Tennis and other life-long pursuits

I was a victim of a brutal form of torture tonight. For the second time in three days, my friend Brett so kindly invited me to partake in a healthy dose of chasing around a neon green ball. The idea of playing tennis sounded great at first; a chance to hang with him, take advantage of the lovely courts offered by the great city of Woodbury (and paid for with my taxes) and get some general fitness in a seemingly innocent way. Well, Brett just finished his second marathon in twelve months and I just finished my second pizza in two meals and didn't realize just how much I was not up to the task. So we batted around the ball for an hour or so, he getting more and more precise as he honed his skills and I getting more and more sloppy with the increasing fatigue. It was a good time though, through the sweat and the lost balls and the burning lungs. Tennis is a good game. While as pointless (lets be honest) as any other sport, it has positives that outweigh many. First, you can be pretty well set up to play for under $30. Second, the tennis balls smell amazing, fresh out of the can. Third, you can interact with friends in a way that not many other athletics allow. Fourth, you can do it until you die. And in that last one is the true beauty. As I was running/stumbling out to pick up yet another ball that hadn't quite hoisted its way to my opponent's side, I pictured myself doing the exact same thing in forty years. And it was all the same: Brett was jeering friendly insults from the other side, I was wheezing more than him, and we were feeling a general camaraderie fostered only by an athletic event. I hope that those images are true. I hope Brett and I are both well enough to play in forty years. I hope I still enjoy the game. I hope we've both worked on our backhand. But I hope most that the friendship of these two 20somethings has grown. Despite kids and minivans, despite distance and career changes and hospital visits, despite the sheer busyness that can rule our lives, I hope that when my worn out New Balances (and black knee-high socks) hit that green concrete again, that things will be as they were today. And I'll remember this day, when I wanted it all to stay the same.

Test 2

so apparently the whole iphone mobile blog thing isn't as cool as I
thought. The formatting is all off making it read like a teenager on
their first behind the wheel training. So I'm going to try something
else, more than one way to skin a cat I guess. Who said that anyway?
Those sickies. Romeo, it was just a phrase, just a silly little
phrase. Don't hate me.

Facebook Status: The Art of the Miniblog

Facebook has never interested me much. The hours spent searching,
commenting and generally stalking those in whom you've never had a
real interest, much less a relationship, have just not quite found
their way into my incredibly hectic, busy life. Ok, seriously, while I
may have more discretionary time than many house cats, I still could
never get into it. Until...The Status. I have found this creative e-
outlet allows me to express the little snipets of clarity or the
random thoughts that swim through my oft disjointed mind. Humor, pain,  joy; all conveyed between the 'is' and the '.' Wow, now there's a truly useful feature. And it makes stalking that friend of a friend's
boyfriend's cousin that much easier. Not that I'd know.

Ok, back to important stuff now...Michael is typing a blog...

Blogging To Go

Yet another benefit of the precious iPhone has been unearthed today:
mobile blogging. Now you don't have to wait until I'm in front of my
all too unportable laptop to get the low down on the incredible
happenings of my day. The posts, however, may be much shorter as my thumbs are getting tired.

will the real holden caulfield please stand up?

my bud taylor finished a recent blog with a throwaway comment that i latched onto. i'm not really sure the reason why i can't go into the barnes and nobles (or your un-chain bookstore of choice) and pick out a book copyrighted 2006 and be touched, be moved, be swimming amidst a new world and feeling that i know that world, that it maybe even knows me. taylor thought it might be that "they don't write books like they used to." i don't know...but here's what i thought:

sometimes it feels like something even bigger than "they don't write books like they used to." sometimes it feels like they don't have writers like they used to...or even worse, that there aren't subjects like there used to be. are we just missing the Holdens, the Howards and the Konstantins? or are they really absent from this world, too cluttered by cash and trapped by time? or is it just me...cluttered by cash and trapped by time...too blinded by it all to see them just down the street, or in the booth next to mine sipping cider, or at the pump across from me, putting sixty bucks into their civic. maybe they are still out there, just waiting to be written about and the writer just hasn't opened his eyes. i guess i've just run around in circles, but you're right in the end. they don't write books like they used to, no matter what the reason may be.

the beginning of my nonsense

thus begins what will probably seem, and more likely is, the ramblings of a confused man. welcome to my thoughts...