The New York Times called yesterday’s final at Wimbledon and “epic battle” and “one of the greatest tennis matches ever played…” I feel like I missed out on something really important but, I apologize Mr. Nadal, I just don’t care about tennis at all. To me, it’s no different than watching two people play Pong on an old Atari. I’m sure there’s more to it than that but it eludes me. I use to date a girl who played a lot of tennis and she tried to explain the scoring system to me on three separate occasions. My eyes glazed over each time and it never sunk in. When I put a wall up, I make a commitment to my detachment.

Speaking of detachment…

I am the world’s worst babysitter. I was simultaneously babysitting 2-Year Old Daughter and creating a set of back-up system disks for the new HP. I forgot about the babysitting part and snapped out of it just in time to see that she had colored her hands a deep blue with a marker and was about to color the new carpet in the office. I used my ninja like speed and snatched it out of her hand, causing her to let out a shriek, and then a screech, which was quickly followed by a wail.

Babysitting a 2-year old is an acquired skill that I haven’t quite mastered yet. And don’t let Mrs. Wife—in fact, let’s expand on that—don’t let ANY wife catch you categorizing time spent with your 2-year old as babysitting. Their eyes roll up into their heads, they start to vibrate and their hands clinch and unclench in quick bursts. It’s not babysitting if it’s your own child. They insist on that distinction.

Sorry, ladies, but if it looks like babysitting and feels like babysitting then it is, in fact, babysitting.

Former North Carolina senator Jesse Helms just passed away. Have a nice time in hell, Senator. Tell Jerry Falwell I said hello.

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Back in March, I saw Ian McShane play Max, a rage-filled father, in Harold Pinter’s The Homecoming. Yesterday, I took 6-Year Old Daughter to see Kung Fu Panda. In it, Mr. McShane plays Tai Lung, a rage-filled snow leopard who was abandoned by his father. Wheels within wheels. Mr. McShane is gettin’ paid and bravo for him, I say. The movie was surprisingly satisfying. Those kids’ movies have a way of sneaking up on you.

It is necessary to cultivate some discipline of mind, for an undisciplined mind always finds excuses to act selfishly and thoughtlessly. When the mind is undisciplined, the body is also undisciplined, and so is speech and action.

-Anguttara Nikaya

Every 6-8 weeks I change my routine at the gym. It’s important to work different areas of your body and it also helps to combat the excruciating boredom that is inherent in exercising. I design my workouts so that I put forth the absolute minimal amount of effort. I barely break a sweat. I just want to be healthy and eat an occasional Hostess Ho-Ho without penalty. I’ve never cared much about body building or any of that crap.

The unfortunate byproduct of a new routine is a whole new set of aches and pains. The remedy for that is a massage from the delightful Kelly. It use to be the delightful Jenna, but she unceremoniously dumped me a few months ago. Kelly isn’t quite as effective a masseuse as Jenna was, but she makes up for it in cuteness. Think that doesn’t count? Well, then, you don’t understand the psyche of men. Especially married men.

Can you imagine being a masseuse? Lord. You’re locked in a room with someone who, although is in the process of being pampered, spends an hour complaining (especially the men, according to Kelly), it looks exhausting as hell and god forbid you get someone who has hygiene issues. From a client’s standpoint, I have to say that it takes an incredible leap of faith to remove all your clothes for a complete stranger with whom you might or might not have chemistry with. It took me a while to become comfortable doing it, but I’m happy to report that I’ve gotten past my initial hesitation. Yea, right there. That’s where I hurt the most.

Last year I developed a passing interest in Buddhism. I just attended a class on meditation and Buddhist philosophy. It was beautiful! I was raised Catholic and it seems to me that Buddhist philosophy is the antithesis of what I was spoon fed in parochial school. The Catholics pretty much knocked the spirituality right out of me. It all seemed to be a bit dictatorial. They’re obsessed with punishment and guilt. They beat you down in order to build you back up into what they need you to be. I was constantly being told that I was a sinner and wasn’t worthy of God’s love and I have to ask for forgiveness. But I was just a little kid! I had no idea what they were talking about! I stole a Hot Wheels from Topps once. Is that what they meant? And the church is absolutely terrified of sex. Buncha assholes. Scaring me like that.

I don’t pretend to know anything about Buddhism, but there’s a spiritual kindness and peacefulness that’s new to me. Guess what, everybody? All your troubles come from yourself. There’s no devil tempting you. You did it. Fortunately, all the answers come from the same source as the problems: yourself. The only person you should confess to is you. I love that. Christianity shouts: “YOU NEED US. WITHOUT US, YOU’LL BURN IN HELL. Oh, and by the way, GIVE US SOME MONEY!” Buddhism gently whispers in your ear: “You need you. Look within.” I think I might attend another class.