Roland Garros

Been watching the French Open at Roland Garros.

In Paris. Who would not want to travel to Paris to watch professional tennis? Only an idiot. Or a Checkers devotee.

Experiencing tennis at this level must be mind blowing. I wouldn't know. I never have. I have come close, though. In my mind.

Every year the U.S. Open Tennis Championships are held in New York City, baby. Every year I think that I should attend. NYC is probably only 5 or 10 minutes from where I live. And I make so much money that ticket prices could not be an option. But I don't make it.

I cannot be sure, but I think that somebody has passed a law of Draconian harshness preventing me from ever leaving New Hampshire. I was not aware of this possibility when I moved here in 1986, but things change.......and never for the better.

Anyway, you are in Paris digging on exquisite tennis. What do you do after the match? Shit, man - you take in every historical and beautiful site that Paris has to offer. Are you fucking kidding me? History with a capitol H.

The Eiffel Tower, The Louvre (I would go fucking crazy in there), Cathedrale Notre-Dame de Paris, The Seine (left bank and right bank, Jesus man - do it right), Arc de Triomphe. And those are just appetizers.

Then there is exquisite French food, (of which I have never tasted), and fabulous restaurants. Put some effort in before you travel - hunker down and learn to speak French beyond a rudimentary kindergarten level. Then the waiters will not be able to shit on you.

The Quarter Finals are scheduled for Tuesday this week. I have to fucking work on Tuesday. The Semi-Finals are scheduled for Friday. I have to fucking work on Friday. 

Thank god the The Finals are scheduled for next Sunday. I don't have to work that day. But I do have to work on Saturday during the day so I will miss whatever action takes place.

Deal is I don't want to miss any of this action. But I have to. I fucking have to. (I could record it but I don't want to. Not the same).

Who the fuck makes these schedules? Who the fuck decided I should be working a menial job at the age of 68? A job that robs me of fun and passion. That sucks the life out of me surer than a vacuum cleaner hose attached to my lung.

Who made this decision? Oh yeah, right - I made this decision. Fucking me. And fuck me.