I don’t know what the fuck happened, but early last week I was clamoring for some Aussie tennis. For the first time I watched some of the warmup tourneys leading up to this coming fortnight’s Australian Open.
Yes, I watched Bernard Tomic succumb meekly to Kei Nishikori. I saw that thrilling three-set win by Milos Raonic over Nishikori. I saw Roger Federer get his 1,000th win ever in the Brisbane finals over Raonic. I saw a 20-year old French “lucky loser” Lucas Pouille making it to the semifinals in Auckland.
So when the draw came out on Friday, I just about pissed my pants. Yes, I went through the draws and said ooh and ahh. I could bore everyone by going through the toughest sections, who could be upset in the early rounds, etc. etc. I could make specific points of analyses that will inevitably be wrong. I’ll just keep things general.
Women’s draw: The women’s side is a crapshoot, to be honest. Anyone who is seeded has as good of a chance to take it — that’s how deep the talent is on the women’s side. It’s not the case of mediocrity. There will be wonderful sublime tennis that will be played here, much more than the men’s side. Of course Serena Williams will be the favorite, but she usually doesn’t play well here. Maria Sharapova, the two-seed, will also be among the favorites, but until she learns how to compose a point rather than just outpower her opponent I won’t completely buy into her. I like Petra Kvitova, Caroline Wozniacki, Agga Radwanska, Ana Ivanovic, Genie Bouchard and even 28-seed Sabine Lisicki. This will be fun.
Heat policy: Last year I thought the tournament directors were inhumane and barbaric by leaving players out there in the 110F+ heat. Ball kids and players alike were collapsing in the heat with seeming apathy by those at the top. As the Associated Press reported in December,
Tournament director Craig Tiley said the decision on implementing the policy will take into account the weather forecast once the temperature exceeds 40 degrees Celsius (104 degrees Fahrenheit) and the Wet Bulb Global Temperature — a measurement that accounts for humidity, wind direction and the temperature — exceeds a reading of 32.5.
Also, matches in progress will be suspended at the end of an even-numbered game or at the end of the tiebreaker. Hopefully that will improve things a little.
Men’s draw: Both Novak Djokovic and Rafael Nadal have not looked good leading up to the Open. Djokovic even had to cancel a practice session yesterday because of illness. Juan Martin Del Potro just pulled out with a bad wrist. Stan Wawrinka will probably have a lot of pressure on him as the reigning champ. For these reasons, that why I like Roger Federer to win his 18th Grand Slam.
Roger Federer after beating Canadian Milos Raonic in the Brisbane International Finals for his 1,000th victory. (AP Photo/Tertius Pickard)
By the way, I really hope we get to see Nishikori-Raonic in the quarterfinals.
It was summer 1996 right before my senior year of high school back when my curfew was 10. I spent a Saturday with C who was at a UCLA summer camp. While hanging out in her dorm room and traipsing around Westwood Village, I ended up buying a used copy of Stabbing Westward’s Wither, Blister, Burn and Peel at the Wherehouse. “What Do I Have to Do” was played quite a bit on KROQ, and while I thought it was NIN-lite, I couldn’t deny how catchy and good it is.
I got home a bit late, around 10:30, and that was when I had the worst fight with my mom. She had gone to bed early and woke up when I went to the bathroom. Naturally she asked where I was and didn’t believe me when I said where I was or what I was doing. I kept telling her that I was just spending the day with C at UCLA, and she insisted that I wasn’t. I could only imagine what she thought I was doing. I wondered what I did to make her not trust me — I didn’t drink or use drugs; I was a good student in AP classes. At this point I had only started smoking cigarettes for several months. I listened to dark music. I liked to hang out at coffeeshops with my friends. I had horrible self-esteem. I was loud and angry with role models being Howard Stern and Roseanne. I knew I wasn’t perfect, but I didn’t think I was off the rails.
How do you communicate this to a mother with just as bad of a temper as you and who refuses to believe you?
It was getting late, and I wanted to go to bed. My mom didn’t want to end the argument. As a 17-year old, I didn’t know what she wanted from me. I knew I was hiding something big, and I had no intention of ever telling her. But my mom kept yelling at me saying I wasn’t telling the truth. Then I blurted it out.
“I’m gay.”
Fuck. As those words came out, I knew it was a fucking mistake. I knew nothing good was going to come out of this and that this argument was not going to come to an end anytime soon. Predictably, my mom went even more berserk perfecting every melodramatic beat from Korean dramas.
I knew I had to just stand there and take it. Then she said it.
“If you ever bring this up again, I will shoot you and shoot myself.”
Everything blurred after that. I knew I was never going to get my mother’s love, that no one was going to be there for me. It definitely explains the relationship I have with my mom, and it probably explains why I have never been in a relationship or see myself ever being in one.
Since then whenever I listen to Stabbing Westward I think about this night.
All of this to say that I did go see them Friday night as they promoted their re-recording of Wither to celebrate its 30th anniversary along with PIG, Acumen Nation (celebrating the 30th anniversary of Territory=Universe) and 16Volt (celebrating the 30th anniversary of LetDownCrush) as a part of Cold Waves LA. It was a great show of reliving the 90s guitar industrial metal and seeing bands I didn’t get to see back in the day. Hell, PIG even played “Juke Joint Jezebel” which I guess you could call a KMFDM cover even though Raymond Watts was the original featured vocalist.
As I cursed my aching 47-year old feet and back standing for hours at the Pacific Electric, I did think back to that argument 30 years ago and wonder what other climatic moments the people around me had. What traumas are the guy next to me exorcising as he is screaming out the lyrics very much off key?
Around 1 am they finished the set with “Save Yourself,” and the house lights turned up. Sure, I’m still carrying all of that baggage, but at least I got to shake my ass a little and enjoy myself a little, pain be damned.
The only reason I really look forward to my birthday is that I get time off from work and that I usually rent an Airbnb out in the middle of the desert in the Joshua Tree vicinity with a pool, hot tub, and no one around for 5 acres. So here I am in Landers (or a bit away from it really) whose claim to fame was that it was the epicenter of a 7.3 earthquake in 1992 just hours before a separate 6.5 earthquake centered in Big Bear hit on a Sunday morning. Wild stuff.
I arrived here yesterday, and on the way had to stop to get gas. Since this stupid fucking illegal war with Iran has driven gas prices sky high again, I’ve mostly been back on public transit again because, fuck that. There I was at the Arco station jaw agape as the $30 went to $40 and on up until it landed at $72 for 13 gallons of gas. Yes, the “cheap” gas.
I’m going to be spending most of the time in or around the pool trying to finish Schattenfroh by Michael Lentz. I’m at around page 604, so I have about 400 more pages to go. I’ll be honest — I have no fucking clue what’s going on in the book. It’s a slow, slow read and demands your attention but not in a painstaking way. It’s a very enjoyable read, but I honestly don’t know how we get from one part to the next. Instead of trying to make sense of it, I’m just riding the wave, going where it’s taking me and try to make sense of it later.
I’ve started working on a couple of things with myself and hope to get better at as I begin my 48th year on this planet: I have started to journal more. It’s the most mundane scatterbrained thing. I hope it doesn’t cause someone’s head to explode when they go through my journals after I’m dead. (How cute. I think I have any importance that people will actually read what I write rather than just dispose it like they should.)
I need to curb my YouTube addiction. I don’t watch tv shows. I don’t watch sports all that much. I don’t use TikTok. I only doomscroll through Facebook at 3 am after I have woken up to take a piss. I am no longer perpetually online. But I will sit down and waste hours upon hours watching YouTube videos. I really need to get that in check.
That’s all I’ve got. Overall, I’m not happy, but I’m not completely depressed. Let’s just call it nonplussed. For someone who feels like a stranger in his own country, I guess that’s about as good as we can hope for.
