I Love This Man

from New York Magazine

Okay, so a non-tennis fan would probably read the title of this post and then look at the above picture, and think, well obviously. He must be some kind of model for exercise equipment, or a Chippendale or some other beefcake stud muffin (I have no idea why beefcake and stud muffin are still in my vernacular, sorry!). But for those of you who have any knowledge of tennis, you'll know that this is Rafa Nadal, the current number one player in the world, and my current and possibly forever love.

And no, it's not because his abs look like that (but good GOD) or because his hair falls just so or any for any other physical reason. Once and for all I do not watch tennis because I think the players are cute. I cannot tell you how many times I've gotten this, and for future notice, anyone who wants to suggest that to me again, it's insulting and more than a little bit sexist. Girls can like sports for reasons other than the dreamy athletes. We're not a bunch of giggling, boy crazy teenagers (okay well not all of us anyways). Yes it is a most definite perk that a lot of male tennis players are downright Adonis like (have you seen those pictures of Tommy Robredo?!), but it is a perk. It is not the reason for my love of the game (you'll know that if you've read my blog explaining my love for tennis).

My love for Rafa Nadal goes far beyond looks. It is a big decision to give your love to a tennis player. Being a casual fan is one thing. I can casual fan myself to dozens of players without feeling like a hussy, because it's the nature of the game. Players burn bright and they fade and you can't get too attached to just anyone. But to be a true fan is a commitment, something that you take on for life, or at least for the usual decade plus long careers of these players (God willing they avoid injury, mental freakouts, overlarge egos, etc. and etc.) I have given my true fandom to very few players. Agassi was one and that was really only for the last 7 or 8 years of his career (I only casually watched tennis before high school). Andy Roddick is another, and no he may not be the most talented player out there but before you start picking on him, let me just remind everyone that he has been a top 10 player for SEVEN years, the only other player besides Roger Federer to maintain such consistency. He finished number one in the world not too long ago, and his serve will probably go down as one of the greatest weapons in the game. Plus he's the number one American and it's my patriotic duty to support him. So if you're still tittering about how I only like him because he's "cute" then just go poo on yourself.

Whew, sorry, I get a little overexcited about my tennis. I apologize for telling you to go poo on yourself. Doesn't mean the sentiment doesn't still hold though. But anywho, I have several other long term affairs with players. I almost always watch a Marat Safin match, because there's always that possibility that he'll get his head together and live up to his incredible talent. I root for Tommy Haas because he's had such bad luck in his career and has never really gotten the chance to live up to his potential (plus when he gets pissed in a match he curses in German, who doesn't love that?). I love Marcos Bahgdatis for his joyous personality and for his huge heart. James Blake of course gets my support because he's the number two American and tennis at its heart is a very nationalistic game. Djokovic has caught my fancy on a number of occasions, but my admiration for him was punctured when he acted like a bratty teenager at the US Open. I could go on, but my point is, I have a number of players who I will tune in for, but who I haven't fully committed myself to, because like I said, it's a big decision. To become a true fan of a tennis player means that you're in it for the long haul. There will be matches lasting to the wee hours of the night, agonizing losses, infuriating upsets, tension filled tiebreaks and five setters that leave you a ragged pile of nerves. Of course there will also be joyous wins and epic comebacks and moments of brilliance, but you get the good with the bad.

So why have I chosen to attach myself to Nadal? If you think it's because he's number one now, then think again. I am not a bandwagon kind of girl, and I have faithfully watched Rafa's matches for years now, long before he overtook Federer. And again, it's not because he looks good in those weird capri pants. No, I love Nadal for his incredible talent, his dedication and passion and because he brings something to the game that no other player right now does, something elusive and rare. He's a character, a vivid, memorable soul that leaves an indelible impression. Years from now a handful of players from this generation will be remembered. Federer will of course be remembered for his greatness. Maybe Djokovic or Murray if they continue to do well. But Nadal will be remembered not only for his brilliant game but for his whole aura and self. I mean just think of how many Nadalisms there are that no other player could pull of without looking like a complete idiot. First of all, after the coin toss in every single match, no matter if it's first round in Cincinatti or the finals of Wimbledon, he does that boxer sprint to the service line. He crouches for a moment and then explodes, one giant ball of energy and strength, ducking and weaving and carrying on like Rocky running up the steps. But there's not a hint of arrogance or showiness to it. He's just so insanely fired up, for every single match, again whether it's some stupid, inconsequential tournament stop where's he's playing number 203 in the world or the finals of a slam where he's facing someone like Fed.

Then there's the much imitated pre-service routine, the wedgie pick, the hair tuck, the great scowl on his face as he reaches up the ball to serve. Again this isn't him being an asshole, trying to throw off his opponent (cough Novak "ball bounce" Djokovic), it's just him being this completely neurotic, superstitous athlete who knows what works for him and doesn't want to change it. His game is so unique and specific, the power he brings to it, the spin on his forehands, how he chases down every ball whether or not he's two sets and a break up or two sets and a break down. Then you've got the clothes, the (up until the Australian Open) sleeveless shirts, again that very few other players can even kind of pull off (although many try) and which only he really pulled off, the sheer intimidation factor of those giant biceps, the capri pants, the bandana, this singular style that you just know will remembered decades from now. Toss in how he acts on the changeovers, the lining up of the water bottles, the meticulous OCD stuff, and how can you not love a guy with this much on court personality. There's nothing bland about Rafa Nadal, nothing homogeneous. It's why he's such a target for impersonations.



But the very best part is the stark difference between all this on court bravado and "Vamosing" and fist pumping and the modest, unassuming kid he is in interviews. He's humble to a fault, still refusing to say that he's a better player than Federer. If I hadn't been won over before hand, his remarks after the 2008 Wimbledon final would have done it, how he did what everyone in that crowd and at home wanted to do for Roger Federer, give him a big verbal hug and reassure him that the loss didn't change anything, that he was still great, possibly the greatest. He never throws rackets, never yells at umpires. It's rare to even see him slightly disgruntled at a line call. He lives with his family in his hometown whereas so many other top players relocate to the tax haven of Monaco. He blogs for the ATP tennis website about pasta and The Godfather and playing videogames with the other Spanish players. And I know I sound like I'm gushing but I can't help it. I have an enormous sports crush on this man. He's this incredible presence in the sport, and he's amazing to watch, for his game primarily but also for the color and spark he brings with it.



And he wants to improve, the number one player in the world of tennis, four time French Open champ, Wimbledon champion, greatest clay courter of all time probably, wants to and is improving. He's changing his forehand, flattening it out for the hardcourt tournaments. He's worked on his serve, on his net skills. His love of and curiosity for the game of tennis is obvious. And that would seem like a given but it's not. A frustrating thing about the individual nature of tennis is that you're sometimes forced to watch athletes squander their talent, men who don't want it enough or who are lazy or distracted or who simply don't have enough heart. It's immensely disapointing, and so when a player does show how much he loves the game, how much it matters to them, how much they want to work and try to improve, even when they're at the top, well it's incredibly endearing for a fan. It shows an appreciation for their gift, a lack of ego, a hunger to keep moving forward. And this is really extraneous but he's also working to improve his very cutely broken English, and if you watch interviews with him now compared to just a couple of years ago, it's pretty damn impressive.

And so yeah, I think this is it, a tennis love that will last a tennis lifetime. And I hope I've convinced you that it's not just because he's a gorgeous hunk of man. I have no problem admitting that Rafa Nadal shirtless is a sight I very much enjoy, but my love for him goes far beyond such carnal pleasures. He's the most vibrant, memorable player in the game right now and he's made even more appealing by his off court demeanor and maturity (he's almost a year younger than I am! if I were that rich and famous and succesful I would probably develop several drug habits and start hurling cellphones at assistants). So there it is, my proclamation of undying tennis love. I don't give my heart lightly to tennis players, so this is a big deal. Now those knees of his better not break my heart.

President Obama

I know I should write something deep and historic and meaningful right now, because it was a deep, historic and meaningful day today. But I worked for eight hours and I'm far too exhausted to come up with anything eloquent enough to do justice to such a day. So maybe I'll be able to pool my thoughts this weekend when I'm well rested. For now I just needed to write something, to mark the occasion, no matter how inadequately.

Today was a good day. Today the world changed. Today I saw the candidate I believed in become president, the candidate who inspired me to spend two cold, rainy days in Durham knocking on strangers' doors, the candidate who I waited in line to see speak at the Cistern in Charleston way back in January. Today I was proud to be American, proud of that giant mass of people waving flags on the Mall. Today I feel excited about what's to come. I can' t know this, no one can, but I can hope that the next four years will make us better and stronger and bring us back to where we belong, in an America that lives up to its promises, an America that leads the world not by force or intimidation but by its ideals and values. Today I saw an African American man become the president of the United States. Today I saw people on the news who had lived in a black and white America, people who had known segregation and open racism and hate, stand there and watch an African American man become president. I saw their tears and I saw their joy.

We stampede Wal Mart workers to get to flat screen televisions and we eat too much and we watch too much TV and we can be terrible and awful and greedy. But today, we were Americans united in the possibility of our new leader, united in the collective possibility of ourselves. And that's rare and that's beautiful and that's something to celebrate, no matter your party or political creed.

Today was a good day. Today Barack Hussein Obama became the 44th President of our United States of America.

a good week

I am more exhausted than I've been in a very long time. I had an incredibly long first day at my new nanny job (albeit spent in the company of a beautiful one year old). My arms can barely lift a cellphone because the beautiful little one year old is a little bit pudgy and you have to carry one year olds a lot since well, they can't walk yet. I got food in my hair, milk on my clothes and am going to be in a lot of pain tomorrow. But you know, I'm in a good mood.

Because of How I Met Your Mother on Lifetime (I'd never watched this show and now I know what I've been missing) it's very funny and sometimes painfully true to life for someone in their 20s (hello I wish everyone around me could be sub-titled at a noisy bar/club). Plus I adore Neil Patrick Harris, especially now that I've been watching old episodes of Doogie Howser M.D. on Hulu.com.



Because Gossip Girl is new. And from the first thirty minutes it seems that Blair and Chuck are back in her best scheming form. I'm sorry but I don't like them mopey.

Because the Australian Open started yesterday. It's been many long months since the U.S. Open and I have been dying for grand slam tennis. I love the majors, love that they take two weeks and that you can really sink your teeth into them, love the drama, love seeing who's looking good for the new year, love that there's so much up in the air this year as far as the top men, LOVE it all.

Because this week for the first time since I can remember there was good, miraculously good, news on the front page of the New York Times. And 150 some people who should have been dead are alive today.


Because tomorrow we'll all go to bed knowing that the world has changed. What Mr. Obama does with his presidency is yet to be known. But for one day, the world will be new and beauitful and full of hope.

birds: humanity's greatest threat

So yes it is a miracle that everyone was okay after that plane landed in the Hudson yesterday, yes the pilot is a hero and the passengers stayed calm and rescue missions were swift and blah di blah all that good stuff. But I'm so pleased to have finally come across a news story that asks the tough questions, specifically why do birds hate humans. We've all been so caught up in the miracle aspect of this story and have let ourselves go soft. Now is the time for action, to strike back swiftly against these hollow boned terrorists. I mean first Fabio gets attacked at Busch Gardens by a suicidal goose (think of the national treasure we almost lost that day people, THINK ABOUT IT), and now this. What's next birds? I mean have you ever really been near a swan. They look all lovely and pretty but get too close and they will punch you in the face (or you know the swan equivalent, wing you in the face?) Plus birds poop on us. I mean Osama bin Laden is an evil bastard, but I'm pretty sure the guy has never defecated on any of his enemies.

So now without further ado I present you a work of serious journalism from New York Magazine by Eriq Gardner and Jessica Pressler, a piece that really takes a stance against these menaces of the sky.

"Birds have been attacking human aircraft since long before yesterday's near-disaster with Flight 1549. The first "bird strikes," as they are called, were recorded just a few years after the original Wright Brothers flight, and the creatures have been menacing us ever since. Bird Strike Committee USA, a joint partnership between the U.S. Department of Agriculture, the Federal Aviation Administration, and the Department of Defense, estimates that birds cause $600 million in damages in the country each year, and have caused 219 deaths internationally since 1991. When they're not striking, these would-be suicide bombers bide their time lurking around airports, since, as John Ostrom, chairman of the Bird Strike Committee, puts it: "They're wide-open attractive places free of predators and [are] a good food source." New York’s airports are particularly vulnerable to Canadian geese and seagulls — fat, hideous birds whose sudden flocking has felled many a plane. But what drives this behavior? Are they angry that humans have infiltrated their territory? Why do birds hate us?

Irene Schulz, president of the Bird Lovers Only Rescue Service, would like us to believe that birds are merely ignorant. "This is not the bird’s fault," she says, of their tendency to fly straight into engines in a way that looks as though they are doing it on purpose. "They don’t know our technology. They don’t understand there is a plane in the way and it’s not going to move for them. Unfortunately, they don’t teach that in geese school.”

Plus, she suggested, planes have an unfair advantage. “A plane flies faster than a bird, so it’s actually like a Pacman come to gobble," she says.

So it's our fault that their schools are ill-equipped, their technology is backward, and they don't have enough food where they come from? Please. We're not the ecosystem's parents. Irene also suggested the birds' deadly, highly organized flying style was a kind of cultural difference. The pack mentality, she said, is just "birds being birds."

Well, as we see it, birds are welcome to be "birds," so long as they don't infringe on humans' freedom to hurtle through space in a giant motorized tin can whenever we want to.

Fortunately, officials at New York's airports, run by the Port Authority, have taken a harder line than bleeding-heart Irene, and have responded to the bird threat proactively, with some unusual steps throughout the years. More than a decade ago, Kennedy International Airport maintained a cadre of trained falcons and hawks that were flown around the airports to scare off the geese and gulls, but this bird-on-bird action was only limitedly successful. JFK and LaGuardia next tried employing loud sonic booms to disrupt them, but like most New Yorkers, they learned to live with their nosy neighbors.

Other techniques that have been tried, according to Ostrom, include pyrotechnics, scarecrows, stuffed foxes and coyotes, propane cannons, dogs, radio-controlled remote cars, and banging on pots and pans. None have eradicated the problem. "It's impossible to turn an airport into a biological desert," says Ostrom. But that doesn't mean they can't keep trying. In fact, we were heartened to hear that recently, frustrated airport officials finally moved on to the only time-tested approach — guns. Up until today, the Port Authority has been a little nervous about how the public might react to news that they have rifle-toting marksmen who hunt birds. But yesterday's incident showed how much damage nature's terrorists can do — and now people are sure to be more, er, hawkish on the war on birds. God willing."

sometimes I really hate the news

I read about what's happening in Gaza right now, and I just want to cry. I want to cry because of the frustrating complexity of the situation, that as much as I want to rage against Israel for this excessive (and yes it is excessive) force, I understand that from their point of view there's a reason for the offensive, that the current Israeli government and probably many Israelis believe that Hamas will not stop until Israel is destroyed. I want to cry because Hamas wouldn't even be in power in the first place if a two state solution had been reached years before when it was promised with the Oslo Accords. I want to cry for the Israeli people who have been affected by the rocket fire and Palestinian terrorism(I have cousins in Haifa who talk casually of bomb shelters just being a part of day to day life). I want to cry for the Palestinian people who are living in utter despair, who have been living in despair ever since Gaza was established. It's a prison, not a homeland, a tiny, unlivable strip of land that should never have been permanent. And for some it is all they have ever known. Can you imagine being raised in a place like that? Can you imagine being told by your parents that you are a part of no nation, that your entire livelihood, your work and your water and your electricity our at the mercy of another country? I've said before that nothing excuses or justifies terrorism, but my God, you can't deny that Palestinian anger isn't justified. Nothing plants seeds of hatred more than growing up without recognition, without validation.



Before I end this extremely depressing blog I am going to make a suggestion. For my Western Civ class I read my first graphic novel, "Palestine" by Joe Sacco. It's nonfiction and it's about Palestine, not just the terrorists or victims you see on the news, but Palestine as a real, vibrant place, Palestine as a people starving for a nation of their own. It helped me tremendously to understand this situation. It's beautifully written and beautifully illustrated, and maybe it doesn't seem like much, but I have to believe that understanding is the first step to peace. I have to do something other than cry. I have to believe that with understanding of both sides and on both sides things will change. It's an illogical, unsubstantiated kind of hope, but it's all I got right now.