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Saffy daffy, originally uploaded by Koosama.
Today is Saffy’s 7th birthday. I got her her favorite tuna treats, and I got me Mere Anarchy by Woody Allen (Yay!). It’s his first new story collection in 25 years. Janet Maslin notes that “Just as Mr. Allen brought his own New York with him when he recently began making films in Europe, so he has sustained a writing style that remains impervious to the changing world around him.” Oy vey, like a neurotic, less marriage-minded Jane Austen?
A funny fiction sampling:
All the Jeeves and Psmith stories and anything by P.G. Wodehouse
Decline and Fall, Vile Bodies, Black Mischief, and Scoop by Evelyn Waugh
Love In A Cold Climate by Nancy Mitford
Getting Even, Without Feathers (contains The Whore of Mensa) and Side Effects (with The Kugelmass Episode) by Woody Allen
Cooking With Fernet Branca by James Hamilton-Paterson. If you’ve ever had a shot of Fernet Branca, the joke’s on you. The sequel is called Amazing Disgrace.
A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian by Marina Lewycka
The Russian Debutante’s Handbook; Absurdistan by Gary Shteyngart
Many writers from the former Soviet Union are producing hilarious books to make up for the lack of jokes in Tolstoy and Dostoevski.
Catch-22 by Joseph Heller
Nearly everything by Kurt Vonnegut. In the darkest hour, you get chuckles.

Remember when the media and paparazzi stalked celebrities in order to allegedly serve their audience (Because they need to know the truth. . .about who’s boinking whom!)? I think it’s moved to the next level: celebrities are stalking us. They clog the airwaves with their confessions and revelations of the most intimate details of their personal lives. Don’t we already have way more information than we need about celebrities? I don’t even watch TV, but the oocky details of celebrity scandals still leach into my life and infect my personal space. I don’t deny that I enjoy watching the famous suffer, especially the famous who aren’t particularly good at anything and are just famous for being famous, but this is confessional ickiness overload.

Ever wonder why local celebrities are just clamoring to appear on TV to tell you how tormented they really are, and more importantly, to shed tears and snot in public? Why would the glamorous and overpaid want your pity and sympathy? Because pity (awa) is an artificial equalizer. When you feel sorry for a celebrity because her husband beats her/cheats on her/doesn’t love her, it makes you feel better about your own “ordinary” (as in “not covered by the major networks”) life. She may be famous, rich, beautiful, but she has problems too, just like you! You become more willing to overlook the massive injustice of the situation, viz. You study hard, work hard, and do the best you can, but you’ll never get that kind of attention or revenue. You forgive the famous their advantages because, sob, they’re people, too. It’s the classic “Us Folks” approach, made squishier.

Ocean’s 13. Cute. Mildly pleasant. Didn’t have to be made, but I’m guessing that fluff like this is what pays for more provocative projects like Good Night and Good Luck and Syriana. In the season of Spider-Man 3, Shrek 3, and Pirates of the Caribbean 3, Ocean’s 13 is at least easy on the eyes. Tina noted that Clooney, Pitt, Damon et al are so pretty, they had to hire Ellen Barkin to provide the pugnacious (barako) element. Good Oprah bits, and the references to Sinatra remind us that they know where they came from. Saw the original Rat Pack Ocean’s 11 on TV once. Fell asleep.

Well that was a dud. That was the dullest men’s grand slam final I’ve seen since that one where Guillermo Coria had cramps and Gaston Gaudio crawled unnoticed to victory. But that one was unmemorable. This one is memorable for Roger Federer’s starring role in Invasion of the Body Snatchers. He just didn’t seem to be occupying his own body. He was sluggish, committed way too many errors, and couldn’t string two good points together. A brilliant shot would be immediately negated by an unforced error. Worst of all, he just didn’t seem to be interested. It’s like his strategy was to bore Rafael Nadal to death, and it didn’t work. Losing is bad, but understandable. Blah-ness just blows.
Nadal didn’t exactly play brilliantly either, but he played less badly than Federer. No fond nicknames for you two today. You, Quentin, figure out what Wedgie Boy has on you. And you, Lou Diamond, try to win a major that’s not on dirt. Everyone else: that’s all you are, everyone else. You’re so completely dominated by the top two, you might as well not exist.

Put it this way: when the match started we were all drinking beers; after two sets we switched to coffee, it was that exciting. Plus my neck hurts because I’m used to looking down at the TV and in that bar I had to look up.

As long as my neck hurts: You. Marat Safin. You get away with playing like crap because you’re handsome and funny and everyone’s falling all over themselves to make excuses for you. Oh look, he’s so tortured, he’s like a character out of Dostoevski. Well screw that. You’re this close to being a joke and you know it. What the hell is your problem? The fact that everyone expects great things from you because you have the gift? Oh poor you, you’re so talented, how dare they burden you with expectations. Why can’t they leave you alone? Because you’re Marat Safin! You should be knocking Federer’s and Nadal’s heads together! How dare you lose to. . .to homunculi! Pull yourself together or get out!

Who else is there? It’s free awful truth day!

THEY CANNOT BE SERIOUS! Solar Sports stopped the live telecast of the Federer-Davydenko semifinal to air some taped car show!

When the telecast was interrupted Roger led 7-5, 7-6, 1-4. I just checked the Roland Garros site: The Fed won in straight sets, the last 7-6. Are they even going to air the Djokovic-Nadal match?

Again, the destiny question. Roger Federer is poised to take Roland Garros. Victory is so close I can smell it like champagne and napalm in the morning. It would be even sweeter if he beat Rafael Nadal for it. This would entail not just rooting for The Fed, but also rooting for Nadal to get past Novak Djokovic (Three Serbs in the semis, and Ana Ivanovic just kicked Maria Sharapova’s ass to make the final). Mike says we should root for Djokovic over The Nads because this would increase Roger’s chances of winning the whole shebang. I say we believe in Roger no matter who’s across the net (Rooting for The Fed has made me more generous. I used to bring out the voodoo implements for all of Goran Ivanisevic’s opponents). Oh pfft, says Mike, whose strategy as a fan is to wish for the elimination of all potential trouble spots (such as Cañas). Roger must win, period. We’re having a French Open men’s singles final dinner. Solar Sports says the telecast is on Sunday, 9pm-ish.