BuggBlog

Focusing on what's important at the U.S. Open

The USTA National Tennis Center is now named after pioneering lesbian Billie Jean King. Andre Agassi is playing his final tournament as a professional. Andy Roddick looks to be on the comeback trail. Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal both have something to prove. But the thing that's really standing out to me as I start watching my TiVo'd coverage of the third day of the U.S. Open:

Marat Safin looks mighty damn fine in high definition.

Really, this TV is the best purchase I've ever made. Including food and clothing.

Small packages

I got Lula back in a box last night. My residual good cheer and happy mood from my vacation are now officially over.

I have to say that the whole pet euthanasia thing ... way worse than I expected, and I expected bad. In the week leading up to the final day, I managed to hold myself together pretty well, in large part because I have abnormally strong abilities when it comes to not thinking about bad news. But as we got Lula ready to go on that morning, and I put Lazlo in the kennel alone knowing that Lula would never be coming back, I completely lost it. Walking-away-to-put-my-head-on-the-kitchen-counter-and-sob lost it. Cavin drove us to the vet, and I managed to not sob hysterically. At least until we got out of the car and Lula started hobbling around to sniff things.

Once inside, the receptionist greeted us with good cheer: "Hi there! What are you here for this morning?"

I literally couldn't speak -- if I opened my mouth I was afraid I would start howling. I kept thinking that maybe the red-rimmed eyes, tear-stained cheeks and runny nose would clue her in that I was there on some very sad business. It didn't. After a stalemate I managed to croak out, "Lula," the receptionist checked the computerized schedule, and said, "Oh."

You cannot be serious

On top of everything else that's been going on for the past few days, my hopes for mindless relaxation with a bit of Dead Rising were dashed over the weekend by the unexpected death of my Xbox 360. Multiple attempts to boot up a game led to multiple frustrations. So I tried to watch a DVD -- nada. Maybe it's a problem with discs? Nope, my game demos froze almost immediately after starting. Then, the whole frickin' thing gave up the ghost and gave me the flashing red circle of death.

Way to go, Microsoft!

So, I call Microsoft and go through the hoops of customer service and make the arrangements to send the damn thing in for repairs, when helpful transoceanic customer service specialist "Ray" asks what games I've been playing. Oh, nothing much, just Dead Rising, a little Topspin 2, Prey and Table Tennis. Ray proceeds to tell me that Microsoft is recommending that people not play Dead Rising right now, because there may be problems -- something about the codex, which sounds like something that caused me problems back when I worked on a Windows machine -- with the game that specifically cause a system failure like what I'm experiencing.

Way to go, Capcom!

I'm so, so happy that my easy-going console gaming days are now being subsumed in the Windows world of crashy, buggy "goodness." On the bright side, I can spend a couple weeks catching up on my unplayed PS2 pile -- Xenosaga 2 here I come.

Page turning

The time has come to admit I have a problem. Well, one among many. But this one is threatening to take over my house, one shelf at a time. So I have to just admit it: I'm a compulsive book buyer. Barnes & Noble may as well have a direct line to my bank accounts given the money I'm ever eager to drop when I walk through their doors.

A Holocaust novel narrated by an anthropomorphized Death? That sounds interesting. Ka-ching.

A history of the Soviet Union under Stalin, focusing on the depravity of both the dictator and the commie courtiers that surrounded him? I've always found Russian history fascinating. Ka-ching.

A novel about killer jungle vines and sinister Mayans entrapping tourists on a day trip from Cancun? Oooh, so King-y. Ka-ching.

Dissections of our current reckless path under Bush, from screwing up Iraq to failed doctrines to what Democrats need to do to get their shit together? Sign me up! Ka-ching, ka-ching, ka-ching.

And all that's just half the stuff I picked up off my nightstand -- and there's another stack I left behind. Plus, all the paperback sci-fi and horror novels I've picked up for casual reading. And the old classics that I hope to find time to read in the future, but they're so cheap I can't pass up buying them now. And the cookbooks -- can't forget about the cookbooks. It's out of control.

Dog end of a day gone by

I've done quite a few things in my life that have made me feel bad afterwards, but nothing's really compared to making an appointment to have one of my dogs, Lula, put to sleep this Friday. Nice euphemism, "put to sleep." I've been agonizing over this decision for almost a year. Lula's about 17 years  old now, and her hips and rear legs have been deteriorating for what seems like forever. Here she is a couple of years ago during a Christmas trip to Kentucky:

It also doesn't seem that long ago that she was nearly pure black. Anyway, the decision to bring things to an end took forever to make because it just felt, well, selfish. But over the past weekend I found her lying in her kennel, oblivious in her own pool of urine. I've read a lot over the past year about what criteria people feel comfortable using in making the euthanasia decision -- some wait until the can't walk, some until it can't eat, others still claim that you'll "just know" when it's time. I'm pretty sure that incontinence like this -- coupled with her growing difficulties getting up and walking across a room -- are an acceptable criteria.

Not that it'll stop me from feeling guilty.

I'm not a big one for pet blogging -- it seems oddly narcissistic to me -- but in this case I think I can make an exception. Like all dogs, she's been frustrating at times, fulfilling at others. I have plenty of stories to tell, from her attempted attack on a Rottweiller in Columbia Heights to her aggressive dislike of small children. She's actually an adopted dog for me, along with her nephew Lazlo -- their original owner is an ex of mine who moved overseas after we broke up, leaving me in charge. Not a situation I ever imagined myself in. I'm glad that for the past couple of years they've enjoyed the luxury of a backyard, something they missed as apartment-dwelling dogs in the city.

Here's Lula earlier tonight, in her current favorite position:

So, it's all meatballs and ear scratching and happy thoughts for the rest of the week. Cavin and I will both be with her the whole time this coming Friday morning. I hope it's not a bad way to go.

And all I have to show for it is a funky tan line

Going into this year's Capital Tennis Association in-house doubles tournament, everything felt right. I was playing well, I had a partner who was playing well, I've won the tournament before -- this was going to be my year again.

Needless to say, I got my ass handed to me on a platter in the second round. Two servings of ass, I suppose, given that it was a doubles tournament. There are few things in life more soul-sapping than playing a match in which your opponents play precisely the game that will beat you to a bloody pulp. In our case, it playing a match full of off-speed, well-placed touch shots that encouraged us to either play touch shots (as if!) or over hit wildly (pretty much the story of my life). Even worse, we lost to two nice guys so I couldn't even console myself by hating my opponents. Way to destroy me completely, Pierre and Bruce!

At least the weather was nice, even if the sun left me with the usual white-stripe across my forehead where my so-cool Nike bandanna was tied. Plus the wrist-band tan lines. Plus the tennis elbow tan line. Oh, and the patellar support tan line.

Damn, I'm decrepit.

Bugging on a Friday afternoon

Okay, a few random things about media and whatnot that are bugging me today:

--I've really kind of had it with the "Who's Hottest" in Washington lists -- I'm still reeling from the 50 Hottest People on the Hill list that included John Boehner. The always super-sunny and boosteriffic FishbowlDC is now running its own annual poll of who's hottest in the D.C. media world. The most surprising thing? The male non-broadcast contestants are way hotter -- for some value of "hot" -- than their broadcast counterparts (okay, except for that Washington Times guy; seriously, what is up with that?). I didn't realize until seeing them all together that the guys who read the news on the tee-vee were such a bunch of goobers. Tucker Carlson, my ass. So go vote Andrew Noyes -- early and often! Even despite the hat.

--Lots and lots of gay bloggers, from Towleroad to Pam's House Blend to Wayne Besen are up in arms about one of Alan Keyes's lackeys claiming in a radio interview that the latest trend among gays is having "sex with infants." Now, I understand the outrage and share it too. But, I'm kind of thinking that we need more crazy, right-wing SOBs going on radio and television and calling us a bunch of baby fuckers. The people who would actually believe the baby fucking thing aren't the type of people who are ever, ever going to vote for gay marriage or take to the streets for a PFLAG parade. But the middle-of-the-road folks who have some sympathy for gays and lesbians while still voting for Republicans will hear "baby fuckers" and think how crazy and out-of-touch the right-wing is getting. I could be wrong, but "baby fucking homosexuals" seems a little too Fred Phelpsy a slogan for general consumption.

-- What self-respecting gay person gives a crap about Lance Bass being gay? Kevin Naff, that's who. Naff, once the object of Shepherd Smith's affections, is upset that Bass didn't come out the right way -- you know, the way Kevin Naff thinks he should. Naff wrote last year:

"We need role models and spokespeople to boost visibility, increase understanding and, most importantly, to inspire those living less privileged lives to come out and stand up to those who would deny us the right to marry, to adopt children and to go to work free from the prospect of legal discrimination. Shame on the rich and famous closet cases who have let us down."

So naturally you need to smack 'em around a bit when the do come out. That'll learn 'em!