Tuesday, October 5, 2010

If memory serves, this week is around the time when Sir Richard Branson blasts off to infinity and beyond and meanwhile, here on planet Earth, Charlotte region, I ordered salt and vinegar chips for lunch today. You’ve got to mix it up sometimes, obviously, and to get even more unhinged, I’m typing at you earlier tonight because I figured–hey!–let’s try logging into WordPress well before 12:45 AM for once.

The march continues, with dozens of games under my belt, basic faculties in full swing, and the spirit of invention live and firing. I noticed today that a good rally is really just a good conversation, where the best possible outcome is the discovery of new avenues, new ideas, which in this case meant a brand new drop shot and a reliable backhand smash. Those are more like conversation stoppers, I suppose, but I’ll take them. The focus now is simple. I’ve got to press the game–find that fire in the belly and seize the offense when it’s smart to do so.

A few days ago, I found myself pricing out new equipment. The paddle I’m using is more than a decade old, and both faces have lost their grip. I considered replacing the rubber myself, but this would’ve required purchasing special glue, a cutting board, knife, foam, and, naturally, the rubber itself. The whole conflagration struck me as a hospital visit just waiting to happen, until good sense returned and I emptied the shopping cart. I still have a ways to go before I’m truly limited by this paddle, after all, and I’d rather be at the point where the public at large judges that I need to upgrade, instead of jumping the gun and overbuying like a toolbox. The final bill was exorbitant, too, especially for shit that’s basically derived from trees. How can a small length of wood and rubber come at such great cost? That’s what she said.