Notes from the Red Bird House

When I was playing a lot of singles, as a junior, in college, and beyond, I always despised playing players that got everything back. They call them counter-punchers, defensive specialist, grinders, backboards. Regardless of the name (I preferred "pusher"), I hated them. Sure, some of it had to do with me not being able to get everything back, but it just wasn't my game. Who wants to stand back at the baseline, retrieve every ball, and just get it back? I certainly didn't. It was so boring and frustrating to play against; I couldn't imagine playing that way every time I took the court.  I'd rather flame out big than ploop it back and hope for the best. What would people rather watch? And, really, what would I rather play? I realized early that I wanted a game with some entertainment value. I grew up watching tennis on TV and there was nothing worse than long baseline rallies. Pop, turn head, pop, turn head. On and on. That's probably why I was so attr...

I vehemently dislike yoga. There I said it. It's not the first time I've been vocal about my disdain. I once even said, in this Blog, that "it didn't  matter how pretty she was, I wouldn't do it". That's a strong statement when you consider the things I've done in my life simply because there was a pretty woman involved. Why not, Stacee? Why won't you do yoga? It's so good for you. You'll love it. You could use some flexibility.It would help your tennis game. Hot women do it.  Blah, blah, blah.  Ok, I get bored watching TV, while reading  a magazine, while listening to music in a half hour on the Elliptical at the gym. And you want me to spend how long? 60 minutes? 90 minutes? maneuvering my body in and out of various intricate contortions? With no TV, music, or magazine to keep me company? Maybe if there was a ball involved. Maybe.  But probably not.  ~ Last week I approached one of the personal trainers at my g...

In case you think that this blog is going to be definitive source on how to attain a bullshit free life, guess again. Fuck me, I wish it was. Why? Because then I wouldn't be mired in bullshit. I think I'm writing now as therapy. Pure therapy. I'm angry and incredulous. And not just about one thing. I've got at least couple bullshit producing issues splashing all over me. God as my witness (that probably doesn't pack as much wallop coming from an atheist), I try to avoid it. I don't court it. I don't covet it. I don't hang out with it. About a year ago, I made a few changes I felt I needed to make in my life. As a general rule, people = bullshit. People, whether they try to or not, propagate bullshit at an alarming rate. So, I separated myself from almost everyone in my life. I have never had as few friends and acquaintances as I have right now. Aversion to bullshit is the reason. But I'm on Facebook all the time? Yep, I am and I have 525 FB '...

I'm going to start this one with a tennis analogy. I know, right? What a surprise! Seriously, though, bear with me and keep reading. I promise it'll be worth it once we get where we're going. Three years ago this week, I rediscovered the game of tennis. En route to losing her second round match at the All England Club (to Arantxa Rus of all people), Samantha Stosur unwittingly caused me to fall in love. With her game. With her arms. And with tennis. I'd been gone awhile, maybe a decade and a half. I played only occasionally and I never, ever, ever watched. Some where along the line, tennis had become boring. Or maybe I just needed a break. Then an incredibly athletic woman (who didn't grunt) hit a forehand and I was hooked. I was a fan again and I had a new favorite player (Steffi Graf had retired so I needed a new one regardless). Tennis became my thing. I followed Sam religiously. I DVR'd matches. Stayed up late to watch her in big matches in wacky time zo...

This past weekend my girlfriend and I celebrated our one year anniversary. One year. Granted to most people this isn't a significant achievement. I have many friends who have been in multiple relationships that spanned five, ten, or even twenty years. For me, though, it's nearly uncharted territory. You see, I'm now in only the second longest relationship I've ever been in. Just one other relationship, my first ever with a woman, lasted longer - two years, one month, and one day. Third, fourth, and fifth places? Ten months and some change, ten months and a little less change, and eight months and a couple weeks. The rest (I may have dated thirteen or so other women) lasted on average two months. I'm forty-six years old. There are sixteen year olds with better dating history. I'm fond of saying that I'm just not cut out for dating and/or relationships. Truthfully, I give all the credit for my current success to my girlfriend. Sure, she may be forgetful a...

It looks like I'm going to have to do some reading. I've got a story brewing and I need to fill in some blanks. Sadly I can only fill in those blanks with research. And thanks to my Masters of Liberal Arts degree, I know how to research and how to turn that research into halfway decent fiction. Means I'm going to have to bite it and read. Fucking read. God, how I hate to read. Abandon the story? Sure, sure. I could do that. And let the character who so graciously entrusted his story to me die. Can't do it. Even if it means I have to read. I usually write what I know (reference my collection of short stories about tennis) and I know this. I know my topic. I don't think he would have given me his story to write if I didn't get it on some spiritual level. It absorbed most of my late childhood and early adulthood. I'm pretty sure I read every book in the Poway Library on the topic, back when libraries were the place to go for books. Back when I read. I'd...

I used to write all the time. I posted to the blog nearly every day, some time several times a day. I wrote about everything in my life. Seriously everything. Some might say I wrote about too much. Topics appeared out of nowhere and the words followed. Hell, I used to even capitalize The Words. I wouldn't dare to presuppose anything so grandiose at this point. It's not that I don't have them. I do. Many are fictional which presents other issues. Blogging is easy. Fiction isn't. Well, it can be. After proper time and thought. And so I guess we have arrived at Excuse #1. Excuse #1  - I'm too busy hanging out with my fictional characters  to just write. Blogging and miscellaneous writing doesn't advance my stories. And it's my stories that will eventually get me where I want to go. While we're on a roll, let's just get on with the excuses. Excuse #2 - I now have high maintenance dogs and no backyard to toss theme, in when they get annoying. When I us...

I'm on the cusp. Alright so maybe that's no the best way to describe where I am. Technically I'm at Barnes & Noble using the free wifi and drinking a skinny vanilla latte that I know will interfere with my ability to fall asleep tonight. I don't want to lie awake tonight. I don't need to feel the darkness around  me and wait for my mind to swirl out of control.  Not any night, but especially not tonight. It has to do with the cusp. As in, "I'm on the cusp of something". It's probably more of a crevice. Or maybe a precipice. I shouldn't still be here. A year ago, yes. I had every excuse in the book to be where I was. Lies and deceit and treachery have a way of shoving a person right toward a variety of cusps. That I did not leap out in front of a moving train had more to do with the accessibility of trains than my mindset. A year ago this place was understandable. Now, it's pretty much a mystery. I'm not hung up on anything. I...

Keep one fact in conscious thought as you continue reading this post - I have dressed virtually the same for better than a decade. [Actually most of my clothes are exactly the same, not look alikes or similar. Exactly the same. No, I'm not into 'vintage'. I'm preternaturally broke. In my world, clothes have to last. Remember, keep this fact in mind.] Years ago I decided that I wanted to shave my head. More like Demi Moore in "G.I. Jane", than Sinead O'Connor in the 90s. I put it on my Bucket List. Shave head - Check. I'd always had short hair so the change wasn't all that drastic. To me. Low maintenance became no maintenance. I loved it. Among the general public, however, response was mixed. I got raves and my ass nearly kicked because I was suddenly even more "dyky" than before. Truly response had always been mixed regarding me and my hair. A girl or woman with short hair means a variety of things in modern day America. Mostly, if ...