NYCweboy

Serene

Taking a break from politics, Mom and I caught the end of the Women's Final at the US Open last night, and the thrilling win of Serena Williams.

I've always found the tennis world's love/hate affair with the Williams sisters interesting. Women's tennis is one of those places where gay men and lesbian interest in sports kind of converge - gay men cause the lady version of most sports, tennis included, is less brutal than the big rough guy version, and lesbians because of Martina Navratilova.

Of course there was a reason to watch tennis before Martina, and sure, Chris Evert makes a hot lesbian icon too, but Martina's decision to come out as a top player, and the stunning athleticism she showed really changed the way we saw the game. But the "Chrissie/Martina" thing of the eighties was also a triumph of white women in sport... and the arrival of the Williams sisters changed that. A lot.

In those things about race that we never discuss, it's interesting to see how race has played out in women's tennis. The idea of tennis as a genteel, upper class, and largely white enterprise has been at odds with the professional circuit for a long time. The new, more athletic, harder version of the sport (made possible, in no small part, by technological improvements in equipment as well as impressive physique work by the players), has led to a new kind of egalitarianism: multicultural, multi-ethnic stars are all over tennis. But the sport still resists change, still prefers the impressions of class and taste that come with being rich people's pleasure.

I love Serena Williams. I love her because she turns so much of this on her head, because her power cannot be denied. Unlike Venus, who dominates tennis in a familiar way by being long limbed and fast, Serena rules through power. She's big; she hits hard.Those reedy little things from Russia and Eastern Europe can fall before her.

And let's be honest: all those Eastern European gals are dull; they've made little impression, they seem interchangeable, and the power hitting they've been said to possess... just didn't impress me. Tennis needs stars. It needs The Williams Sisters. And last night, Serena got the job done.

Honestly, I thought it would go to three sets. Serena looked tired, a little worn down, Jelena Jankovic seemed to be getting her returns right, finally... but then, as she does, Serena dug down and found another level of strength. And if she had to win on the other player's serve... well, that just had to be done.

With her win, Srena is back to being #1 in the world. As she should be.

Gone Fishin'...

As previously announced, the NYC Weboy will be on a hiatus from blogging here for the rest of August. Please scroll down, as it's likely that J in Baltimore and RedStar may fill in the gaps with musings, links and photos of their own. You may also find me blogging some critical things over at newcritics. I will not be checking this blog on any kind of a regular basis, but I can be reached via e-mail (nycweboy at nycweboy dot com)... and I do welcome correspondence. I will resume blogging the Tuesday after Labor Day. Yes, that means I will not blog about the Democratic Convention... but just assume I liked Hillary's speech, that the VP selection is not my favorite choice, and I wasn't all that impressed with Obama's speech.

Have a great summer. Enjoy.

Teh Insomnia

It burns.... What keeps you up at night?  Too much to do?  Live coverage of Olympics women's beach volleyball?  Gas?  An impending move?  Nightmares?  Those damn kids and their ridiculous racket?  How slowly four follows three?  A gripping read?

When I can't sleep (I suck at it, but serious insomnia attacks like this occur every other month or so), I eventually just get back up and start working on all the sh*t I feel like I ignored over the course of the day.  I usually collapse b/w 4 and 5 a.m., and - thank g-d I'm a graduate student - get up around 11.  I'm tempted to write "you should all be so lucky," but really, being awake when you physically, desperately want to be sleeping just sucks.

So who's going to be the Dem VP?  Oops, sorry, BOR-ING!  Ok...who do you think will be the first celebrity Michael Phelps is linked to romantically in his post-Beijing life?  What shows can't you wait to return in the fall?  How much of the Convention will you be TIVO'ing?

For those here with me in these pre-dawn hours: Discuss.

- Redstar

And Then He'll Fight The Evil Robot King... And Save Us All Again

Don't ask me why I'm watching The Olympics.

It's embarrassing. All my strength and resolve flies out the window when I get home and find Mom absorbed in the latest gymnastics trials or swimming heats. And there I sit, zombie-like, taking it all in.

I hate the Olympics. I hate what they've become, I hate what NBC has done to them, I hate we all just go along and act as if any of this is meaningful, when mostly, it's not.

Look, I think it's exciting to watch Michael Phelps win... again. But really, that's what he was trained to do, and he does it with the calm, joyless efficiency of a cyborg so thoroughly that it's hard to develop a lot of enthusiasm for what seems, very much, foreordained. I don't want to make light of his prowess - I can't do it, and most likely, neither can you. But still.

Phelps, I think, is emblematic of what The Olympics have become, athletics wise: grim automatons carefully engineered to excel in their sport, freaks of a sort who have made the notion of cheerful, amateur competition moot. This, really, is the logical endpoint of the energy that some countries put into developing "athletics programs" solely focused on winning Olympic medals. Now, all the big countries do it, and all of it has killed the idea of the Olympics. I still can't decide which is more hilariously  sad: the professional basketball players who've made the basketball competition more ludicrous every time, or the professional tennis players, who act as if they're doing something other than what they do at Wimbledon and the US Open, except with flags.

It's especially odd to see the Olympics this year, when "world peace" is so far from even being a goal at this time. International cooperation? In your sad little dreams. Even as we play this out, Russia has invaded Georgia... never mind Iraq. Or Afghanistan. Or Iran (which, unlike many Muslim nations, actually sent women to compete).

Yes, the opening ceremonies were lavishly beautiful, and visually stunning (and really, so what if one little girl lip-synched for another? Is that the biggest scandal here? I'm thinking no). But that, too is kind of a given - just like the appearance of Q-tip shaped Sarah Brightman to wail in her oddly "international songbird" way, which it turns out sounds a lot like Chinese Opera, I suddenly realized.

There's really nothing new here, nothing unexpected, little to really show us a world where we come together, from all over the globe, and share a moment of worldwide harmony. That's really for the MacDonald's commercials. No, it's corporate and plasticized and engineered and overdone... and empty. And after awhile, watching those rather tortured looking young people (especially the gymnasts), I'm inclined to beg us all to stop this farce before we hurt someone. Oh wait, we already did.

Which leaves NBC, the worst thing to happen to the Olympics since, well, corporate sponsorship, I suppose; as much as I try to prepare for it, I am still stunned by the insipid levels of "color commentary" we get. That's especially true watching machine-like Phelps, as the NBC team struggles to inject drama, warmth, and a sense of purpose to watching the obvious. There's his Mom, and his sisters. Oh, and did you know he's planning to move back to Baltimore after the games? Mom must be thrilled. Or so I've been told. Repeatedly. And suddenly, the point of South Park's "What Would Brian Boitano Do" becomes clearer - more descriptions of Phelps superhuman breath-holding, big feet, and fish like qualities... and I think he's actually Aquaman.

As I get ready to take a blog break, I know one thing that will really be last on my list - following any more of this nonsense. If I want real superheroes, I'll just go back to reading Justice League.

Everytime I Breathe, Everytime I Try To Leave

So here I sit in Towson, Maryland, typing away at another Starbucks.  I had hoped to mention traveling - or at least to have done a joint post with the J in town... but that didn't happen. Sorry for the silence.  As Red notes, all the important news happened in the sports world, anyway.

Except, maybe, for the loss of Cyd Charisse.

In any case, as Red noted overnight, it's a moment of feeling a bit beaten down. J and I had a long conversation - all evening, really - about coming to grips with Obama. I try to come up with ways to get comfortable myself... and nothing seems to work. If it's not the tired rhetoric of his Father's Day speech, it's the dull, conventional nature of his advisement choices (I don't necessarily have the issues others do about his economics team... but his foreign policy team is dull dull dull).

Perhaps more instructive was the man who struck up a conversation with me waiting for the Light Rail to bring me to J. He's a painter by profession, 32 years, and work's been hard to find. First day he'd worked in 3 weeks, he told me. When I said "Vacation?" he laughed bitterly and said, "if only."

GO CELTS!!!!

Yes, they really just had Donny Walberg of New Kids on the Block on the local ABC affiliate "hangin' tough" and reveling in the Celtics victory tonight.

Go Celtics!!

That is all.

:) :)

- Redstar

Spring in my step at Mile 22

Readers know the love affair between NYC Weboy and Boston ended last year.  Fortunately, his relationship with this Masshole sophisticate (I know, that's an oxymoron) endures.  But the city and I are still at a loss without him.

Nonetheless, we soldier on, rejuvenated by the springtime weather - 60+ degree days, buds on the trees, and sun bring packed outdoor cafes, cap sleeves and sandals, and runners everywhere.

Sometimes I wonder if this is the runningest city in the U.S.  Though the sidewalks, Charles River paths, and Emerald Necklace routes are packed this time of year, runners are ubiquitous year-round in Boston.  In my neighborhood of Brighton, with the nearby Chestnut Hill Reservoir the signature asset in hilly greenspace, runners are rarely out of sight, at most hours of the day and evening.

Today, of course, is the ultimate in our city's running glory - it's Marathon day.  This Monday is quintessential Boston: a city holiday - Patriot's Day, celebrating the beginning of the Revolutionary War; the first day of the April break for public schools; the Red Sox at home in a daytime matchup; and the Marathon.  NYC Weboy went out this morning to pick up some breakfast, and came back to report that the busiest store at 9:30 am in Cleveland Circle was Reservoir Liquors.  The Improper Bostonian reports that if you're not in your designated Marathon spot by 10:30 a.m. with a drink in your hand, you're doomed to lines and crowds for the rest of the day.

Marathon Day always renews my love for my neighborhood, as runners pass my apartment building and cross mile 22 in the 26.2 race.

Cheering begins midday and doesn't cease for most of the day. Right now co-eds are grilling across the street from me on the property of a historic home in the neighborhood, someone's music is wafting through my windows, and I'm off to meet friends at Brookline's Publick House after running into them on the sunny streets outside just now.  Nearby, the university sailboats are out en masse on the Charles, as they've been since last week.

It's springtime in Boston, and I'm happy to be home again in my hometown.

-Redstar

...Or, We Could Also Worry About Those Winged Pterodactyls On Skull Island, I Suppose...

You may have noticed I'm taking it a bit easy today; the political weekend wore me out a bit (not mention what felt like a long spate of working at the 'bucks). I'm going to work on a few lighter things, and leave the heavy politicking for later.

In the meantime, if you're dying for a fix:

• The Obama thing: Oh I don't know... try here or here or here or here or here or here... It seems to me we're talking this thing to ever-lovin' death. Since I already said my peace, I have little to add - except this: I don't think "the media" is the problem here, really I don't. Obama said something that was a mistake, and he's being, fairly I think, taken to task for a set of assumptions that deserve a challenge; however, I think the problem is that "the problem with what Obama said" is poorly defined, and too much of it has become "Easy Reader Elitism" that isn't the real issue here.
• As Ana Marie Cox says, yes, I read that Chris Matthews thing.  And so should you.
• Torch Song Trilogy: Count me among those who didn't realize that the Olympic Torch protests around China's poor Human Rights record (especially in relation to Tibet) would make such a splash. Then there's the whole Leni Riefenstahl-Berlin-1936 thing about the Torch Relay generally... and hey, you've got a weeks' worth of discomfort right there.
• Save The Robots: Apparently, the geek love affair with talking about the robot menace just will not go away. I already played, too. This is serious stuff people. Don't say you weren't warned. :)

Inside Baseball

A few years ago, a rabid football fan roommate strategically enrolled me in a fantasy football league so that I would be amenable to the endless sports coverage.  I'm competitive by nature, and earned a reputation in our league as a tough "coach," benching players pretty quickly if they didn't perform well, making trades, and picking up different guys off the waiver list with some regularity.  Yet I rarely watched football.  There is so much media coverage, and so much statistical information available, that I mainly relied on some modest number crunching each week to set my lineup.  (I was eventually eliminated in the finals.)

My league, unlike most, was almost half women.  Yet sports, including fantasy sports, is generally the province of men.  As with politics.  Last week in the discussion on my campus re: the Presidential election, I was one of only two women in the room who spoke during the 90 minute event, and the only one who spoke repeatedly, and at length.  This gender gap is news to no one, but only recently has the similarities between endless sports coverage and political quarterbacking become so clear to me.

Fantasy Nomination Camp

So there I was , scanning the New York Magazine website, reading this fascinating article on AIDS Doctors who seem to have a "survivor's guilt" problem leading to drug abuse and other problems (I don't know the man in the article, but I do know a few other examples, anecdotally)... and reading this illuminating piece on the disaster that is The New York Knicks... until I came upon this: Lawrence O'Donnell on a fantasy notion of how the Democratic National Convention might look if Obama and Clinton have to take the fight to the floor.

I have to say reading it was disconcerting.  You can argue particulars of O'Donnell's scenario - I tend to disagree with his finale, because I think both parties have a certain ruthlessness, not just one... but two things nag at me - one is that O'Donnell offers a clear view of the deliberate self interest of certain parties (Wesley Clark and Al Gore, most obviously) that can't be argued away; and the other is the dark, cynical, pessimistic nature of the whole thing... which again, I think shouldn't be ignored.

That said, as I was writing this, it suddenly occurred to me... where is John Edwards in this scenario?  Naughty, Larry. Very naughty. ;)