• Two drunks at the city courts who had been "playing" engaged in a titanic shouting match next to our court while we tried to play. The shouting lasted way too long and was way too loud. I added to the noise by screaming at them to shut up or go argue on the highway. The so-called managers of the courts finally asked the two Einsteins to leave.
• Some tennis "instructor" at the city courts next to us came over to our side and picked up our loose balls on the ground and started inspecting them about four feet behind Phuong while we played a match. I guess he was looking for errant balls his "student" had hit. I asked him what's up, and he said "You have six balls." So what? Anyway, we had seven balls so the White Monkey got pissed and told him off, politely of course, pointing out he didn't have any balls.
• At the court where the police offices and barracks are located, some cop who's a good player started flirting hard with Phuong during our match. And they're yakking back and forth about shoes, lessons, etc., while I'm about to serve. Guess what? I got pissed and told her to go talk with the a-hole or play.
• A little kid who was riding on the trash truck that came through the cop court parking lot got off the truck, stood by fence and shouted at me as I was about to serve. The third time this happened, I left the court and walked toward him. He did what most punks here and everywhere else do. He ran away and tried to hide behind the trash truck, where his father probably worked. The cops came running out and surrounded me like I was the criminal, which I was in their eyes.
• Some clown at the city courts cut across our court twice during our match. I tried to confront him, but Phuong says he can't hear. I'm not good enough to hit him in the ear with a ball, but I won't miss when I put racket up his butt the next time it happens. Actually, this guy does a lot of weird staring at us ... I'm thinking there's something not quite right with him.
• A teen working for the so-called managers started sweeping the area around our court with a big broom while were finishing a match -- 5-4, 40-30, or something like that. I stopped, put my hands on my hips and glared at the loser working for the other losers. He asked Phuong: "What's wrong with your husband? Why's he angry at me? I'm just doing my job?" This cleaning occurred 15 minutes before our time on the court was up.
Phuong and I were talking about all these shenanigans while we shared a beer the other night, and we just started laughing and couldn't stop. We started making up our own interruptions and the laughing continued. The only reason this stuff ticks me off is that we have to pay for court time, and the locals are real sticklers about money. We waste enough money when Joanna runs onto the court, about 12 times a session. I can become a stickler too if they want to play the money game. Like my sage friend Andy says, "I'm on a fixed income."
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Speaking of laughter, Joanna started giggling about something last week and it became infectious. I started giggling, too, and then she started belly laughing, and I couldn't help myself and belly-laughed as well. It took us a while to get ourselves under control. I start laughing now when I think about the whole thing, and I can't remember what happened to get it all started. I'm an old fart, but having a child like Joanna keeps me young at heart, for sure.
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Despite my fixed income, I've been buying lots of music as background for walking, tai chi, and reading. Some recent purchases: The Stone Roses, Atlas Sound, Lotus Plaza, Deerhunter, Drake, Youth Lagoon, Working for a Nuclear Free City. I certainly enjoy these artists, but I don't recommend any of it. Much of it is melodic and moody pop/rock, which suits my needs.
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