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OddJack
12-24-2011, 05:21 PM
I've been spending an unbelievably tremendous, shamefully useless, sadly wasteful amount of time talking, arguing, typing, texting etc. about tennis, including injuries, head to heads, best BH, serves, ball bouncing, ball bashing, ball spins, moon balling, bullying, crying, fist pumping, leg pumping,pelvis thrusting, screaming, shrieking, goats, woats, etc...so much, indeed, that everything that I see, or hear, somehow becomes a tennis related word. For example if I am listening to news and it says "chilling weather in Maine" I hear Marin Cilic. Or for "Sara Palin" I hear Sampras and I hear words such as Davydenko, Berdych, Hewitt on the radio and tv all the time none of which related to tennis. Seems like the only purpose of my pc is to talk and argue about tennis on the internet. When I turn it on and before I know it the thread page is loaded. It's as if the cursor moves on its own, goes over a shortcut on my google chrome link bar and clicks on "tt". It appears that I know alot about tennis, even though I have never been a particularly good player. As a matter of fact I am not even the best player among my own group friends, none of which have never had any titles at any level during their lives. There is no motivation in my life and basically, its highlights overlap with ATP calendar page, and it is on hold between the two majors.
But it's not only my mind that's a mess, I am living in a mess. And it's so bad that I have lost the single fork that I had, inside this disorganized, ransacked place I call my apartment.


As a malformed Grey Gardens sort of bachelor, I have only one fork, but, unfortunately, this one fork has gone missing in the strange coral reef that passes for my apartment. And I describe my apartment as a coral reef, as opposed to the ever-thickening nest of a hoarder, because I don’t suffer from hoarding, per se. I am at the mercy of another phenomenon — a kind of metaphysical cousin to hoarding — known as kipple.

The effect has been to turn my smallish Brooklyn apartment, where I’ve lived for 12 years, into some kind of above-sea-level reef where things attach and occasionally break off, but mostly they attach, accrue, accumulate, affix, amass and asphyxiate. And in such a reef, things can easily go missing, like my lone fork. Luckily, being of a somewhat infantile nature, I don’t mind eating with a spoon, of which I have three.

So, what is kipple, and why did it cause me to lose my fork? I learned about kipple from the Philip K. Dick novel “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?” Here is an exchange between a man named J. R. Isidore and a character named Pris Stratton.

This building, except for my apartment, is completely kipple-ized.

“Kipple-ized?” She did not comprehend.

Kipple is useless objects, like junk mail or match folders after you use the last match or gum wrappers. ... When nobody’s around, kipple reproduces itself. For instance, if you go to bed leaving any kipple around your apartment, when you wake up the next morning there’s twice as much of it. It always gets more and more. ...

The entire universe is moving toward a final state of total, absolute kippleization.


Like Dick, I am in firm agreement that everyone in the universe — including those of us on Earth — struggles, in varying degrees, with kipple. Who doesn’t have a medicine cabinet teeming with rusted nostril-hair clippers, congealed unguents and empty bottles of Motrin, or a bedside table drawer frothing with old, forlorn, hastily ripped condom wrappers, bar mitzvah yarmulkes and 13 tangled, airline-issued eye masks?

Actually, that’s my medicine cabinet and bedside table, but I know I’m not alone with this kind of accumulation of idiotic detritus. My problem is that in one’s never-ending battle with this perpetual accumulation of life’s silt, I am France, and kipple is Germany. But why? Why am I so feeble, louche and easily overrun? Why is my apartment the dominant organic life form and not me?

WELL, FIRST OF ALL, I LOVE BOOKS. Anthony Powell once titled one of his novels “Books Do Furnish a Room.” In my case, it’s more like “Books Do Overwhelm a Room.” I have a thousand or more novels and works of nonfiction, but not enough shelves, so I have uneven stacks of tomes everywhere, all teetering in an intoxicated manner. But I don’t care. I’m a middle-aged old fart who steadfastly refuses to ever read on an electronic device, if for no other reason than I’m a frightened, small-minded technophobe. Also, these gadgets are going to change the way novels are written and conceived, and I’m against change when it comes to things I do.

So books are the only form of kipple I’m not opposed to, though adding to the mix all the time, which can be quite guilt-inducing, are the 50 or so bound galleys I’m sent every year to write blurbs for. They’re usually striving first novels or memoirs, each author, with a book, sending out a sympathetic existential flare: I was here! Read me!

But I usually can’t because I’m too busy trying not to go insane, so I simply add these young books to the piles that surround me, like prison bars, penning me in but also keeping me safe from the coming bookless world.

SECOND, I’M PATHOLOGICALLY LAZY. I have a form of attention deficit disorder. I like to pay attention only to things I want to pay attention to, and cleaning my apartment does not fall into that category. Thus, I live like the Unabomber, but without his sense of purpose. I have, of course, made attempts every now and then to straighten up, but I approach it in the same manner as my taxes — something to be done only once a year, while screaming in confused agony like a cat in heat.


As a result, the dirt in my apartment has been around for so long that it’s a kind of carpeting, and I breathe in more dust than a whole classroom of poor asthmatic children. Also, for over a decade I’ve never washed the yellowed Shrouds of Turin that cover my bedroom windows and pass for curtains. They are porous from age and let in so much cirrhotic light that I’m dependent on my knotted eye masks to sleep. When I do wake from my dusty, tormented six to eight hours, I bathe in my tub, which brings to mind that well-known phrase: pond scum.
I do want to emphasize that while I may be filthy, I’m not materialistic. Almost all my furniture was found on the street a dozen years ago. I currently make a nice salary but still live like a feral graduate student. I hardly buy a thing.

So my apartment is not cluttered with possessions. It’s simply the garbage of life and the dirt of life — kipple in all its effluvial manifestations — that I can’t keep up with. But to write this piece, I had something of a minor breakthrough: I shifted the bulk of my kipple into the small child’s room off my bedroom. This has cleared some sightlines and lessened the risk of a spontaneous fire.

THIRD, I’M HALF NUTS. I used to have seasonal affective disorder every February, but now I have it year-round. Most people like to call it depression, but I prefer a more old-fashioned diagnosis — I’m losing my mind.

We all have different internal compasses, and mine, for as long as I can remember, has listed toward sadness and despair, which can make it difficult to get out of bed. My main problem is with death. I don’t like it. I don’t like anything about it, and I don’t want anyone I love — or anyone I don’t love, and that certainly includes dogs, a species I’m very fond of — to die. I’ve been around for nearly five decades, but I still can’t accept the basic premise of life: it ends. Thus my apartment has come to reflect my mind, which is also kippled: I’m mired in the heartbreaks of the past; I’m confused and nuts in the present; and I dread the pain of the future, the coming losses.
So I just sit in my three-and-a-half small rooms, waiting for and fearing death, all the while allowing myself to be buried alive. I seem to have run out of dreams for myself.

LAST, I HAVE SEVERE OEDIPAL ISSUES. A long time ago, my mother chose my father over me, as well she should have, but twisted as I am in a classic Oedipal way, I’ve never gotten over it. At 47 years old, I’m still waiting — since 1982, the year I moved out — for my mother to come clean my room.

What I probably need to do is to fall in love with a Spanish woman so I can call her mamŪ and not feel self-conscious. It would also be helpful if this woman had old-fashioned values, wherein a man is allowed to do nothing in a domestic situation except make a mess and be fed. A high tolerance for self-indulgent melancholia would also be welcome.

But since such a winning combination of selfless and co-dependent traits is very hard to find in a woman (damn you, Dad!), I imagine I’ll be a stunted Grey Gardens bachelor drowning in kipple for years to come. But there is one positive in this mess about a mess: I’ll have plenty of books to help me pass the time. HERE (http://www.nytimes.com/2011/12/22/garden/jonathan-ames-the-mess-im-in.html)...Oh, and plenty of tanking, chocking, goating, ball bashing, moon balling, ball bouncing, ball pushing etc...to talk about.

nikdom
12-24-2011, 05:53 PM
Easy on the drinks there OddJack. Didn't read the nytimes article, but your tennis adaptation idea smells of holiday 'spirit' to me. ;)


Merry Christmas.

beast of mallorca
12-24-2011, 06:10 PM
You're an oddball alright,lol. Merry Christmas Jack. Though we have our spars here and there, all for fun. Don't drink as much, ;-)

MichaelNadal
12-24-2011, 08:28 PM
We all have to be passionate about something. No matter how much I like or dislike certain people on here, at the end of the day im glad to be a long running member of the dysfunctional TTW family. We're all here bc we love some good ol' tennis.

adamX012
12-24-2011, 08:31 PM
OP, hard to read your post... still don't get it.. Maybe, I drank too much tonight at Xmas eve dinner...

slice bh compliment
12-24-2011, 08:33 PM
......
What I probably need to do is to fall in love with a Spanish woman ...

Yeah, nice line. But first you'd have to have a date.
EDIT: sorry mate. That sounded harsh. It wasn't....I was just recalling a somewhat obscure Seinfeld line.

Keep the faith, Jack. Happy Christmas.
God bless.

Big_Dangerous
12-24-2011, 08:45 PM
And I thought I had problems.


:)

dParis
12-24-2011, 08:50 PM
I've been spending an unbelievably tremendous, shamefully useless, sadly wasteful amount of time talking, arguing, typing, texting etc. about tennis, including injuries, head to heads, best BH, serves, ball bouncing, ball bashing, ball spins, moon balling, bullying, crying, fist pumping, leg pumping,pelvis thrusting, screaming, shrieking, goats, woats, etc...so much, indeed, that everything that I see, or hear, somehow becomes a tennis related word. For example if I am listening to news and it says "chilling weather in Maine" I hear Marin Cilic. Or for "Sara Palin" I hear Sampras. But it's not only my mind that's a mess, I am living in a mess. And it's so bad that I have lost the single fork that I had, inside this disorganized, ransacked place I call my apartment.


As a malformed Grey Gardens sort of bachelor, I have only one fork, but, unfortunately, this one fork has gone missing in the strange coral reef that passes for my apartment. And I describe my apartment as a coral reef, as opposed to the ever-thickening nest of a hoarder, because I donít suffer from hoarding, per se. I am at the mercy of another phenomenon ó a kind of metaphysical cousin to hoarding ó known as kipple.

The effect has been to turn my smallish Brooklyn apartment, where Iíve lived for 12 years, into some kind of above-sea-level reef where things attach and occasionally break off, but mostly they attach, accrue, accumulate, affix, amass and asphyxiate. And in such a reef, things can easily go missing, like my lone fork. Luckily, being of a somewhat infantile nature, I donít mind eating with a spoon, of which I have three.

So, what is kipple, and why did it cause me to lose my fork? I learned about kipple from the Philip K. Dick novel ďDo Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?Ē Here is an exchange between a man named J. R. Isidore and a character named Pris Stratton.

This building, except for my apartment, is completely kipple-ized.

ďKipple-ized?Ē She did not comprehend.

Kipple is useless objects, like junk mail or match folders after you use the last match or gum wrappers. ... When nobodyís around, kipple reproduces itself. For instance, if you go to bed leaving any kipple around your apartment, when you wake up the next morning thereís twice as much of it. It always gets more and more. ...

The entire universe is moving toward a final state of total, absolute kippleization.


Like Dick, I am in firm agreement that everyone in the universe ó including those of us on Earth ó struggles, in varying degrees, with kipple. Who doesnít have a medicine cabinet teeming with rusted nostril-hair clippers, congealed unguents and empty bottles of Motrin, or a bedside table drawer frothing with old, forlorn, hastily ripped condom wrappers, bar mitzvah yarmulkes and 13 tangled, airline-issued eye masks?

Actually, thatís my medicine cabinet and bedside table, but I know Iím not alone with this kind of accumulation of idiotic detritus. My problem is that in oneís never-ending battle with this perpetual accumulation of lifeís silt, I am France, and kipple is Germany. But why? Why am I so feeble, louche and easily overrun? Why is my apartment the dominant organic life form and not me?

WELL, FIRST OF ALL, I LOVE BOOKS. Anthony Powell once titled one of his novels ďBooks Do Furnish a Room.Ē In my case, itís more like ďBooks Do Overwhelm a Room.Ē I have a thousand or more novels and works of nonfiction, but not enough shelves, so I have uneven stacks of tomes everywhere, all teetering in an intoxicated manner. But I donít care. Iím a middle-aged old fart who steadfastly refuses to ever read on an electronic device, if for no other reason than Iím a frightened, small-minded technophobe. Also, these gadgets are going to change the way novels are written and conceived, and Iím against change when it comes to things I do.

So books are the only form of kipple Iím not opposed to, though adding to the mix all the time, which can be quite guilt-inducing, are the 50 or so bound galleys Iím sent every year to write blurbs for. Theyíre usually striving first novels or memoirs, each author, with a book, sending out a sympathetic existential flare: I was here! Read me!

But I usually canít because Iím too busy trying not to go insane, so I simply add these young books to the piles that surround me, like prison bars, penning me in but also keeping me safe from the coming bookless world.

SECOND, IíM PATHOLOGICALLY LAZY. I have a form of attention deficit disorder. I like to pay attention only to things I want to pay attention to, and cleaning my apartment does not fall into that category. Thus, I live like the Unabomber, but without his sense of purpose. I have, of course, made attempts every now and then to straighten up, but I approach it in the same manner as my taxes ó something to be done only once a year, while screaming in confused agony like a cat in heat.


As a result, the dirt in my apartment has been around for so long that itís a kind of carpeting, and I breathe in more dust than a whole classroom of poor asthmatic children. Also, for over a decade Iíve never washed the yellowed Shrouds of Turin that cover my bedroom windows and pass for curtains. They are porous from age and let in so much cirrhotic light that Iím dependent on my knotted eye masks to sleep. When I do wake from my dusty, tormented six to eight hours, I bathe in my tub, which brings to mind that well-known phrase: pond scum.
I do want to emphasize that while I may be filthy, Iím not materialistic. Almost all my furniture was found on the street a dozen years ago. I currently make a nice salary but still live like a feral graduate student. I hardly buy a thing.

So my apartment is not cluttered with possessions. Itís simply the garbage of life and the dirt of life ó kipple in all its effluvial manifestations ó that I canít keep up with. But to write this piece, I had something of a minor breakthrough: I shifted the bulk of my kipple into the small childís room off my bedroom. This has cleared some sightlines and lessened the risk of a spontaneous fire.

THIRD, IíM HALF NUTS. I used to have seasonal affective disorder every February, but now I have it year-round. Most people like to call it depression, but I prefer a more old-fashioned diagnosis ó Iím losing my mind.

We all have different internal compasses, and mine, for as long as I can remember, has listed toward sadness and despair, which can make it difficult to get out of bed. My main problem is with death. I donít like it. I donít like anything about it, and I donít want anyone I love ó or anyone I donít love, and that certainly includes dogs, a species Iím very fond of ó to die. Iíve been around for nearly five decades, but I still canít accept the basic premise of life: it ends. Thus my apartment has come to reflect my mind, which is also kippled: Iím mired in the heartbreaks of the past; Iím confused and nuts in the present; and I dread the pain of the future, the coming losses.
So I just sit in my three-and-a-half small rooms, waiting for and fearing death, all the while allowing myself to be buried alive. I seem to have run out of dreams for myself.

LAST, I HAVE SEVERE OEDIPAL ISSUES. A long time ago, my mother chose my father over me, as well she should have, but twisted as I am in a classic Oedipal way, Iíve never gotten over it. At 47 years old, Iím still waiting ó since 1982, the year I moved out ó for my mother to come clean my room.

What I probably need to do is to fall in love with a Spanish woman so I can call her mamŪ and not feel self-conscious. It would also be helpful if this woman had old-fashioned values, wherein a man is allowed to do nothing in a domestic situation except make a mess and be fed. A high tolerance for self-indulgent melancholia would also be welcome.

But since such a winning combination of selfless and co-dependent traits is very hard to find in a woman (damn you, Dad!), I imagine Iíll be a stunted Grey Gardens bachelor drowning in kipple for years to come. But there is one positive in this mess about a mess: Iíll have plenty of books to help me pass the time. HERE (http://www.nytimes.com/2011/12/22/garden/jonathan-ames-the-mess-im-in.html)
Viewed, but not read. (If anyone has the Cliff-notes, feel free to pass them along.)

-dParis

Tammo
12-24-2011, 08:56 PM
Well, go easy and have a Merry Christmas. Don't feel worthless.

SoBad
12-24-2011, 09:00 PM
As a college freshman, I bought a Fan from Walmart, it was large and cheap and you could reverse it so it blows out of the room. I smoked cigarettes and my roommate was a big pothead. I didnít smoke pot, but I liked the smell of it. My motivation behind the Fan purchase was getting the cigarette smoke out of the room. I was disappointed when I realized that there was no easy way to remove the cigarette smoke from the room without removing the pot smoke as well.

sportsfan1
12-24-2011, 09:14 PM
Haha, reminds me of the movie spanglish. And yeah, the pathologically lazy part is true for most of us, that's why there are women to push and nag us to get stuff done.

http://xevilao.files.wordpress.com/2007/02/spanglish.jpg?w=450

Sentinel
12-24-2011, 09:41 PM
I've been spending an unbelievably tremendous, shamefully useless, sadly wasteful amount of time talking, arguing, typing, texting etc. about tennis, including injuries, head to heads, best BH, serves, ball bouncing, ball bashing, ball spins, moon balling, bullying, crying, fist pumping, leg pumping,pelvis thrusting, screaming, shrieking, goats, woats, etc...so much, indeed, that everything that I see, or hear, somehow becomes a tennis related word. For example if I am listening to news and it says "chilling weather in Maine" I hear Marin Cilic. Or for "Sara Palin" I hear Sampras.

The effect has been to turn my smallish Brooklyn apartment, where I’ve lived for 12 years,


Same here. When you mentioned Brooklyn, I heard Brooklyn Decker.

And speaking of Ms Decker, put some pics of her up on your apartment walls, they are supposed to cure Seasonal Affective DIsorder and various other maladies.

OrangePower
12-24-2011, 09:56 PM
I have lost the single fork that I had

My friend, worry not, salvation is at hand.

For a mere $12, Costco will bestow upon you a 360-piece set of elegant plastic cutlery, with no fewer than 180 finely-molded, clear plastic forks (plus 120 spoons and 60 knives).

Stash them in various places around your apartment, and never again will you need to search aimlessly for that last fork! Well, that is until they all get dirty and/or break, but that's a problem for a future day.

Biscuitmcgriddleson
12-24-2011, 10:07 PM
As a college freshman, I bought a Fan from Walmart, it was large and cheap and you could reverse it so it blows out of the room. I smoked cigarettes and my roommate was a big pothead. I didnít smoke pot, but I liked the smell of it. My motivation behind the Fan purchase was getting the cigarette smoke out of the room. I was disappointed when I realized that there was no easy way to remove the cigarette smoke from the room without removing the pot smoke as well.

Sure there is. You just don't smoke the two simultaneously.

tusharlovesrafa
12-24-2011, 10:12 PM
So my apartment is not cluttered with possessions. It’s simply the garbage of life and the dirt of life — kipple in all its effluvial manifestations — that I can’t keep up with. But to write this piece, I had something of a minor breakthrough: I shifted the bulk of my kipple into the small child’s room off my bedroom. This has cleared some sightlines and lessened the risk of a spontaneous fire.

THIRD, I’M HALF NUTS. I used to have seasonal affective disorder every February, but now I have it year-round. Most people like to call it depression, but I prefer a more old-fashioned diagnosis — I’m losing my mind.

We all have different internal compasses, and mine, for as long as I can remember, has listed toward sadness and despair, which can make it difficult to get out of bed. My main problem is with death. I don’t like it. I don’t like anything about it, and I don’t want anyone I love — or anyone I don’t love, and that certainly includes dogs, a species I’m very fond of — to die. I’ve been around for nearly five decades, but I still can’t accept the basic premise of life: it ends. Thus my apartment has come to reflect my mind, which is also kippled: I’m mired in the heartbreaks of the past; I’m confused and nuts in the present; and I dread the pain of the future, the coming losses.
So I just sit in my three-and-a-half small rooms, waiting for and fearing death, all the while allowing myself to be buried alive. I seem to have run out of dreams for myself.

LAST, I HAVE SEVERE OEDIPAL ISSUES. A long time ago, my mother chose my father over me, as well she should have, but twisted as I am in a classic Oedipal way, I’ve never gotten over it. At 47 years old, I’m still waiting — since 1982, the year I moved out — for my mother to come clean my room.

What I probably need to do is to fall in love with a Spanish woman so I can call her mamŪ and not feel self-conscious. It would also be helpful if this woman had old-fashioned values, wherein a man is allowed to do nothing in a domestic situation except make a mess and be fed. A high tolerance for self-indulgent melancholia would also be welcome.

I am 21 yrs old but been through lots of up and down in last 2 years.My life was was great until unless 2 years ago,It was rosy,full of happiness and no problem what so ever.But then came the problem as a monster engulfing me.It was Feb of last year(2010),I was sitting on that damed bench studying for 15 hours daily for 3 months which killed me from inside.I was on the verge of breakdown and I forgot who I was,who I am and who I will be..I forgot myself and then came to mighty explosion in my head pulling me into darkness with no light in sight(that co-incided with my granpa's death whom I loved a lot).It took 6 months to reach out a pshychologist.I was fortunate to live in joint family with 9 people around me.It was slow,painful process to recovery.Evey one loved me a lot which prompted me to fight and fight and fight.There's always a way out,you just need to fish it out.
Now things are looking better for me allthough not same as it used to be before..But I know things will improve even more.
You need to chill out meet memebers of your family more often.Find someone that can love you..And don't get overwhelmed by your books...lol:)

15_ounce
12-25-2011, 01:11 AM
Nice to know you, Jonathan. Merry Christmas.

Rozroz
12-25-2011, 01:39 AM
very brave of you to share. you'll be surprised how many others (myslef included) have similar thoughts and problems (maybe not around HERE, but still..).

that's why i don't really care, or relate, to "healthy" people ;)
boooooooring...

gregor.b
12-25-2011, 01:57 AM
Luckily I managed to get married before I became as singularly obsessive and compulsive as I may have. It was good luck,no more. Do not be sad as you may well be more than most,yet unfortunately more unlucky. Have a merry Christmas but do not despair,there are many out there who are not so removed that they do not understand or feel empathy.
Cheers mate,
Greg.

Timbo's hopeless slice
12-25-2011, 02:30 AM
Nice to know you, Jonathan. Merry Christmas.

+ 10 very impressed characters.

A little in awe, actually. :shock:

gregor.b
12-25-2011, 02:40 AM
+ 10 very impressed characters.

A little in awe, actually. :shock:

Hey, Timbo, are you coming up to the Brisbane International at all ? Young Bernie will be there and I heard a rumour from the co-ordinator there that Patty Rafter will be showing his not so unattractive melon.

slice bh compliment
12-25-2011, 02:43 AM
For dParis: the Cliffies....

It's desperate and brutally honest. His tome is stylishly written, with lots of nice lines in there, like the Unabomber's 'sense of purpose'. Mostly derivative, but he's a smart guy. The post is either a mocky piece of satire or it's a cry for help.

OddJack has got some high-class problems. I suppose the Grey Gardens thing is on the true side.

In many ways, he's a boy who never grew up. Probably felt he was living the dream, too, so it's even more disappointing than a guy who fails to 'launch' (as the parents might say).

I'm not going to psychoanalyze or judge and further (though that's in our nature), but I do think the 'sense of purpose' thing was a cry for help. There is a lot of normalcy and manufactured despair in there. A lot of imbalance and unnecessary self-loathing. Not a lot of direction. It's like he finally discovered that he's human and he hates it. He's believed his own press over the years and he wants to come out of the closet with the level of yutz he is. Aren't we all yutzes in our own ways?

Certainly, he needs love, compassion and a kick in the pants. Sometimes financial trouble or a 'come to Jesus' talk from a brother, cousin, peer or maybe even a girlfriend could go a long way.

Anyway, I wish Jack lots of grace, peace, health and love this Christmas and for a better new year.

Homeboy Hotel
12-25-2011, 03:53 AM
Merry Christmas OddJack, these are for you. (preferably a dose with an extra zero on the end)

http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CmvHPK3Dj-Q/TfCv6puJn-I/AAAAAAAAABA/ow1CtUYaTD0/s1600/Valium10mg.jpg

Hood_Man
12-25-2011, 04:39 AM
Whenever I see someone say WTF on the internet, I now immediately think of World Tour Final.

Or if my posh friend says Basil, I think of Basel and Federer.

Bendex
12-25-2011, 04:43 AM
I was like you, but then I decided to put the same amount of energy into Forex trading forums. Now I'm making money at a rate of 30% per month. I'm only here because of the holiday season.

stringertom
12-25-2011, 08:44 AM
You are not alone, Jack! Eight months ago, my life was thrown into an abrupt chaos by forces beyond my control. All I can do is pray each night that I shall wake up and begin anew my daily fight to live a good life til the moment I again succumb to the need for rest.

I'm not a 12-stepper because I believe the "higher power" resides in each one of us. I drive my own bus and I steer with a clear vision derived from wanting to live that good life til my last breath. Still, there are several thoughts I have derived from AA's creeds. First, taking a personal inventory is a regular habit of mine. Second, the "Serenity Prayer" guides me through my daily travails, although it is an agnostic power that gives me strength, patience and wisdom.

Keep the faith, Jack! Fight the good fight and survive to do it all over again tomorrow. As I said, you're not alone...the world is not a Grey Garden. It is more an onion with, hopefully, an infinite number of layers to strip away til you reach its core.

You have helped make my Christmas much more meaningful and merry. I am forever indebted to you for sharing of yourself!

Sentinel
12-25-2011, 09:12 AM
Whenever I see someone say WTF on the internet, I now immediately think of World Tour Final.

Or if my posh friend says Basil, I think of Basel and Federer.
It would be interesting to start of thread on what non-tennis words we now associate with tennis terms.

As far as i understand, the OP copied some article from NY Times. Only the first few lines were his. I suppose he was implying that his thoughts or feelings are exactly the same as the article.

If you are depressed, and have not found any significant change after therapy, if you are lost, looking for some meaning in life beyond just accomplishments/achievements or material pleasures, if you are of a philosophical bent of mind, you should read a book such as "Power of Presence" (Eckhart Tolle) and practice the instructions till you have insights.

(There is stuff far deeper than Tolle, but he puts it very simply.)

tusharlovesrafa
12-25-2011, 09:31 AM
Damn no one has given a sh-it to the post I wrote on the 1st page..

stringertom
12-25-2011, 09:56 AM
Damn no one has given a sh-it to the post I wrote on the 1st page..

First, I'll be droll...have you heard of the "ignore" function available on TT? It's kinda like a digital tool for "the boy who cried wolf" syndrome. You might be on several of those lists. You're not on mine (I don't have one) as I find your dizzier posts quite humorous.

Second, I'll be serious...your personal story was moving and I feel for you but I think you should post solely to express yourself, not with an expectation to receive attention. Most of us who have scanned the thread probably have a tacit empathy for your situation. It doesn't mean we don't care. As I said to Jack, keep fighting the good fight and survive to battle again tomorrow, no?

Sentinel
12-25-2011, 10:07 AM
Damn no one has given a sh-it to the post I wrote on the 1st page..
Tooshie dear chap,
Even in the darkest hour, The Eagle will always be there for you. He will never forsake you.

Here on TW, your dear friends, Aphex, Gorecki and Senti are always here. Wish you a happy New Year.

stringertom
12-25-2011, 11:05 AM
Tooshie dear chap,
Even in the darkest hour, The Eagle will always be there for you. He will never forsake you.

Here on TW, your dear friends, Aphex, Gorecki and Senti are always here. Wish you a happy New Year.

Flick, flick...that jab of yours is so sharp, Senti! I noticed recently our recovering young lad attempted a post on the Eagle thread but deleted w/o content...???

BTW, thanks for the Tolle tip! May try him out soon on my next trip to the library. My poverty doesn't allow me to be quite the book collector our OP has turned into.

Happy New Year!

Timbo's hopeless slice
12-25-2011, 03:13 PM
duh, double post

Timbo's hopeless slice
12-25-2011, 03:14 PM
Hey, Timbo, are you coming up to the Brisbane International at all ? Young Bernie will be there and I heard a rumour from the co-ordinator there that Patty Rafter will be showing his not so unattractive melon.

I'd love to, but I have committed to a tournament down here instead. I'll be in Brisbane later in the year though, we should have a hit! I reckon we would be a pretty good match up from what you have said.

tusharlovesrafa
12-25-2011, 05:20 PM
First, I'll be droll...have you heard of the "ignore" function available on TT? It's kinda like a digital tool for "the boy who cried wolf" syndrome. You might be on several of those lists. You're not on mine (I don't have one) as I find your dizzier posts quite humorous.

Actually,I don't think I will be on any one's ignore list.I very rarely pass any personal remarks about any one.I was on rafaelnadal fan site from 2007 onwards with with my hidden motive to talk to as many "girls"as possible.I was never a so called 'crazy rafa fan',perhaps I was just too young to be loyal at that time.
I always enjoyed the way federer played.I always used to wonder how can someone be so relaxed and have such a calm demeanour both on and off court,How can someone be so perfect.My threads on fed are motivated by nadalwon2012..lol.I had to cut short your msg as my mobile doesn't allow editing of long text.
HAPPY NEW YEAR.

Nathaniel_Near
12-25-2011, 05:54 PM
Christmas dinner was beyond amazing today, no complaints!

Indeed though, merry Christmas for anybody who is interested in the idiomatic connection.

tennis5
12-25-2011, 06:20 PM
First, let's try not to rip off other people's hard work...

Someone actually wrote this and put a lot of effort into it.

SECOND, GET A LIFE AND WRITE YOUR OWN STUFF.

Credit is due below :

New York Times

December 21, 2011
The Mess I’m In
By JONATHAN AMES

AS a malformed Grey Gardens sort of bachelor, I have only one fork, but, unfortunately, this one fork has gone missing in the strange coral reef that passes for my apartment. And I describe my apartment as a coral reef, as opposed to the ever-thickening nest of a hoarder, because I don’t suffer from hoarding, per se. I am at the mercy of another phenomenon — a kind of metaphysical cousin to hoarding — known as kipple.

The effect has been to turn my smallish Brooklyn apartment, where I’ve lived for 12 years, into some kind of above-sea-level reef where things attach and occasionally break off, but mostly they attach, accrue, accumulate, affix, amass and asphyxiate. And in such a reef, things can easily go missing, like my lone fork. Luckily, being of a somewhat infantile nature, I don’t mind eating with a spoon, of which I have three.

So, what is kipple, and why did it cause me to lose my fork? I learned about kipple from the Philip K. Dick novel “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?” Here is an exchange between a man named J. R. Isidore and a character named Pris Stratton.

This building, except for my apartment, is completely kipple-ized.

“Kipple-ized?” She did not comprehend.

Kipple is useless objects, like junk mail or match folders after you use the last match or gum wrappers. ... When nobody’s around, kipple reproduces itself. For instance, if you go to bed leaving any kipple around your apartment, when you wake up the next morning there’s twice as much of it. It always gets more and more. ...

The entire universe is moving toward a final state of total, absolute kippleization.

Like Dick, I am in firm agreement that everyone in the universe — including those of us on Earth — struggles, in varying degrees, with kipple. Who doesn’t have a medicine cabinet teeming with rusted nostril-hair clippers, congealed unguents and empty bottles of Motrin, or a bedside table drawer frothing with old, forlorn, hastily ripped condom wrappers, bar mitzvah yarmulkes and 13 tangled, airline-issued eye masks?

Actually, that’s my medicine cabinet and bedside table, but I know I’m not alone with this kind of accumulation of idiotic detritus. My problem is that in one’s never-ending battle with this perpetual accumulation of life’s silt, I am France, and kipple is Germany. But why? Why am I so feeble, louche and easily overrun? Why is my apartment the dominant organic life form and not me?

WELL, FIRST OF ALL, I LOVE BOOKS. Anthony Powell once titled one of his novels “Books Do Furnish a Room.” In my case, it’s more like “Books Do Overwhelm a Room.” I have a thousand or more novels and works of nonfiction, but not enough shelves, so I have uneven stacks of tomes everywhere, all teetering in an intoxicated manner. But I don’t care. I’m a middle-aged old fart who steadfastly refuses to ever read on an electronic device, if for no other reason than I’m a frightened, small-minded technophobe. Also, these gadgets are going to change the way novels are written and conceived, and I’m against change when it comes to things I do.

So books are the only form of kipple I’m not opposed to, though adding to the mix all the time, which can be quite guilt-inducing, are the 50 or so bound galleys I’m sent every year to write blurbs for. They’re usually striving first novels or memoirs, each author, with a book, sending out a sympathetic existential flare: I was here! Read me!

But I usually can’t because I’m too busy trying not to go insane, so I simply add these young books to the piles that surround me, like prison bars, penning me in but also keeping me safe from the coming bookless world.

SECOND, I’M PATHOLOGICALLY LAZY. I have a form of attention deficit disorder. I like to pay attention only to things I want to pay attention to, and cleaning my apartment does not fall into that category. Thus, I live like the Unabomber, but without his sense of purpose. I have, of course, made attempts every now and then to straighten up, but I approach it in the same manner as my taxes — something to be done only once a year, while screaming in confused agony like a cat in heat.

As a result, the dirt in my apartment has been around for so long that it’s a kind of carpeting, and I breathe in more dust than a whole classroom of poor asthmatic children. Also, for over a decade I’ve never washed the yellowed Shrouds of Turin that cover my bedroom windows and pass for curtains. They are porous from age and let in so much cirrhotic light that I’m dependent on my knotted eye masks to sleep. When I do wake from my dusty, tormented six to eight hours, I bathe in my tub, which brings to mind that well-known phrase: pond scum.

I do want to emphasize that while I may be filthy, I’m not materialistic. Almost all my furniture was found on the street a dozen years ago. I currently make a nice salary but still live like a feral graduate student. I hardly buy a thing.

So my apartment is not cluttered with possessions. It’s simply the garbage of life and the dirt of life — kipple in all its effluvial manifestations — that I can’t keep up with. But to write this piece, I had something of a minor breakthrough: I shifted the bulk of my kipple into the small child’s room off my bedroom. This has cleared some sightlines and lessened the risk of a spontaneous fire.

THIRD, I’M HALF NUTS. I used to have seasonal affective disorder every February, but now I have it year-round. Most people like to call it depression, but I prefer a more old-fashioned diagnosis — I’m losing my mind.

We all have different internal compasses, and mine, for as long as I can remember, has listed toward sadness and despair, which can make it difficult to get out of bed. My main problem is with death. I don’t like it. I don’t like anything about it, and I don’t want anyone I love — or anyone I don’t love, and that certainly includes dogs, a species I’m very fond of — to die. I’ve been around for nearly five decades, but I still can’t accept the basic premise of life: it ends. Thus my apartment has come to reflect my mind, which is also kippled: I’m mired in the heartbreaks of the past; I’m confused and nuts in the present; and I dread the pain of the future, the coming losses.

So I just sit in my three-and-a-half small rooms, waiting for and fearing death, all the while allowing myself to be buried alive. I seem to have run out of dreams for myself.

LAST, I HAVE SEVERE OEDIPAL ISSUES. A long time ago, my mother chose my father over me, as well she should have, but twisted as I am in a classic Oedipal way, I’ve never gotten over it. At 47 years old, I’m still waiting — since 1982, the year I moved out — for my mother to come clean my room.

What I probably need to do is to fall in love with a Spanish woman so I can call her mamŪ and not feel self-conscious. It would also be helpful if this woman had old-fashioned values, wherein a man is allowed to do nothing in a domestic situation except make a mess and be fed. A high tolerance for self-indulgent melancholia would also be welcome.

But since such a winning combination of selfless and co-dependent traits is very hard to find in a woman (damn you, Dad!), I imagine I’ll be a stunted Grey Gardens bachelor drowning in kipple for years to come. But there is one positive in this mess about a mess: I’ll have plenty of books to help me pass the time.

Jonathan Ames, the novelist and memoirist, is the creator of the HBO comedy “Bored to Death,” which just completed its final season.

Crisstti
12-25-2011, 07:16 PM
I don't think OddJack was trying to rip off anyone, he provided the link, after all.

Great article. I discovered there though that Bored to Death ended :(

I wouldn't worry too much about spending unreasonable amounts of times talking/thinking/watching (about) tennis... at least I myself get obsessed like that about some issue from time to time... it's been tennis now for a few months.

adamX012
12-25-2011, 08:04 PM
Sigh... another attention thread ......

tusharlovesrafa
12-25-2011, 08:07 PM
Tooshie dear chap,
Even in the darkest hour, The Eagle will always be there for you. He will never forsake you.

Here on TW, your dear friends, Aphex, Gorecki and Senti are always here. Wish you a happy New Year.

Thanx,How can I forget viva leu boo boo!!lol...:)

SoBad
12-25-2011, 08:26 PM
Sure there is. You just don't smoke the two simultaneously.

We were never close enough to discuss something like this, let alone work together to coordinate our smoking or room ventilation. Unlike sex or schoolwork, those are issues that are often difficult for freshman roommates to discuss.

klementine
12-25-2011, 08:33 PM
Oddjack,
I remember a little over a year ago... I was in the 'match results' section, watching a match and conversing with some forum members... for some reason.. something I said... made you snap.. and you replied with some pretty nasty words. I didn't think anything of it.... in fact I remember thinking 'some people take this ***** too seriously'... and did not reply.

The buddhists have a saying.... 'the root of all unhappiness is passion'.

Just remember that.... now I would like to translate some choice words for you from Greek to English.... but the meaning would get lost in translation... and you would either get angry at me ... or ... not pay attention. So.....

-Work more with your hands... sweat and create. Fix things... dig.

-Volunteer your free time... children's hospital... food donation centers... Retirement homes.

-Get closer to whatever family or loved ones you have.

-Drink water.. walk... cut out fatty foods.. and get out of New York.

_maxi
12-25-2011, 10:49 PM
I wouldn't worry too much about spending unreasonable amounts of times talking/thinking/watching (about) tennis... at least I myself get obsessed like that about some issue from time to time... it's been tennis now for a few months.
Well, it happens to me too, that exact thing. And it's hard because I talk to people and no one seems to agree with me. I can pass months and years listening to music, and trying to learn an instrument, and then find out that that does not make me happy, and move to something else. I can be obsessed with science, with maths, etc, and then move on to something else. I started with my tennis obsession at the end of 2007, in some Sampras/Federer exhibition, and after that I became interested a lot in tennis. Mostly because it's a beautiful sport, and because is more fair I think, that other sports. In these four years, I had some times where I was fed up of it, and few months after I came back. I've always thought that I needed help from a psycologist, but I never went to one. It's like I'm always trying to fulfill an empty space of my life, that might come from lack of love. I have friends and some girls from time to time, but it's real, infinite love, what I have to bring and I struggle to find the right person. So, in order to forget that pain, I get obsessed with something else. That's my theory and why sometimes I feel that I should worry about my obsessions, because I might be losing my oportunities to find what I would appreciate the most in this life, love.
Well, I think I used this thread to express how I felt.

tennis5
12-25-2011, 11:14 PM
I don't think OddJack was trying to rip off anyone, he provided the link, after all.

Great article. I discovered there though that Bored to Death ended :(

I wouldn't worry too much about spending unreasonable amounts of times talking/thinking/watching (about) tennis... at least I myself get obsessed like that about some issue from time to time... it's been tennis now for a few months.

No, he did not provide the link.

Nor did he mention that someone else wrote it.

It is not right or legal to pass off someone else's work as your own.

MariaRafael
12-25-2011, 11:25 PM
Yes, he did. Click on the word HERE in the last but one line, and you'll get the text, though you'll never get the sense of humour I am afraid.

slice bh compliment
12-26-2011, 03:37 AM
..... now I would like to translate some choice words for you from Greek to English.... but the meaning would get lost in translation... and you would either get angry at me ... or ... not pay attention. ....

I love these. Please give us the Greek expression. Just direct it at me. Efharisto!

Sentinel
12-26-2011, 05:57 AM
Flick, flick...that jab of yours is so sharp, Senti! I noticed recently our recovering young lad attempted a post on the Eagle thread but deleted w/o content...???

BTW, thanks for the Tolle tip! May try him out soon on my next trip to the library. My poverty doesn't allow me to be quite the book collector our OP has turned into.

Happy New Year!
Yeah, all that Lindt 99% is burning holes in our pocket :(
Some of Tolle's books are there on youtube, but not POP. I noticed that deleted post, too.

Sentinel
12-26-2011, 05:59 AM
-Work more with your hands... sweat and create. Fix things... dig.

-Volunteer your free time... children's hospital... food donation centers... Retirement homes.

-Get closer to whatever family or loved ones you have.

-Drink water.. walk... cut out fatty foods.. and get out of New York.
I couldn't recommend these more. Especially the one of volunteering free time.

Never cared for New York either, lol. I loved LI, though.

klementine
12-26-2011, 07:50 AM
I love these. Please give us the Greek expression. Just direct it at me. Efharisto!

Ok..... nata..

Ti malakies lei o an8rwpos, uparxoun an8rwpoi sto kosmo pou pinane k autos klei yia zaxlamares!

Yia 'fto oloi oi andres sthn ellada pane strato... na ton valoume panw ston evro? sta sinora na kanei skopia me miden pente... k meta na varaei prosoxh 6 h wra to proi.

Ade apo 'dw... vare8ika autes ths malakies. Ti allo 8es ap'th zwi? Douliea.. Faei.. mia guneka.. k ena tsipouro to vradu.

Malakies!

Dilettante
12-26-2011, 09:07 AM
What I probably need to do is to fall in love with a Spanish woman so I can call her mamŪ and not feel self-conscious.

No one call women "mami" in Spain.

Well, maybe some little kids tell that to their mothers.

Unless by "Spanish" you mean someone who speaks Spanish wherever the country of origin, in that case I guess you are an English guy. So how's the Queen?

slice bh compliment
12-26-2011, 09:09 AM
Yeah, I caught that, too. He must mean Latin America.

decades
12-26-2011, 09:11 AM
let this be a lesson to everyone who argues with complete strangers on the Internet.

stringertom
12-26-2011, 10:00 AM
Yeah, all that Lindt 99% is burning holes in our pocket :(
Some of Tolle's books are there on youtube, but not POP. I noticed that deleted post, too.

No, I'm still on the 90% variety bcoz the WallyMart sells it a full dollar cheaper than my other dealers. $2.23 of my fix lasts a week during non-tennis weeks, a little to pay for striking into the SMCvein.

Timbo's hopeless slice
12-26-2011, 06:58 PM
No, he did not provide the link.

Nor did he mention that someone else wrote it.

It is not right or legal to pass off someone else's work as your own.

Yes he did. You never thought that Jonathon is often shortened to "Jack", at all, did you?

You are either a troll or you are truly thick...:shock:

NLBwell
12-26-2011, 08:52 PM
Why your room gets messier until you die:

According to the second law [of Thermodynamics], the entropy [randomness] of any isolated system, such as the entire universe, never decreases. If the entropy of the universe has a maximum upper bound then when this bound is reached the universe has no thermodynamic free energy to sustain motion or life, that is, the heat death is reached.

adamX012
12-31-2011, 01:32 PM
As a college freshman, I bought a Fan from Walmart, it was large and cheap and you could reverse it so it blows out of the room. I smoked cigarettes and my roommate was a big pothead. I didnít smoke pot, but I liked the smell of it. My motivation behind the Fan purchase was getting the cigarette smoke out of the room. I was disappointed when I realized that there was no easy way to remove the cigarette smoke from the room without removing the pot smoke as well.

Sigh.... Geez... You are just a college freshman? My suggest to you is to move out of the apt ASAP. It's not a joke at all. No wonder you sound violence sometimes. Spend more time with your college friends who go to the church often. Best wishes...

tenniselbow1
12-31-2011, 01:54 PM
Take an extended trip abroad for 2-4 weeks, possibly more. Maybe go see a slam in Europe in the summer, if not south America or Asia where there is so much to absorb through just your eyes. Basically get out of your comfort zone. Volunteering abroad? Thanks for sharing, wish you a happy New Year.