Thursday, July 22, 2010

Um, Okay

According to this nifty little program, this is who I most resemble, writing-wise:

I write like
Isaac Asimov

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

I'm sure. Uh huh - ridiculous, considering I've never even read one of his books. It's a good waste of five minutes, and a temporary thrill (it's the waiting that's thrilling). And then the page finishes loading and you realize it's all a crock.

Brought to you by, click if you have a sample of your own writing and want to know what the universe has in store for you.

Sunday, June 27, 2010

The Grass is Always Greener on Center Court

Top 10 Reasons Wimbledon is my Favorite Grand Slam Tournament:

1. It's the only major currently being played on green, green, grass (ironic, since tennis first started being played on that surface).

2. The dress code. White, or bust. White on green always looks refreshing, and it's easier to follow the trajectory of that fuzzy little yellow ball. Everyone has to wear white, which means the Fashion Police don't get to pick on a lot of players for crazy outfits, and players don't get away with much (like Serena William's did, with her black bondage gear at some other slam a few years back). The dress code is so strictly imposed, if a lady shows too much cleavage, she won't be allowed to play.

3. Tradition. No one pays homage to tennis as an institution as much as Wimbledon does. If anything, Wimbledon IS an institution. Dating back to 1877, it's the oldest tennis championship out there, and relishes the significance it plays in the history of the sport. Wimbledon never buckles under; case in point, letting the Isner-Mahut marathon run on forever, because a tiebreak in the 5th set isn't allowed. Not even if the game lasts for 3 days.

4. Center Court. The only time anyone is allowed to play on Center Court is during the Wimbledon Championships. All other days of the year, the grass is fertilized, cared for and basically mollycoddled. It's like the court equivalent of Kobe beef. Only recently has an exception been made: Center Court will be in use during the 2012 Olympics.

5. The view. Wimbledon has the most beautiful view in my estimation. When the camera pans out to an ultimate aerial view, you see green courts, great vegetation, and it looks like it's full of fresh air, sunshine and good fun.

6. Non-commercialism. Of all the Grand Slams, Wimbledon resolutely refuses to indulge in a spate of commercialism - this is why you barely see any company logos. It's glaringly obvious, especially on Center Court - among the very few are Rolex, Evian and IBM (even these are discreetly placed). Even the Ralph Lauren logo on the ball boy/ballgirl's uniforms is barely noticeable. Compared to Wimbledon, the US Open looks like a Nascar driver.

7. Prestige. Simply put, if you get to win Wimbledon, you get to be king of the (tennis) world. Which is why everyone has worshiped Roger Federer forever.

8. Rain delays. Watching the crew cover the court with a green tarp to protect it from rain is as much a part of the tournament as its green grass.

9. Henman Hill (or Murray Mound - they like to change the name depending on the latest Brit hopeful). The grassy knoll with a giant TV screen that plays important matches for the tennis faithful to follow is a great place for fans who cant get into Center Court but want a piece of the action. Officially, it's called the Aorangi Terrace.

10. The royal patronage. The visit of Her Majesty the Queen just a couple of days ago highlighted the impact of royalty on the sport - so much so that players were practicing their curtseys and getting themselves into a tizzy over what the Twitter nation calls #HerMaj (catchy!). Even Henry VII played tennis, and enjoyed it, from all accounts.

Extra: I still contend that tennis is the only gladiatorial sport left in the world. No other sport forces the players to get so close to each other, whacking away at a fuzzy yellow ball, surrounded by a hungry, cheering audience waiting for either to succumb. The silence prior to and the accompanying roar when a point is won only emphasizes the reverence and intensity that tennis fans around the world hold for this sport!

Saturday, June 12, 2010

More Adventures in WTF

Crazy shit you see in department stores, part 2: what in the name of heaven did they do to my beloved Pringles?

Here's my good friend and colleague Abby Z. holding up one of the newest flavors Pringles has decided to hoist on an unsuspecting public. While I understand the Japanese undertones, this is still bizarre. Seaweed? I skipped the soft-shelled crab flavor, that's not exactly weird. Probably tastes like shrimp kropeck. Nothing like this, though:

These, um, things, caught my eye. Sky blue canisters more suited to M&Ms than a potato crisp. I'm all for change, but what in gay hell? And upon closer inspection:

Blueberry and Hazelnut? This is for chocolates, not potato crisps. I actually got to taste the lemon one (courtesy of a friend at work). Ick, and nast. It tastes like Pringles for all of two seconds and leaves you with an aftertaste similar to that of a lemony chocolate bar. And it lingers in the sinuses. Awful.

Not wanting to leave out the expectant, lactating demographic, another Pringles flavor promises to be a potential hit with hormonal pregnant women:

Extreme indeed. I'm not a pickle fan myself, this is pretty weird to me. No thanks. This is like if they made Cheetos in Cheesy Chocolate. Totally FUBAR.

Would any of these appeal? Discuss.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Adventures in WTF

Crazy shit you see in department stores, part 1.

Straying off the beaten path pays dividends. You never really know what you can come across when visiting huge, largely abandoned department stores. They sit like giant hulks of history - their goods gathering dust. Sometimes it's just as much fun as visiting museums.

Can't think of a museum that has completely drug-addled island girls as pornographic ashtrays, though.

Unless it's the museum of sex. Which may or may not have mass-produced cavorting natives abusing fruit in the hot, hot sun.

Bob Marley's "Buffalo Soldier," anyone?