Sunday, March 17, 2013

Tweets and Tennis

Grackle. Lots of them around in my area.

 Red-shouldered hawk 1, Red-tailed hawk 1 (heard ), Ring-billed gull 2, Pileated woodpecker 2, Blue jay 6, American crow 12, Black-capped chickadee 30, Red-breasted nuthatch 2, White-breasted nuthatch 4, Brown creeper 8, American robin 2, European starling 2, American tree sparrow 2, Northern cardinal 3, Red-winged blackbird 1, Common grackle 18, Common redpoll 12, Pine siskin 2, American goldfinch 6, House sparrow 1, woodpecker species ?

(This is a list I pulled off the web, some bird-watchers in my area yesterday.)

Some people go outside and watch birds, some stay inside and watch tennis.

I awoke this morning to a tweet, a real one, that familiar one, the two toned See Saw tweet, See-Saw, See-Saw, and felt sorry for the particular feathery reptile as it was -12 outside.

This is the bird that wakes you up too early in the morning after a long night, so I normally have little sympathy for it.

Hang in their bird, it's gonna warm up fast. It is March after all, even if it looks and feels like deep January.

And they are predicting a huge snowstorm on Tuesday. Wonderful!

That's why I enjoyed watching the men's tennis from Indian Wells, California, deep in the desert. The BNP Paribas Open. Is that the title?

94 degrees!

 The sweat was pouring off Nadal yesterday.

 I only watched a set and a half of the Djokovic match, assuming del Potro was going to cave (as he had played the day before in the heat and the French announcer said he wasn't as fit as the others, like Murray) but hey he won. And I forgot to tape it. I guess the announser was wrong.

Well, she didn't say he was out of shape, she said he didn't seem to have a super-rigorous training regime, like Murray and Djokovic.

My son says del Potro looks like he just rolls out of bed and raids his father's drawers and steals his golf clothes. So uncool he's cool.

I was pulling for del Potro because he is the underdog, as much as 'an underdog' as you can get in Professional Tennis, at the elite level.

These young men are fit, no question, but are they any more fit than the guys who pick our spinach in the 94 degree heat All Day Long, without entourages and teams and all that pampering because each of these tennis players is a brand and big big business and buying role-model.

Maybe the tennis players aren't so fit, maybe the rest of us consumer-age couch potatoes watching them are terribly out of shape. Well, duh? Our job is to watch the ads and consume! Buy a tennis racquet, if you must, but use it only once or twice, because it is HOT out there on the court. And make sure you drink a lot of Captain Morgan or whatever the advertiser is. (No that's hockey. Obnoxious ads aimed at married men.)

At night, I didn't watch the del Potro match because my husband was watching the Canadiens hockey and I thought it was best to spend some quality time with him.

The Canadiens have just signed a player to a 4 year contract, 3 and a half million a year. Nothing special for hockey, except that this player had been a journeyman, making 30 thousand a year a while back.

We forget that for every highly paid elite athlete, there are 10 times as many who are unpaid.

I guess that goes for tennis, except even to get started in tennis I imagine the player has to come from a wealthy family, wherever he or she is from.

Maybe I'll go see the tennis this summer at Jarry Park, or whatever it is called. A game or so.

A page from Flora Nicholson's 1911 Nature Diary, from Ste. Anne de Bellevue, not far from where I live. For May. That's what I should be doing. Writing my follow up to Threshold Girl and Diary of a Spinster, but with this awful Spring (we had instant Summer last year, it was warm on St. Paddy's Day) and hardly any sunlight, it's hard to get inspired.