Varia

"If you're gay, I'll kill you," his brother had said, which is why the chap I am talking about took so long to debut.  Sadly, his wife seemed to be the only one who didn't know her husband was homosexual.  Everyone else did because he was of the very feminine walking-talking-affectation variety.  Not that it matters, except for the fact that he married her and had two children, knowing he was homosexual.  That was the offensive part.  I mean, why marry a young woman knowing you are going to leave her for a man?  Not nice. 

I kind'a wondered about the husband for a while because when I was at Carleton University, I dated and fell in love with one of the French professors who was extremely effeminate, but only on the outside.  In reality he was very, very heterosexual and sexy, so you can't always be sure.  Most of that boyfriend's affectations, it turned out, were cultural.  But here in Alberta, if you're effeminate, you're homosexual.  You're not "French".    

The husband to which I refer recently "came out" and that's as it should be -- except his children are very confused and upset.  Daddy likes men?  Daddy doesn't like Mummy anymore?   All very sad and unnecessary if he had just been himself in the first place.
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Watching the US Open, I can't believe the fatties who are the linesmen/women?!  How can they have such tubs on camera at a major sporting event?  The juxtaposition between them and the players is jarring.  Seriously.

Roger Federer, who B and I saw defeat Andy Roddick at Wimbledon in 2004, is in magnificent shape.  And then the camera pans to his fat wife in the players' box, Mirka.  Weird.  But apparently he is madly in love with her.  Go figure.

His coach is the great, great Stephan Edberg, my all-time favourite male player.  To see him serve and volley and dance to the net was a thing of beauty.  Now, there was a guy who hit winners.  No baseline pounding for him.  He was absolutely fabulous.  Now Roger too comes to the net, thanks to Edberg, and almost always wins the point.  Perfect.

Also love watching John and Patrick McEnroe calling matches.  Such enthusiasm and knowledge.  Also love Chris Evert, but can't stand that know-it-all Pam Shriver -- who wasn't even that great a player.  Did I tell you she was married to George Lazenby for five minutes?  Yes, she was, and had a couple of kids with him.  Then she dumped him and insisted on supervised visits, which he had to go to court to have overturned.  What a bi-ch.  By the way, it shows.
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Cleaning out a drawer guess what I found?  A diary from 1981.  Started reading it and nearly died.  What a mess that year was!  B had just separated from his wife-of-the-moment and she was a completely hideous b-tch about everything. Denying access (the reason she did not get custody, by the way), changing locks on doors, you name it, she did it.  The diary also chronicled our courtship.  One word to describe it?  Rocky.  I was renting a house two blocks from my parents, who were wonderful-wonderful-wonderful.  B was living at the "Y" in an almost-slum room with the bathroom down the hall and a shared bath.  What a "yuck".  It was chaos, but we muddled through........somehow?  I guess if we survived that, we can survive anything. 

Threw out the diary.  Don't want my children to read it after I'm gone.  G-d forbid!