap around the court to (I guess) return to his seat instead of being detained somewhere? I have never felt so worried for poor Nishikori and Mathieu as I felt watching that rando saunter back around the perimeter of the court as if he had not a care in the world.

I have a tip for everyone involved in the security planning for Day 1 of French Open 2015. You are not cut out for rocket science, people. You are not even cut out for my job.


Wherein I take a very long route to get to my point. Per uzh.

I’m a huge tennis fan. Some people might say I’m a rabid fan. While I wouldn’t necessarily say that, I would imagine that if I bit you, you might get a shot. “Doc, she was foaming at the mouth. Well, not foaming per se, but there was a suggestion of foam. A touch o’ the foam. Foam-like. Foamish. Just give me the damn shot, doc.” Yes, I’m going somewhere with this. Settle. So, I friended JT’s tennis coach who was on the pro tennis tour. No, I didn’t idolize her the entire time that she taught JT the fundamentals of tennis, and I absolutely did NOT mourn deeply when she moved away. You are ridiculous to suggest such. However, I can say that she is responsible for the game JT plays, and I love to watch him execute the strokes she taught him because his strokes are “pretty”. [He’s cringing right now, and he doesn’t even know why.] Well, he’s “pretty” to watch, that is, when he’s not throwing junk because he gets lazy or thinks it’s cute. But she left us, and I was sad. And then I found her on Facebook and friended her to stalk keep up with her in the hopes that she moves back someday.

Now, I’m getting to the real point. What? I’m verbose. It’s my blog, and I give myself permission to be so. Plus, I’m the only one reading this, so shut up, Stephanie. Anyway, I’ve been absent on FB a lot lately, but I’ve been spending a little more time on there recently. And I’m so happy about it, because Facebook slapped down a helluva “Who’s your daddy?” in the People You May Know section. There was a current pro tennis player in there!!! I won’t say who it is, but I was immediately dazzled. FB thought I knew her. Hot damn! Maybe I DO know her. Did I meet her somewhere when I was a ball girl way back when and just ditz out about it? I mean it’s not like she’s Fed. I would not ditz out if I met him. I would black out, but not ditz out. Very important distinction. Also, when I was a ball girl, she was a not-alive. And of course, my brain kicked in with, “Yo, stupid, you are well aware that you don’t know her. You know OF her. But you don’t know her. Also? She most def does not know you. You are a giant turd and need to pull yourself together. Now. Obviously you aren’t going to click on that Add Friend anyway because deep down you knew this important fact all along. Right?”

This all occurred up in my headspace pretty quickly, and I realized that FB thought I knew her because JT’s tennis coach DOES know her. Which set off a new round of, “Wow, that is so cool that they know each other. I’m not surprised, but it’s still very cool.” Which morphed very quickly to, “Oh crap, what if one of her other loser-like-me FB friends opts to click Add Friend due to total douchetude thereby causing her to jettison the whole sorry lot of us, and I lose my connection to JT’s coach who I’m most definitely not stalking but am definitely hoping to get advance notice if she ever decides to move back???”

Fed is out of the French and has been for multiple rounds. I’ve had the sads.

And this guy did the deed. Look, I can’t deny the dude’s got game. I have eyes. Eyes that sport specs, sure, but the specs have seen that Gulbis dispatched my main man Rog by bringing out the crazy in set five after what might have been a nicely-timed medi-break in set four. But, the bottom line is that Gulbis beat Fed fair and square. And I wrote Gulbis’ name down on my list of people I will actively root against. Except that I’m finding myself oddly unable to commit fully to the anti-Gulbis team because of this.


Am I mistaken or don’t you have to root for the guy flinging his arms in the air like he just doesn’t care? He looks completely ridiculous, but I’d sure hate to be on the other side of the net after he unleashes one of those forehands. And I find myself thinking of ol’ Furyk over on the golf pro tour smirking to himself as he counts his fat stacks every time someone makes a snide remark about his golf swing. Maybe it’s time we celebrate these unconventional strokes instead of roundly panning them? (Full disclosure: I mocked the hell out of that forehand up there during the entirety of the Federer/Gulbis match. Yet, it made no difference in the outcome.) And that forehand up there? Is anything but conventional. Can you imagine playing him? I’d be constantly confused thinking he was raising his hand as if to ask a question, or pointing off in the distance at something that we should all be checking out. It would be totally distracting. Point, set, match, Gulbis. Ingenious!