Ladies of the Court

If you have told me some 30 years ago as I was setting my alarm clock for one of the dozens of Breakfast at Wimbledon telecasts I would savor over the years (I STILL can't believe Chris blew that 4-2 lead in the '78 final!) that a day would come when the women's quarterfinals would be on and I not only didn't care enough to watch them, but barely knew who half the players were, I'd have said you were crazy. But sadly, that's exactly what happened yesterday.

The "kid" in A Kid, a Rabbit and a Champion

From the summer of '77 till the early '00s, women's tennis was IT for me. From the first time I saw Tracy Austin in her pinafore dress and pigtails to the triumphant resurgence of Jennifer Capriati at the 2001 Australia Open -- and everything in between -- I was obsessed with the ladies of the court.

My brother and I even devised our own competing ranking systems: his involved a Vic Commodore computer that created far more work just entering the data and computer codes than mine, which simply consisted of a spiral notebook and "giving bonus points on top of bonus points." Each week, I'd wait by the mailbox for the latest issue of Inside Women's Tennis to arrive, and then I'd go to work tallying up the results from all the draws that were printed in the back. From there, I would re-arrange the cutout photos of the top 50 players I had on a bulletin board in my bedroom. (I still haven't forgiven my mom for crumbling up my Mima Jausovec photo in a tirade about what a horrible person I was. Granted, the photo didn't really fit in -- it was on a WAY LARGER scale than the others -- but it was the only one I was able to get my hands on, goddammit.)

Back then, I used to worry that the game wouldn't survive the end of Chris and Martina. But then Steffi Graf came along and quickly replaced both of them in my heart, bringing me another decade of women's tennis bliss. (Although cut short, her rivalry with Monica Seles completely consumed me: I still can't watch clips of the 1992 French Open without screaming as each ball is hit; and let's not even talk about the '99 French Open final!) Even when Steffi retired in 1999, Hingis, Capriati, Davenport and Pierce were still keeping things entertaining for awhile. But somewhere in the last few years things really went wrong. First, the Belgians completely sucked the fun out of the game. Then the Williams sisters -- whose idiotic father made it hard for me to warm up to in the first place -- went from dominating to not caring about the game at all. Then, even though they weren't fit and didn't seem to even be trying, the handful of players who had the game to beat them would still roll over and die whenever they played 'em. (Talk about annoying. I completely gave up on Lindsay Davenport because of this; Maria Sharapova was the one exception when she beautifully let Serena have it in the 2004 Wimbledon final.) Oh, and when they weren't handing matches to the Williamses for no reason ALL of the top women took turns becoming complete choke artists: Jankovic, Kuznetsova, Ivanovic, Myskina, Mauresmo, Clijsters, Zvonareva, Dementieva, Safina and so on. (And they are all REALLY BORING!) A writer friend of mine confided in me after one particuarly embarrassing Grand Slam blowout that he was beginning to disagree with Billie Jean King's equal pay argument.

Don't get me wrong, there were certainly many one-sided matches "back in the day." The dropoff after the top 5 or so players was HUGE, and Chris actually even beat Martina and Tracy 6-0, 6-0 in the early '80s at various points. But I don't EVER recall seeing Chris, Martina, Tracy, Andrea Jaeger, Billie Jean King or Evonne Goolagong become completely unable to play during big points or through ENTIRE Grand Slam finals the way these gals do now. (Even loopy Hana Mandlikova knew how to give the top players a hard time when push came to shove.) I only wish Tracy Austin's matches against Chris and Martina at the 1981 Toyota Series Championships had been filmed so I could relive the power, precision and steely determination of it all.

This fortnight looks like it's heading toward another all-Williams final. They both seem to be quite "on" again, so they definitely deserve to be where they are. Unfortunately, history has shown that the awkward situation of playing your sister in a Grand Slam final does not equal entertaining tennis. So even though I'm happy they're back in the game, this scenario -- like it has in years past -- only adds to my increasing lack of interest in a game I once loved. If there's a cure for women's tennis, I sure don't know what it is.

So I Think They Can Dance

OK, so I don't really know much about the dance company Pilobolus. But they're performing down the street from my apartment this summer at the Joyce Theatre, July 13 through August 8. And as far as I'm concerned, any reason for fit people to bounce around naked seems like it's worth a mention to me. (Surely, Pina would have approved.) Ticket information HERE.

Music Box: '70s Explosion!

My iPod "died" yesterday after I went to the gym, permanently frozen on the song "Suspicion of Love" by Chris Isaak (a much-neglected gem off the "Married to the Mob" soundtrack). Nothing would revive it (the light was even on at the moment it got stuck and wasn't going off), so I went to work thinking it was likely dead or, at the very least, in need of a visit to the Genius Bar. By the time I got home some eight hours later, suddenly it was singing a different tune: VERY LOW BATTERY it announced across the screen. I think that light being on might have caused it to go dead and thus freed it up. (Whatever the case, it's back to normal now.) As I was playing with it I happened to notice the Play Count column way off the screen in iTunes. It made me laugh because I portray myself as the ultimate '80s New Wave geek (an assertion I continue to stand by), yet the three most played songs were actually all from the 1970s and, some might say, of questionable taste. First up was Andy Kim's "Rock Me Gently." This pop classic reminds me so much of my mom, who also loved it and was pregnant with my little sister at the time it was riding high on the charts back in '74. Mom had the album -- featuring a sultry photo of Kim with ample chest hair popping out of his shirt -- and I used to play it over and over again on her stereo, rarely getting past the opening title cut. (Kim actually co-wrote another classic chart-topper, "Sugar Sugar" by the Archies, which was the biggest song of 1969.) Years later, Michael and I were in the Denny's on the Vegas Strip in the wee hours of the morning getting a post-gambling Grand Slam breakfast when this vaguely familiar song came on over the restaurant's speakers. I was kind of out of it, but I still distinctly remember the moment when I realized we were both singing every single word and breath of -- you guessed it -- "Rock Me Gently," and how happy I was at that moment that Michael was all mine.

The next most played is arguably more embarrassing. My boss calls R. Dean Taylor's 1970 smash, "Indiana Wants Me," the "worst song of all time," but I couldn't disagree more. I always the police sirens and bullhorn warning -- and the implied tragic ending was so romantic. I certainly wasn't old enough to have remembered it when it was ruling the airwaves in 1970. But it must have been so huge that radio stations continued to play it nonstop well into the early '80s, because I still have very strong memories of it always being on -- and loving it. (I later learned Taylor was quite a talent over at Motown records back in the day, having co-written the Supremes classic "Love Child," as well as hits for the Temptations and the Four Tops.)

The final most played is the one and only hit by the beloved Vicki Lawrence, whom I grew up adoring on "The Carol Burnett Show."I even went to a taping of "Mama's Family" in 1987, although it had more to do with the fact that my friend's brother thought we'd like it better than the other show they had tickets for ("My Sister Sam"), not because I was a fan. (Everyone knows Mama was only good with Eunice, and "My Sister Sam" -- with HUNKY David Naughton and that really cool apartment in San Francisco with the clear-door refrigerator -- would have been WAY better!.) It doesn't matter how many times I play "The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia," I get goosebumps as the story unfolds. (What's more, even with the lyrics right in front of me I've still never been able to sing along with it. It's so fast and complicated!)

So now it's your turn to tell me about your guilty pleasures or, at the very least, your most played ...

Read all Music Box posts HERE.

Fresh songs

Scream Lyrics Michael Jackson	Thriller Lyrics Michael Jackson
All Love Lyrics Ingrid Michaelson	Bad Girl Lyrics Chris Brown
Falling Down Lyrics Space Cowboy	The Climb Lyrics Hannah Montana
Childhood Lyrics Michael Jackson	You Are Not Alone Lyrics Michael Jackson
Billie Jean Lyrics Michael Jackson	Smooth Criminal Lyrics Michael Jackson

Get your free list here.

Model Wood: Edilson Nascimento

Because I know you guys don't like this one. (Via Major Model Management)

They Grow Up So Fast

The (tiny) bathroom sink is still his spot, just as it was two years ago, below

Well, I was warned by a close associate of a prominent gay blogger that too many posts about the critter could get me labeled "one of those pet bloggers," but I would be remiss if I didn't mention that today is my baby's 2nd birthday! As longtime readers know, Larry came into my life with some huge paws to fill when my beloved Troy died after a long battle with cancer in the summer of 2007. Larry couldn't be any more different from Troy personalitywise. But he's certainly filled a hole my heart in a way I never thought would be possible again. So happy birthday, Lar. And here's wishing you many more ...

Love at first bite: The very first photo, taken moments after completing the "adoption" process

Nice Try

If you've been following the stalemate in our state's capital even a little bit then you know they're all a bunch of useless jackasses. Still, THIS was pretty funny.