Dating Women, Friends, Activity Partners

Jul 2003

Plymouth, WI

http://profiles.friendster.com/1171815

Parkview Elementary

writing software, someday paintin'

Painting, Tennis, Golf, Chess, Football, Power Yoga, Paintball, Scrabble, Dining, Knitting (not purling!), Politics, Sculpting, Guitar, Johnsonville brats, Individual Synchronized Swimming, campaign shoutin' like a southern diplomat (or Vermont democrat)

there's a monster at the end of this book, non-fiction, lloyd alexander, james stevenson, sedaris, camus, easily forgettable vocabulary make-betterers

Kill Bill, Groundhog Day, Fight Club, The Game, Zoolander, South Park, Clue, Rocky Horror Picture Show, Airplane!, Spaceballs, You Got Served, Mr. Mom, Big Trouble in Little China, V, Star Wars, documentaries on the African siafu ant - our future rulers

Scissor Sisters, William Hung, catchy TV jingles, the crumpling foil from a Chipotle burrito, Beck, White Stripes, Chuck Berry, myself in the car

South Park, Conan, Survivor, the first few weeks of each American Idol, CNN, Chapelle Show, The State, Reno 911, Simpsons, anything involving Fox and a wedding

Leo

I broke a string yesterday. To a guy like my roommate, that kinda thing doesn't raise an eyebrow. To a "finesse player" like myself, it's a life-changing event. That's what my Dad calls the two of us -- "finesse players." It's fitting that he coins the term, as he's the one who taught me to play tennis like a princess. My various instructors would ask my why I dink and dunk everything. They would scratch their heads and give me a confused look. "Why do you do that? I know I'm not teaching you that!" Their melancholy whining would cease when they'd catch one of our little weekend father-son matches...our pale skinny legs gracefully prancing about, strategically placing every shot with an oh-so-tender tap -- reminiscent of the era of wooden rackets and bitchin' sideburns. You don't realize the strength of your father's influence until your instructor points out that the occasional father-son match has completely undermined a decade of tennis lessons. ...but I've digressed.... In sixteen years of playing tennis, I had never broken a string. It's not as though I was bad either. I was captain/MVP of my high school tennis team, for whatever that's worth. I've played a crapload of tennis. I kinda wish I could play the piano...but you make choices, and you live with them. I'll take piano lessons with my kids. Breaking strings as common thing for some. My roommate breaks them every third time he plays, much to my dismay. In fifth grade, I actually used a steak knife to cut halfway through a string, in an attempt to get my parents to buy a new racket. I still use that racket, half-string and all. Sixteen years of tennis without so much as a frayed string, and now this. It could mean one of two things:

The strings were old. I worked at McDonalds in the summer of '95 so I could buy the Wilson Sledgehammer. I had it strung with some nifty purple strings. Perhaps nine years of cold winters in my trunk, hot summers in the rear window, and oh-so-tender tappings had finally taken their toll. It was bound to happen eventually. Even Stonehenge is crumbling.

However, there is a second and more likely scenario; I am now a man. At the ripe age of 25.86, I hit the ball as a man would hit it. My strings hit the ball, and the ball won. What else was to happen? Were my testicles to drop six inches overnight??? Would whiskey suddenly seem smooth and refreshing??? Would I be overwhelmed by the urge to change the oil in my Camry sans the good people at Jiffy Lube!!?? (no, no, and no respectively) Nevertheless, something changed out on that tennis court.

I guess what I'm saying is, "Ladies, I'm a man now."
...though do plan to get my racket re-strung in My Little Pony pink