Dantrums

Is it ridiculous to be upset if a casual hookup, someone you have no feelings for beyond lust, gets a boyfriend? That's the curious situation I find myself in. There's this guy that I sleep with whenever I go back home to Boston--- pardon me, that I used to sleep with---- a very nice and good looking man. I liked him very much, which is to say I liked sleeping with him.  While on facebook the other day I noticed that his relationship status was no longer listed as single. Taken aback, I messaged him.  Sure enough, he has a boyfriend.  He hopes he doesn't mess things up with this new guy, because, "he's a keeper." I told him I was happy for him.  "Good for you," I wrote.  And I thought I meant it.  Yet I found myself a little upset. Who the fuck was this boyfriend to replace me? I recognized immediately how ridiculous I was being. Just who did I think I was? I was actually a little hurt that this man would trade sex three times a year with me for regular, emotionally fulfilling boyfriend sex? And the answer was yes. Yes I was. This guy, from what little I knew of him, was one of those gays who was very good looking, very charming, and perpetually single. I say "one of those" as if those kind of gay men are in short supply. But most guys who fit that description are, in my experience, usually single by choice. He wanted a boyfriend; he was just unable to make it happen.  I was under the assumption that he would simply be there, waiting for me in Boston, whenever I deemed it worth my while to go back for a visit. As far as I was concerned, he was going to be single forever. That was his lot in life. Or that was his lot in my life. And then to be suddenly confronted with evidence to the contrary like that, out of the blue, from a facebook profile...I wasn't prepared.  Academically, I knew that I probably played a very small part in his romantic life, as he did in mine.  But I never really thought about anything other than, 'This man is available to me whenever I feel like having him.'   

   As fun as it is to live in a city as pretty and vibrant as San Francisco, I need a goddamn job, and not because I'm bored.  I need it because I'm fucking broke. I have never needed a job solely for money. Usually it's a combination of boredom and money that drives a job search, but this is the first time in my life I can say I'm honestly struggling simply to put something in the bank. It's a new feeling, and needless to say, not a pleasant one.  Bad economy or not, it's not good for the ego. Meanwhile, on "Jeopardy!", a former high school classmate of mine has just won $100,000 in the Tournament of Champions.  Even before her appearance in this tournament, she was "Jeopardy!"'s highest earning female contestant of all time, with $222,597 in winnings. She has her own page on Wikipedia.  On top of that, she looks way better than she did in high school.  When I knew her she was a soft-spoken flute player with a serious case of acne and frizzy, unkempt red hair.  Now she's kind of a babe.  It always makes me jealous when people make lots of money doing something that takes an hour and is probably enjoyable.  We weren't good friends; since it's been ten years since we graduated, I'm starting to wonder what the chances of her recognizing my voice would be if I attempted to rob her at gunpoint.  

What better way to return to blogging than by bashing the New England Patriots? Of course this usually backfires; rooting against them this year has been, well, unrewarding. But there is a silver lining to their perfect regular season: Anything short of winning the Super Bowl means their season is incomplete, and I'm giddy at the thought of them losing to the Jags or Colts, even though there is a good chance they won't. A loss in one of the next 3 games would render their perfect season irrelevant--- better to go 14-2 and win it all.  So there is that to look forward to. Also I can't help noting that everyone outside New England has jumped on the Pat hating bandwagon.  I don't know what took these people so long.  The Pats have been totally hateable since 2001 when they entered the Super Bowl as loveable underdogs and emerged, obnoxiously, as "America's team." Any team as overhyped as the Pats were can't by definition be loveable underdogs. Far more interesting were the 2006-07 Warriors, who shocked everyone by dismantling the Mavericks.  I will take wily Baron Davis and crazy Stephen Jackson over bland, future Republican front-runner Tom Brady and stroke victim comeback Tedy Bruschi any day.  Inspirational sports stories are corny and ridiculous (with the exception of Ali and Jordan). With athletes, I tend toward the unstable.  They need your help.  Being a Pats fan is way too easy.  At this point it's like rooting for Roger Federer.  There needs to be some element of doubt for the big emotional payoff that makes sports so exciting.  No risk, no reward.

What on Earth is going on with my girlfriends? In college I must have had at least five girlfriends who could be classified as Drunk Sluts--- and I mean that in the best sense of those words: Pretty girls who like to get drunk and fuck boys. No value judgement here. I've been aspiring to be a drunk slut ever since I met them. These girls are hot, if one believes that girls can be hot. All of these girls have fantastic tits. Really. You'll have to trust me on this. I've seen them all naked (straight guys would call this one of the best "perks" of being gay, which it most definitely is not). Each cleavage grander than the Grand Canyon. Each can have pretty much any guy they want. One bedded a gorgeous, muscly, married campus security guard; another did this blond preppy bicycle enthusiast with a great back; another rode this hot little shy boy with the firmest ass on campus. Bottom line: They did very well for themselves.



But now something curious is happening to these swinging single ladies. They're changing their ways. They are deliberately casting aside their powers. They're becoming shells of their former selves, they're becoming pod people: They're becoming.....I can barely bring myself to type the word......monogamists. Now, before you start to think of this as another one of my bitter attacks on relationships, stop. Some relationships are great and many people in them are happier for it. But most of my friends in relationships, up until now, have been relationship people. They work regular jobs. They own property. They have certain responsibilties that are best shared with another, preferrably someone they also like to have sex with. They have lives together. Great, fine, good for them. Basically, the relationship-inclined have a tendency towards predictability and playing things safe. Again, this is not necesarily a bad thing, and I would be lying if I said I didn't, at certain times, want someone special in my life, if only so that I could get head more frequently. At any rate, there was always a relationship type among my friends, but now, with these drunk sluts pairing off like squirrels in springtime, the relationship type is becoming far more difficult to grasp. And I'm truly shocked that these women would throw away their considerable powers over many nice penises for The One Penis. It's like Superman giving up his powers in "Superman 2" so he could be with Lois. I mean, she was swell and all, but he could shoot frickin lasers out of his eyes!


Of the five drunk sluts, 2 were already in long term relationships. And, to be frank, they are the least powerful and least titalicious of the group. And now, in the past 2 weeks, 2 more have fallen. One is already talking about moving to California to be closer to her man whom she just got together with last week! The other has just become engaged. Engaged! Engaged at 25! I want to shake this girl, this fabulous slut who is dismisses any penis under 7 1/2 inches, and scream at her, "HOW ARE YOU GOING TO WASTE THOSE AMAZING TITS OF YOURS?!" Is she really done with all the hot dicks she's had? How can she not want more hot dicks?


At this point it may occur to you that maybe I'm just projecting. And maybe I am, but that doesn't change the facts. The facts are these: These drunk sluts have had some sort of existential crisis, and, instead of letting the dark clouds pass, they have acted rashly. Patience is not one of the virtues of a drunk slut. On the prowl this serves them well, but it's not good for existential crises, which must be faced down, alone, in a dark alley, and kicked in the shins with ball-toed boots. These drunk sluts have forgotten the proper order of things. They have misplaced their priorities. I don't how or why, but I do know they need help. These drunk sluts have lost their way.

Almost daily I read reports that tennis is an antiquated and increasingly unpopular sport. Recently, a popular columnist for ESPN.com wrote, “If you want proof that tennis is dead as a sport, just look at the fact that Federer is better at his job than any other athlete is better at their job, then look at how few people feel obligated to watch him or Wimbledon.” Now, I’m one of those who think tennis played at its highest level is the closest sports can come to art. So if this statement is correct, American sportswriters and spectators are philistines, creating another large class of people I will be forced to despise.

Let’s examine the statement more closely then, and let us also give the writer the benefit of the doubt that he means tennis is dead in the U.S., and not the rest of the world. There is no argument to be made with the latter. There are top 20 players emerging from countries where there are practically no tennis courts: Croatia, Serbia, Cyprus. And in these countries players like no.18 Marcos Baghdatis and no.3 Novak Djokovic are the most popular athletes around, even more popular than Michael Jordan was in the States, for these athletes have no one to compete with for the public’s attention. They are the only game in town. In Cyprus, the day Baghdatis played the finals of the Australian Open in 2006 was declared a national holiday and schools and banks were closed so that everyone could watch the match. Dead sports don’t shutdown entire countries.

The health of American tennis is a different ballgame, but any reports of its demise are premature. There is no shortage of talent---2 American men are in the top 10; only Spain can claim that. Still, few Americans seem to root for Andy Roddick and James Blake with the same intensity they showed for Agassi, Sampras, Connors and McEnroe. There is a simple explanation for this: Talented as both men are, they don’t win majors. There is a simple explanation for that too: Roger Federer. Without him in the way, Andy Roddick probably wins 2 Wimbledons, an Australian, and another U.S. Open. Since the 2005 French, nobody except for Fed and Rafa Nadal have won majors. This two-pronged dominance has never been seen in tennis, and the rivalry that has developed between the top two seeds is one of the most exciting the sport, or even sports in general, has ever seen. Americans, however, don’t really care. They don’t like having their athletes upstaged. We are used to dominating individually-played sports on an international level: Nicklaus, Palmer and Woods on the fairways; Connors, Ashe, McEnroe and Sampras on the courts. Americans simply don’t care about a rivalry between a Swiss and a Spaniard.

There are other discouraging signs, like the popularity of Anna Kournikova, a woman who looked far better on fashion runways than on court. She never broke into the top 10 or made a major final, but no matter, she was hot when she grunted. Kournikova was probably more popular in the U.S. than our own Lindsay Davenport, a frumpy-looking lady who won majors but looked like she could have had a career teaching high school gymnastics in a track suit. Martina Navratalova was quite popular in the 80’s, but especially after she defected from Communist Czechoslovakia. So if you’re a guy, be American, and if you’re a woman, be hot, or politically sympathetic. I feel rage boiling inside me again at our shallowness and provincialism but what can be done? This is how our country works.

There are encouraging signs, too--- the TV ratings from this year’s Wimbledon’s final were up 10% over last year’s and for good reason: It was easily the most exciting major final of the last 5 years. Actually, tennis' TV ratings in the U.S. are not much lower than they were in the 80's and 90's. McEnroe has suggested that tennis’ problem is that the sport hasn’t changed in forty years, though the recent incorporation of electronic line calling should help fix that. The U.S. Open breaks its own attendance record every year. U.S. tennis fans are as enthusiastic as ever. It’s the casual fan that needs to be roped back in, and if Roddick or Blake can take down Federer, especially in New York, it would be the most exciting thing to happen to American men’s tennis since Sampras’ comeback in 2002.

Cable to Blake and Roddick: The remedy is in your hands. It's time to kick some Swiss and Spaniard ass! On second thought, let’s upgrade the American tennis condition from dead to light coma.

Yesterday I lost my wallet and learned that my Bubby (my father's mother) is being moved to a hospice. She is dying of leukemia. She is a sweet lady. When I last visited her in the hospital I asked her how she was feeling. She whispered, 'Better now that you're here.' She tended a vegetable garden in the summer and enjoyed seeing her children and grandchildren wherever and whenever she could. As is so often the case with grandparents, though, I cannot say I really knew her, or know her. We were of different generations and that gap was never closed. When I came out six years ago my mom's mom, who's always been a bit more current, was told about my sexuality, but Bubby wasn't. Why should she? What exactly could she do with such information? I love her but she was never an important part of my life.


Now my wallet, on the other hand, is a different story. Not only do I see it every day I carry it on my person. It's my friend. It carries my credit card, which I just used to buy tennis sneakers and a plane ticket to Spain. It carries my Blue Cross Blue Shield card, and my ACLU membership card, and my scuba diving license. It carries my money, and so, as a Jew, it has a special place in my heart. Sadly, the things in my wallet and my attitude towards my wallet speak at least as much about my personality as my Bubby. I'm really not sure what my Bubby and I have in common except, perhaps, twin feelings of love and embarassment towards my father.

Thus I convinced myself that feeling more upset about my wallet doesn't make me a bad person. But maybe this does...

I really hope Bubby doesn't die right before we go to Nantucket, because that would spoil what it always a fantastic end to the summer, because really, the dead should die at a time that is convenient for the living. I really do believe this. I mean sure, it's alright for them to die during the last few weeks of good weather, but what about those of us who really need to make good use of those beach days? If she's not going to pass away in July she really needs to hold off until September. No, wait, I'm going to Spain then...she really needs to wait until mid-October...oh but what if the Sox are still in the playoffs. On second thought late-October would probably be best.