[Subject line from Robert Pinsky's Tennis]
My original plans for the day have been curtailed by my left foot (not sure what I did, but I can't put weight on it, which precludes gadding to/from hot chicken festivals and fireworks and the like) and some encroaching deadlines, but I have a pitcher of iced peach tea at the ready and a whole raft of Haru wo Daiteita fics by geri-chan that I'm going to reward myself with as soon as I put some reasonable distance between me and Canis deadlinus chompus.
Not that that's stopped me from obsessively following Wimbledon. Proud of Dementieva for showing up with a serve, and especially proud of Roddick for working so hard to raise his game to finalist level. I do like Muzz (he's Scottish, he's fond of his dog, and his head's screwed on right -- "It's a pathetic attitude to lose one match and let it ruin your year"), but I'm pleased as punch that A-Rod prevailed in four sets, and I'll be happy about either him or Federer winning tomorrow as long as A-Rod brings his A+ game and pushes Federer to earn the darn thing. (Not that Federer won't have earned it otherwise, but I want to see more of him in flight. Match point yesterday against Haas was lovely to behold.)
Also (with apologies to
aunty_marion), I have to say that following yesterday's semifinal via livetexts (BBC, Guardian, and Wimby) and scoreboarding (we get neither cable nor NBC at my house -- long story -- and the videostreams I've tried so far send my hard drive into seizures) was highly entertaining. There was one UK member of the TennisWorld forum who periodically burst out with lines from "Scots wha hae," and Stephen Fry let loose on Twitter with "Oh, in the name of cock-mothering arse mustard" mid-match and "Holy suck-pigging BITCH!" upon its conclusion. The Wimbledon Poet has posted A-Rod's iPod War Boast, which may be the first Beowulf-Rick Astley mashup in the history of online poetry.
Speaking of online poetry, I have three new pieces up at Dead Mule: "The Language of Waiting," "Fuel," and "Sonic Crochet Hook."
My original plans for the day have been curtailed by my left foot (not sure what I did, but I can't put weight on it, which precludes gadding to/from hot chicken festivals and fireworks and the like) and some encroaching deadlines, but I have a pitcher of iced peach tea at the ready and a whole raft of Haru wo Daiteita fics by geri-chan that I'm going to reward myself with as soon as I put some reasonable distance between me and Canis deadlinus chompus.
Not that that's stopped me from obsessively following Wimbledon. Proud of Dementieva for showing up with a serve, and especially proud of Roddick for working so hard to raise his game to finalist level. I do like Muzz (he's Scottish, he's fond of his dog, and his head's screwed on right -- "It's a pathetic attitude to lose one match and let it ruin your year"), but I'm pleased as punch that A-Rod prevailed in four sets, and I'll be happy about either him or Federer winning tomorrow as long as A-Rod brings his A+ game and pushes Federer to earn the darn thing. (Not that Federer won't have earned it otherwise, but I want to see more of him in flight. Match point yesterday against Haas was lovely to behold.)
Also (with apologies to
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Speaking of online poetry, I have three new pieces up at Dead Mule: "The Language of Waiting," "Fuel," and "Sonic Crochet Hook."