Initially Surprised

In perusing this website, I discovered that I have the same initals as William Shakespeare and the World Series. Coincidence? I think not. I just can't imagine why I never thought of it before. See what famous things or people you share famous letters with.

Ping-Pong. . . and Bong?

For the last week and a half, I kept my eyes glued to the other side of the world for the Australian Open. I discovered tennis this summer watching the legendary Wimbledon showdown between the former, four-years-in-a-row number one, Roger Federer, and the newcomer, current number one, Rafael Nadal. This sport exemplifies everything great about athleticism: endurance, speed, strength, and, most of all, elegance and flexibility. Some of those backhand shots are balletic. I am amazed. How do they do it? Unfortunately, I discovered tennis just a little too late, since I constantly cheer for the "good looking enough to be a GQ cover model" Federer (whose initials form the core of the word peRFect) who lately is coming up just short. In fact, in the men's singles final down under on Sunday, he actually scored one more point than Rafa, just apparently at the wrong time, since he lost, two sets to three. Don't worry. He still looks good. My sister and I said he is the Ian Thorpe of tennis--the better-looking talent who might be surpassed by the young upstart who arrives in his wake. Rafa is the Michael Phelps of tennis--obviously talented, but certainly a little shorter in the looks department. (Coincidentally, Ian Thorpe happens to be an Aussie.) To prove my point, here's Roger selling Gillette razors, proving he can be clean up and be clean shaven.

Which brings me to my next point. I know I've proclaimed my fascination with Michael Phelps loudly before, but that just leaves me speechless in the wake of recent news. No stranger to a razor himself, apparently he missed the clean part. The saddest part: he only seems to regret that his actions were uncovered, not that they took place. I guess he's learned that public opinion is paying for his mansions and sports cars, but I'm wondering how hard the wake of this event will hit him in the face, especially since he's a swimmer used to swimming in clear water. . .

Circus Freak-y?

Tonight I had my first session of tutoring writing in the school library. Not very busy, which gives me plenty of time to surf the internet, which allows me to find great fodder for my blog. (I just looked up the word "fodder" in the online dictionary and it means "any foodstuff that is used specifically to feed domesticated livestock." I'm not implying anything with my use of the word; it just sounds great.) Here's is tonight's great gem and the Kevin Bacon-esque story of how I found it.

I'm in a children's publishing class right now, and I'm supposed to spend half an hour every week browsing the blogs of those in the kid lit industry. I find Sarah Miller's blog (I have no idea who she is, but I'm sure she's connected to the kid book biz), where, in a recent post, she mentions a book by Twyla Tharp. The name rings a bell, but not a Jeopardy! buzzer, so I head over to the trusted source of internet knowledge--Wikipedia.

For those of you who, like me, know Twyla Tharp's name but don't know why, let me tell you the high points before I get to the low point. She is an American dancer and choreographer who worked on the Billy Joel-inspired musical Movin' Out and with everyone's favorite Russian danseur, Mikhail Baryshnikov. Those works earned her great accolades, but her most recent Broadway venture was not so lucky.

But before I tell you, I need to take a little side trip. My family loves the game "Balderdash," especially when we are priviledged enough to play it with our favorite cousins. One playing of this fine game has become one of the top five family jokes. I don't remember what word we were redefining, but one of my cousins offered this gem as an answer: "an Albanian circus freak." Okay, so you probably had to be there (and, let's be honest, most of my blog readers probably were) but that one phrase--circus freak--has caused hours of laughter for more than ten years now.

And here's where Twyla Tharp meets the Circus Freak. I take this straight from her Wikipedia bio. "A recent Broadway venture was The Times They Are a-Changin', which places the music of Bob Dylan in the context of a small family circus, in which the clowns rise up against a cruel ringmaster. It was a critical disaster, torn to shreds by practically all, and closed after 35 previews and 28 performances. The orchestra pit was covered with trampolines, and the folk/rock band was on an elevated platform on stage." Who knew a musical about clowns and Bob Dylan songs would be "a critical disaster"? Probably the many people who consider clowns one of the ten scariest (or should I say "freakiest"?) things. It even has an official name: coulrophobia--but don't ask me to pronounce it. In fact, I was just looking up the official name when I discovered, through my friend Wiki P., that there is even a movie called Fear of Clowns. Not that surprising, actually. I wonder if there's an official name for the fear of Bob Dylan, or Bob Dylan music. . . . In any case, I'm not 100% sure why someone would make clowns the heroes of a musical, but the answer, my friends is blowin' in the wind if someone hasn't captured it yet and put it on Wikipedia.

PS I can't help but write this. Heath Ledger's rendition of the Joker should be a good indication of why this didn't work. Not only did Heath portray the freakiest clown around, but he also played Bob Dylan. Coincidence? Kevin Bacon and I don't think so.

8 for 8, Times 2?

I know my deep and abiding love for Michael Phelps is no secret. (If you need convincing, just look at my Sonic commercial a few posts below.) Today I bought my second box of Michael Phelps cornflakes, and I'm hoping Santa leaves another one for me beneath the tree so I can send away for the free poster.

Anyway, this blog isn't really a plug for anything, although it may seem like it after you read the next few sentences. It's just a strange coincidence I wanted to philosophize about for a few sentences. Michael obviously made history when he (and his teammates in some cases) won eight gold medals in Beijing this summer. Before every race he listened to the musical stylings of Lil' Wayne. Now this musical inspiration has a chance to make an eight-win sweep of his own, having just been nominated for eight Grammys. Honestly, I don't listen to Lil' Wayne, and I don't care if he wins all or nothing, but maybe the Chinese are right about eight having some mystical powers. Maybe if I buy six more boxes of Michael Phelps cornflakes, the man himself will appear outside my apartment. Maybe.

Proofreading the World...One Sentence at a Time

First Edition

I found my first example of a Lynne Truss-worthy grammar mistake just a few moments ago. My apartment complex hired a company to put up some Christmas lights, so the company's trailer is parked in the lot right now. The trailer lists several bulleted reasons why someone should hire its workers to put up festive holiday lights, but one of them actually seems to be a deterrent from hiring the company at all. Here it is: "No job to big or small."

The sign should say, "No job too big or small," meaning that jobs of all sizes are welcome. But the company used to instead of too, so it has several possible meanings, none of them anywhere near the original intention. As is, I could infer that the workers perform no job for people who are big or people who are small--only average-sized people should ask for their assistance. Even worse, it could also mean they won't put up lights for anyone big, small, or anywhere in between, leaving themselves no clientele unless someone figures out how to exist without having a mass. Good luck. This is the exact opposite of the intended meaning.

Even so, I'll still enjoy the Christmas lights the company puts up around my apartment complex and welcome in the spirit of the season. In fact, this grammatical error was the best Christmas present they could have given me. Merry Christmas from the Grammar Goddess!