Phoenix endured the most unbelievable monsoon on Thursday night. I've lived in this city for nearly 20 years, and it was the worst I'd ever seen. People who have lived here far longer have expressed similar sentiments. It started out as simply an incredible electrical storm, with shafts of lightning cutting across the sky almost constantly, and from every direction. This lasted for about two hours, just sort of rumbling in slowly from the south and the east.

Then around 9pm all hell broke loose. It started to rain, and wind accompanied the moisture, with hurricane-force gusts up to 100mph. I was driving around shortly after the worst of the rain, and trees were down everywhere, in parking lots and streets and yards. When I drove home around 11pm, there were trees down on the freeway, and once I got off the freeway, there were trees and debris all over the surface streets. The electricity in the central corridor was out, so there were no streetlights—which was scary, as it was basically a stretch of several miles' worth of intermittently observed 4-way stops.

I made it home to find that luckily, the electricity to my block had already been restored. I cuddled with Simon, who'd had to endure most of the storm by himself, poor guy. I had the television on and suddenly the emergency alert system was activated, warning of more wind and recommending that everyone stay inside and away from windows for the next hour. So I got candles and matches organized as hail and wind pelted the windows, but fortunately the electricity stayed on and I was able to get ready for bed and go to sleep.

The city is still in tatters, though. It's not catastrophic, by any means, but so many trees are down, power lines are down, houses are damaged, my poor friend Tim hasn't had electricity for almost 36 hours in 106º, high humidity weather. It's weird, because I've just never seen a storm this severe.

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In other news, my grandma had surgery earlier this week; she was released from the hospital on Thursday and I've been going over to her place every day after work to help my mom out with her care. (shadow_shimmer, remember when you were having dinner with my family and the sole topic of conversation was hip replacement? Well, it finallly came to pass after like, nearly a year!) She's been taking some pretty powerful narcotic painkillers, and she's just been kind of funny, the way most people get when they're that drugged. She's been coming up with all sorts of bizarre little pieces of advice, including, last night, the following recommendation: "Don't kill your family."

Duly noted, Grandma.

More apropos than ever on this day.



This was the toughest final to get up and watch in all the years I've been watching tennis. I'd been up at over 10,000 feet altitude for most of the day and was physically exhausted when the alarm went off at 1:30am, but I dragged myself out to the television, and it was well worth it. I'm so happy for him.

A mainstream basketball blog has stumbled upon NBA slash.

They reference a bunch of fics, including two of my most cringe-worthy offerings, but what can you do? Kind of surreal reading about my work over there.

Thanks to shadow_shimmer for bringing this to my attention.

I'm watching swimming right now, and they just completed the heats of the men's 400m freestyle. The analysts kept bringing up Thorpe's world and Olympic records, and it just made me really nostalgic, and a bit sad.

I really wish Ian were still swimming. The Olympics don't feel like the Olympics without him there, and even smiley little Rafa can't quite make up for his absence.

I have to admit that I really enjoyed the Cincy final today. I'm no fan of Djokovic whatsoever, and I'm lukewarm on Murray, but they played a great match. The tiniest part of me still wanted Rafa to be in the final, and of course I love Rafa's game, but there was something beautiful about all those flat, crisply-struck balls. It was fun to watch.

Anyway, Rafa will be number 1 in the world on August 18th, and I'm so pleased that I think I could watch anything with a certain amount of happiness today, even Djokovic.

Oh, and I suppose it's worth mentioning that I went to PBR (Professional Bull Riding) on Saturday night. It started out as a joke between a friend and I some months ago, but somehow it became reality and an entire group of us went. I've been to plenty of rodeos over the years, as my dad's side of the family is primarily of the farming/ranching variety, but this was the first time I'd gone to PBR and it was quite the spectacle. There were strobe lights, huge tv screens, a pyrotechnics display, fire-breathing bull heads, and an amazing sountrack to accompany it all. And of course there was the bull riding itself, which was kind of mediocre when compared to the stuff I'd seen at local Colorado rodeos, but there were a couple of great rides and it turned out to be a pretty nice Saturday night, actually. Anything that involves beer, hot dogs, and a pamphlet to order bull semen can't be half-bad, you know?

I'm in my new place. I haven't had anything remotely resembling a normal routine for the past five days, and my condo is a flurry of boxes and it doesn't really feel like home yet, but I'm here :)

And I'm back on the internet! I haven't had internet (except at work) or cable since last Friday. That's quite a long time for me, but it's finally all set up and working properly. I had to switch cable providers, which has been annoying, and the new graphics are ridiculously ugly and I have no idea what channel is what, but I do have the Tennis Channel at long last. It hasn't been very useful yet—so far I've just seen a lot of World Team Tennis and WTA action, but whatever. I'm sure I'll be glad to have it soon enough.

Also, I got a new little baby on Sunday—a 7-week old, charcoal grey kitten I've named Simon. Pictures coming as soon as I figure out which box contains the charger for my camera...

I let myself get entangled in the Fernando Torres content on Youtube earlier, mostly the interviews with the British press. He speaks the language very well, much better than I expected, although the accent and general manner of speaking sort of remind me of an English Manu Ginobili, if such a thing can be imagined. I was a bit disturbed by this turn of events.

His Spanish is so much easier to understand than Rafa's, too. I don't know what part of Spain he's from (my learnings, still in their infancy, have not yet revealed this), but his accent is far more familiar and manageable. He is from Madrid; that explains it. (Thanks inboots!)

I really should just walk away, right now.

We've had so much rain the past few days, it's completely disorienting. I went to the artwalk in Scottsdale on Thursday, and it rained and rained and rained, all evening long. I got soaked walking from gallery to gallery, and there were photographers taking my picture for the local magazines and it just wasn't good, really. But there was an artist on one corner with a cart set up beneath an enormous umbrella, selling buttons with little fragments of text printed on them. They were lovely, and I bought a few.

After the galleries, I had a late dinner with some friends. We were a very international group that night—it was myself, another American, two Germans, a Swiss, and a Spaniard (but not Roger and Rafa, alas). Between the rain, the accents, and the fact that I was taking public transportation for only the second time in the 17 years I've lived in this city, it really didn't feel like I was in Phoenix anymore.

It rained again yesterday, a typically violent summer monsoon. I had to move my car because the street where I had parked it was flooded with nearly a foot of water. All that water evaporated today and the humidity was awful. I've been working in my mom's garage, refinishing a dining room table for my new place, and it's just gross being outside like that. I'm looking forward to completing the project so that I can remain inside during the evenings!

So anyway, I'm still glowing from Rafa's win. I didn't post about it much in the days and weeks leading up to the final; to be honest, I was terrified of jinxing him—I'm fairly superstitious when it comes to sports. It seemed to work, anyhow, and now it's kind of a funny feeling that I'm left with. Between Wimbledon '06 and '07, and the entire history of the Phoenix Suns franchise, I'm accustomed to heartbreak. And now suddenly Rafa's done it, done this thing that—aside from certain things that could happen directly in my own life—I've wanted most in the world, and I don't know what to do! It's a wonderful thing, but very unfamiliar, this sports-related happiness.

(Did anyone else get a funny feeling when they saw Rafa in one of his interviews, arm bandaged with gauze where they drew his blood after the match? Maybe it's just me, but it was a funny feeling and I was a bit unsettled by it.)

Meanwhile, I've found myself reading copious amounts of football (aka soccer) slash over the past couple of weeks. It's odd—I had such disdain for Fernando Torres during the entirety of Euro 2008. I couldn't stand him. And suddenly something changed and now I'm enamored with him and it's just silly, I don't want it—but what can you do? Sometimes it feels like the boy chooses you, and not the other way around.

I'm still a little weepy from it all :)

Congrats to the Celtics, and all Celtics fans. Once my babies were eliminated, I started rooting for Boston. I'm happy to see Pierce, Garnett, and Allen win their rings—well deserved.

I saw that someone posted a Garnett/Pierce/Allen fic on nba_slash earlier tonight. It's about time! I was worried that I was the only one who was contemplating such things ;)

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It is miserably hot here. I went for a run early in the evening, temperature 113º, and it was a bit toasty. Oh, and just for fun, the AC in my car quit working as I was driving home from work. *facepalm* Car, for god's sake...And it isn't even that old—I'm hoping the warranty will cover it.

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I'm so ready to move into my new place, by the way. I'm over this roommate thing—our apartment is a fucking disaster, there's no other way to describe it. The kitchen sink was clogged for most of the day yesterday, so I came home and spent 45 minutes up to my elbows in the most sickening water, working out the blockage. When it finally, mercifully cleared, I cleaned the sink and the surrounding area and ran the dishwasher. My roommate has done nothing, didn't even empty the dishwasher when it was finished, and I'm currently fed up and refusing to clean out of principle. After a day of use, I can't stand looking at the kitchen, and even the living room is overrun with clutter now.

I can't wait until I'm in my own place, and it's just me, and I can keep it exactly as I see fit.

So I saw The Cure last night at the Dodge Theater, and I don't even have the words to describe how affected I am by the entire experience. I suppose it's worth mentioning that for the longest time, I had no idea that The Cure were still together, still touring, still even a viable band. And I still had my doubts when Robert Smith shuffled onto the stage, looking from the neck-down like my overweight, 50-something uncle, in his faded camo pants and ratty button-up shirt. But he had black smudged around his eyes, and red smeared across his lips, and his hair was just...well, if you know The Cure, you know. Then they started playing, and Robert tilted his head just so—and he was a rock star, and I was transported.

It was just everything. The music, the lights. The light show was the best I've ever seen. The combinations of colors, and the shape of the lights...there were at least four or five separate moments, staring at the stage, that I was sure I was gazing at the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. I knew there was no way my camera phone could even remotely document what I was seeing, but I took handfuls of snapshots anyway, needing to capture it somehow. If I can ever figure out how my phone works, I'll post some of the photos.

And then there was the music itself. Lush, and glittering, and Robert's voice was amazing. And Robert. I don't know what to say. In those lights, with that music and that atmosphere, even Robert Smith seemed intermittently attractive from 31 rows back.

Yes, I sought out the slash today. No, I'm not very serious about it. I swear.

I got the condo!

Tomorrow, I have the pleasure of beginning all the paperwork :)

I made an offer on a condo today!

It's exhilarating and utterly terrifying at the same time, though. I feel like I've been having heart palpitations for the last three days.

But I love this place. I'll wait to say more until I find out whether or not they accept my offer, for fear of jinxing myself. Supposed to hear back tomorrow.

/nervous