parade inside my city
Three stories about men who don't suck
If you are “very online,” obsessively read the news, use any of the dating apps, are a member of an “Are we dating the same guy?” Facebook group, or are frustrated that this NPR piece isn't getting anywhere near as much attention as it should, it’s easy to think that most men are trash. To counter all that, here are a couple stories about men I recently met. None of whom I want to date. I’m just glad I met them.
The apartment complex office manager
I helped run a “pop up” winter coat distribution several weeks ago at a suburban apartment complex where a lot of refugees have been resettled from places like Afghanistan, Nigeria, and Central America. We didn’t have many “customers,” because the thing had been organized by a volunteer from another outfit, and the building manager (I will call him Joe) didn’t know we were coming. But Joe gave me his contact info and said next time call me first, because I can email everyone, and also let you know what people really need. Joe, himself a refugee from Afghanistan, has only been in the U.S. for 6 or 7 months. His English is better than mine. Turns out he speaks like 6 languages, and I guess had helped the American military over there, maybe with translation. He was telling us he got the call to GTFO one night, and then he and his family got pulled over/detained by the Taliban. Luckily for all of them, he had his wife hide his cell phone under her clothes (the Taliban is reluctant to frisk women). He managed to convince them he was in whatever province looking for medical care for his son, so they let him go. After 7 months in a UAE refugee camp, he and his family finally made it here. Now he’s got a job, his kids are in Maryland public schools, and he’s like “yes let’s do this” when it comes to any opportunity to help other new arrivals. To say he was inspiring and put my trivial problems into perspective is an understatement.
The dudes at East Potomac Tennis Center
A few hours later, I walked into the office of the East Potomac Tennis Center, a place I’d never been before. I said “Hi, I called yesterday and reserved one of those machines that fires the tennis balls at you.” All three dudes working there bust out laughing. “Fire??” one said. “What you think this is, a shooting range?” Another pointed to the racket handle sticking out of my backpack and said, “That’s not a racket in her bag. What you got, some kind of gun?” I laughed and said “well I don’t know what the ball machine is called.” He said, “We call it a BALL MACHINE,” and the third guy, still laughing, decided they were going to call me “The Assassin.” He started faux chatting me up, asking if I played in leagues and stuff, and when I told him I was just getting back into tennis after a 35-year break, he said, “that must mean you are only 37.” I told him, “OK, you win, you are my favorite.”
The tennis pro at Grand Central Station
On Wednesday, I spent one of the best hours of my life at the Vanderbilt Tennis Club in New York’s Grand Central Station. The photo at the top, that’s two half courts, separated by a net. There are (ahem) ball machines at the end that never run out of balls because there’s some kind of gutter back there, just like at a bowling alley, that sucks up the loose balls and puts them back into rotation. Apparently the station’s main EMT office is on the other side of that wall. Imagine having a high-stress job and having to listen to tennis balls banging against the wall all day. I’d lose my damn mind. Anyway, my instructor, Mel, told me that a professionally ranked player was in New York a couple years ago recovering from some kind of surgery, and her doctors brought her to these courts to see how she moved, so they could make a plan for PT, I guess. She was so taken by the bowling alley style setup that she took photos and got one just like it built for herself when she got home. Mel was fantastic, standing off to the side behind me, giving me feedback about how I was hitting the balls, showing me how to do it better, celebrating with me when I hit the targets on the wall, and telling me “please keep playing, you are good at this and will get better."
Links
If you are in NYC or plan to visit soon, go see this exhibit of paper dresses at the Museum of Arts and Design. Incredible. (Museum site)
And if you are in SF, please go see the Kehinde Wiley exhibit and report back. (Museum site)
Me by Barry McGee. (Instagram)
Caity Weaver went on a package trip to Morocco for women to make friends, and I kind of want to do it too. (NYT)
Also want to ride this train from London to Scotland. (Matador Network)
<fanning self> These photos of Kieran Culkin. </fanning> (Esquire)
Some dude is digging up and posting ancient footage of Midwestern hardcore bands. I was at this show in 1997. God bless earplugs. Wish he had footage of the band I went to see. (YouTube)
Jesse Michaels and Tim Armstrong from Operation Ivy have a new band and a new song and I want to like it, but... Maybe I need to see it live? (Punk News)
Beethoven, but make it funky. Funk Elise! (The Awesomer)
And finally, some stuff I saved on TikTok: Me in the morning. Dating a white girl (wait until the end). Me at my bestie's grave. This bear. I suddenly love basketball. A chiropractor making fun of her profession. And Chicago still loves the Perculator, 30 years later.