Apparently all my material is going to come from Andy Roddick interviews from now on, so hopefully he won’t retire from a devastating injury tomorrow. Otherwise, I’d be forced to stop writing, which might be tragic for the 0.6 dedicated readers of this blog.

This time, our quote of the day comes from a journalist interviewing Mr Roddick.

Is this starting to look a little bit like an AARP convention here in the draw with Haas, Ferrero, and Hewitt, all the old guys in there?

Ok, let’s get this straight. I know that athletes in most sports are no longer young by age 30, but isn’t this a bit harsh? Let’s check the numbers quickly.

Juan Carlos Ferrero, born 2 February 1980 (age 29)
Tommy Haas, born 3 April 1978 (age 31)
Lleyton Hewitt, born 24 February 1981 (age 28)
Andy Roddick, born 30 August 1982 (age 26)

Um, yes… they’re all so incredibly ancient, wouldn’t you agree?

Poor Andy Roddick. I guess it’s not his fault, but he just looks so big and dumb to me. But the biggest surprise is that he’s not actually dumb. In fact, I spent several hours the other day chuckling to myself upon reading some of his more infamous quotes. Normally, this is when I would provide evidence of past smart alecky comments from his illustrious career. But today, you are lucky enough to see fresh smart alecky comments to journalists after his wife accused him via Twitter of having an unnatural love for Rick Astley.

Q. So can you talk us through Rick Astley here?

Andy Roddick: What do you want me to say? I said I wasn’t proud, but I’m not going to lie to anybody. I busted my wife on some of her crappy music. She brought up Rick Astley. I can’t deny it. It’s in my iPod. I bet it’s in your iPod, too, so shut up (laughter).

…

Q. How did it come about, this passion for Rick Astley?

AR: Okay, calm down. Just calm down.

[Questions about tennis... *yawn*...]

Q. You said you like going into London for dinner. I hear you enjoy going to The Ivy.

AR: Yeah, I’ve been there before. It’s nice.

Q. Been there this year?

AR: Once, yeah.

…

Q. Any other favorite spots in London that you like?

AR: Wherever Rick Astley is going.

Hehe. Don’t you love mandatory post-match press conferences?

Anyway, I have to admit that I actually had to look up Mr Astley’s name before this post to figure out who exactly he is. Then, I realized that I had heard that one song of his before! In fact, I have a video of Tyson singing this song at karaoke. Too bad Youtube is still blocked from this side of the Great Firewall.

It’s a sad time for tennis. While I know that others are still mourning over Nadal’s decision this season to wear shirts with sleeves, or his recent announcement that he would not be healthy enough to make Wimbledon next week, I’m mourning something else.

You see, this will be Marat Safin’s last season. I know what you’re thinking, “The highly combustible Russian has his moments, but plays erratically. Why should we care?” Yes, he’s a former World No. 1, and a two-time Grand Slam winner, but more importantly, he has a lot of… character, shall we say? His brand of tennis has extremely high entertainment value. I mean, who else on tour is going to pull off the following (from the 2004 French Open, courtesy of the Washington Times) :

And in an inexplicable fit of glee before a packed grandstand at the storied French Open, he dropped his pants.

“It was a great point for me!” Safin explained Friday after a 6-4, 2-6, 6-2, 6-7, 11-9 second-round victory over Felix Mantilla that took two days to complete. “I felt like pulling my pants down. What’s bad about that?”

And earlier this year at the Hopman Cup, Mr Safin “arrived at the event sporting a bandaged right thumb, two black eyes, a blood-filled left eye and a cut near his right eye, all suffered in a fight several weeks earlier in Moscow.” Despite the injuries, he claimed to have won the fight.

See why those temperamental shoes will be hard to fill?

Do you ever find yourself looking into random subjects for no good reason? It’s been happening to me a lot these last few days. As the topic of hurricanes, cyclones, typhoons, and other less glamorous tropical storms came up as we were planning a warm weather getaway, and I started wondering… How exactly do the naming schemes work? That turns out to be a somewhat complicated process involving various different agencies around the world and their rotating list of names. But along the way, I discovered this interesting tidbit, courtesy of Wikipedia.

The practice of giving storms people’s names was introduced by Clement Lindley Wragge, an Anglo-Australian meteorologist at the end of the 19th century. He used female names, the names of politicians who had offended him, and names from history and mythology.

Gordon Dunn and Banner Miller’s 1960 book, Atlantic Hurricanes further enlightens us that

By properly naming a hurricane, the weatherman could publicly describe a politician (who perhaps was not too generous with weather-bureau appropriations) as “causing great distress” or “wandering aimlessly about the Pacific.”

Am I the only person who thinks that this practice is hilarious and should be brought back?

In the meanwhile, I’ve taken it upon myself to discover that there was, once upon a time, a Tropical Storm Amy. Apparently, Amy wasn’t intense and destructive enough to become a full on hurricane, but it could have been worse. As a friend jokes, it could have been “light drizzle Amy.”

As the French Open bids us farewell for the year, everyone’s talking once again about Roger Federer. Once seemingly immortal, but now, only ranked at a lousy 2nd place in the world, my little bear’s namesake has finally won his “missing” Grand Slam (which earns him a bit of spending money to the tune of €5,590,800). That makes it a record-tying Grand Slam number 14 for Mr Federer, and now the hype is everywhere.

Is he, or is he not, the Greatest of All Time? Or, as the NYT Blogs so eloquently asked its readers charlie s angels full throttle dvdrip download raise your voice divx online , “Federer the GOAT?”

I have no insights as to who the GOAT actually is, or whether Greatest of All Time even has any meaning in a sport with such a rich history, but I do have a favorite response to the posed question.

“He’s the best Quentin Tarantino lookalike tennis player. Ever.”

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This is what happens when poor students of finance look over their personal finances at the end of the month…

Her: I think I spend more than 15 excess dollars on any given day
me: that’s ok, you’re happier this way?
Her: until I see my credit card bill
temporary happiness
[plugs numbers into Excel's FV function...]
me: that’s $150,028.48 over twenty years
Her: cialis jual klang

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UGH
that’s enough for my kid to go to college
or me to get an MBA
me: well, that’s assuming 3% interest
if you invested it into the stock market, it could be like -40% interest
Her: that’s more than 100,000 if I stash it under the mattress
me: yeah, but inflation, etc?
Her: drug-induced lupus and requip LOL

Yup, it’s official. A penny saved is a penny earned, it seems. Ugh, isn’t it annoying how right Ben Franklin was?bandits online evil dead ii download free

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After turning in my final paper for the semester this past week, I’ve been in a rather hazy state. Officially done with classes and school, am I really… a master? But the excitement continues as I try frantically to pack the last two years of my life into 3 “borrowed” Home Depot boxes. Just my idea of fun.

On a different note, I finally gave in and started the food blog. You can check it out here, but not too much new stuff yet. Now that all my food and movies have been moved, what am I supposed to write here? Oh my!

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I took a brief trip this weekend to Chicago. The official reason was an interview in the city, but it shouldn’t surprise anyone that what I really did was eat my way through the greater metropolitan area. I keep flirting with the idea of a food blog, but in an effort to not eat any more than I already do, I’ll just show my 1.5 loyal readers here the good stuff.

Thursday: armageddon movie

Afternoon tea service at Russian Tea Time

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I got one of those towers with lots of little finger foods. Prettier to look at than to eat, unfortunately. Not terribly impressive, but still a cute little snack before hitting the CSO. As I was told previously, the Russians aren’t exactly known for their food, although I did like their potato dumplings.

Friday:
Dinner at Avec.
615 W. Randolph St, Chicago, IL

This cute little place serves Mediterranean-inspired new American food. Too hip to take reservations, Avec also doesn’t believe in purely savory or purely sweet concoctions and tends towards dishes that combine elements of both. Hints of citrus and mint found themselves everywhere and I started wondering if the head chef really loved mojitos.

But I really can’t complain. Everything was delicious, and the communal atmosphere made talking to one’s neighbors less awkward, which makes Avec the place to go to get additional recommendations for local foodies! I loved the stuffed Chorizo-stuffed Medjool dates.

Dessert from More Cupcakes.
1 E. Delaware Pl, Chicago, IL

Tons of delicious cupcakes. I liked the white chocolate (vanilla cupcake with buttercream frosting and white chocolate curls on top), but I ate it too quickly to take a picture.

Saturday:

Brunch at Richard Walker’s.
1300 N Roselle Rd, Schaumburg, IL

Known for their massive baked apple pancake, it puts IHOP to shame with its deliciousness. This pancake was about the size of a small pizza and around the same thickness. Filled with apples and covered with cinnamon sugar, it was love at first sight. But what was really unexpected was the excellent service we received. From the moment we walked in, the level of down-to-earth personal attention was incredible, and it never stopped. No wonder it’s such a local breakfast favorite.

Dinner at Emilio’s Sunflower Bistro.
30 S. LaGrange Rd, LaGrange, IL

A classy but cute restaurant in downtown LaGrange reminded me of what Main Street America is supposed to look like. Well, but a little too bourgeois to be truly Main Street. “See, if it weren’t for you, I would be way more blue collar,” T told his elder brother. “I’d be drinking beer and watching ESPN. Not sitting here having a cheese plate and pate.”

But to be fair, our cheese plate was fairly grounded in the Real America. It even included a Parmesan to ensure that there was something familiar. The garnish pairings were quite nice though. I was also happy to see a salad made of leaves other than iceberg. Plus, the cushy couch seating was great.

Dessert at Tru.
676 N. St. Clair St, Chicago, IL

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The trick to trying some of the best restaurants without becoming immediately homeless afterwards is to go for dessert. And so we did. My favorites? The exploding truffles, which release a burst of cold caramel liqueur immediately upon entering the mouth, the apricot jelly, and the mini rootbeer float, which I again consumed so quickly, I forgot to photograph. You’ve got to love a serious restaurant that makes their own lollipops.

Sunday:

Dim sum at Happy Chef
2164 S. Archer Ave #A, Chicago, IL

Your typical dim sum place in the New Chinatown complex. Nothing terribly special that I could find, but a fun place to go with a big party. No photos of food as I was too busy talking with friends and scaring them by ordering internal organs.

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1419 W Taylor, Chicago, IL

Enormous portions seem to be the norm at this Italian restaurant. We dropped by for desserts on a rainy Sunday and were treated to a pleasant surprise as the Kitchen Sink really was about the size of my sink. Don’t try to eat this by yourself unless you plan on visiting the nearby University of Illinois Medical Center for stomach surgery immediately afterwards.

Dinner at Twist: A Tapas Cafe.
3412 N Sheffield Ave, Chicago, IL

After a long day of eating, we decided to eat some more. But since there wasn’t much room remaining, and we wanted to squeeze in as much variety as possible, we thought we’d try a tapas place. This isn’t really the authentic Spanish tapas experience, but its European fusion cuisine in tapas sizing was perfect. I wish there were more restaurants willing to try their hand at small plates. Don’t miss the poached pear in raspberry mascarpone sauce!