By the time she was in her early twenties, Maya Angelou had been a creole cook, a streetcar conductor, a cocktail waitress, a dancer, a madam, and an unwed mother. The following decades saw her emerge as a successful singer, actress, and playwright, an editor for an English-language magazine in Egypt, a lecturer and civil rights activist, and a popular author of five collections of poetry and five autobiographies. In 1993 Angelou gave a moving reading of her poem "On the Pulse of Morning" at Bill Clinton's presidential inauguration, an occasion that gave her wide recognition.
Angelou is hailed as one of the great voices of contemporary black literature and as a remarkable Renaissance woman. She began producing books after some notable friends, including author James Baldwin, heard Angelou's stories of her childhood spent shuttling between rural, segregated Stamps, Arkansas, where her devout grandmother ran a general store, and St. Louis, Missouri, where her worldly, glamorous mother lived. I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, a chronicle of her life up to age sixteen (and ending with the birth of her son, Guy) was published in 1970 with great critical and commercial success. Although many of the stories in the book are grim, as in the author's revelation that she was raped at age eight by her mother's boyfriend, the volume also recounts the self-awakening of the young Angelou. "Her genius as a writer is her ability to recapture the texture of the way of life in the texture of its idioms, its idiosyncratic vocabulary and especially in its process of image-making," reports Sidonie Ann Smith in Southern Humanities Review. "The imagery holds the reality, giving it immediacy. That [the author] chooses to recreate the past in its own sounds suggests to the reader that she accepts the past and recognizes its beauty and its ugliness, its assets and its liabilities, its strengths and its weaknesses. Here we witness a return to the final acceptance of the past in the return to and full acceptance of its language, the language a symbolic construct of a way of life. Ultimately Maya Angelou's style testifies to her reaffirmation of self-acceptance, [which] she achieves within the pattern of the autobiography.

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The actress has gotten strong notices for a role she created for herself. She also earned executive producer credit for the film, which was No. 2 at the box office last weekend. THE WEEKS before Labor Day at movie theaters tend to be a dumping ground for critical duds. But when it opened Friday, "The House Bunny" won surprisingly strong notices for star Anna Faris. Although reviews of the movie were mixed overall, critics singled out Faris' turn as a bubble-headed Playboy bunny, praising her as a worthy heir to such dizzy dames as Carole Lombard and Judy Holliday. And giving audiences a reason to go back to the movies once more before fall.

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-Maybe it hasnt been echoed before but there really is a huge difference between how the Yankees and Mets go about their business on the field.  In the past, the Yanks were always looked up to as the model franchise doing things the right way and having success on the field making the postseason 13 straight years. It was during last year that we saw the Queens club come apart at the seams in colossal fashion losing the division to the Phillies with key players not performing up to capabilities leading to heavy criticism.
Fast forward a year later and its the Mets who are now the primary example of what the Yanks used to be not making excuses after a poor first three months along with injuries. Instead, under new manager Jerry Manuel, they have fought back from seven down and are playing a crisp brand of ball continuing to lead the Phils by a game and a half after rallying for five runs with five outs to go in a 7-4 win over the Braves at Shea last night. Carlos Delgado delivered the big hit with a go-ahead two-run double followed by a Damion Easley two-run hit and then a Ramon Castro base knock as they maintained their lead in the NL East.
Even if Jose Reyes celebrations can be a little over the top in the dugout, whens the last time you saw that sort of fire from the Bronx club? One New York ballclub has heart and edge while the other lacks it which once again rared its ugly head last night in a crushing 2-1 loss in Toronto. This time, Joe Girardis Yankees couldnt support Darrell Rasner, who pitched splendidly matching Yankee killer A.J. Burnett, who as usual had the Yankee lineup baffled due to his blazing heater and wicked curve which froze batters all night to the tune of a season high 13 strikeouts. The ex-Marlin also tossed a season best 120 pitches but never looked worn down in winning his 16th thanks to the Jays pushing across a run in the home eighth on a two out Marco Scutaro gift run scoring two-base hit which center fielder Johnny Damon couldnt haul in for the final out letting it go off his glove near the wall allowing the run to come in from first. It was Damons second bugaboo of the night as he also dropped a routine deep fly in the first putting runners in scoring position with one out but Rasner pitched around it.
You have to question why Girardi chose to keep Damon in center that late in a game which was tied an inning prior on Rasners only mistake resulting in an Adam Lind tying blast to right. Especially with Melky Cabrera down with Scranton/Wilkes-Barre. Still, the first-year Yankee skipper had two defensive choices at his disposal in Brett Gardner and Justin Christian but opted not to make a defensive change. It was Hideki Matsuis first game back. He DHd and hit seventh taking the collar in three at bats with a strikeout. Xavier Nady was in left and it forced Damon to center where hes not as fleet of foot since his injury crashing into a wall.
Every move or non-decision Girardi makes in which his team falls short will continue to be magnified here in NYC. He just hasnt had the magic touch. Say what you will about all the injuries to the rotation along with the disappointments of Phil Hughes and Ian Kennedy but he still had enough in his arsenal to do a better job. You just dont get that vibe from this veteran-laden club. The middle of the order continues to fail in big spots with A-Rod and Jason Giambi striking out while leaving Bobby Abreu at second after he ledoff the fourth with his second double of the night. It was the No.3 hitter who back in the first on a hit and run drove a Burnett high outside fastball down the left field line for the Yanks only run. Then with him on second and one out, Alex Rodriguez was frozen on a curve and Giambi was overmatched on a 2-2 heater.
Speaking of which, how in the world does Girardi get away without explaining why he continued to hit that dynamic dud 4-5 when they rarely deliver big hits with runners on base? If theyre both stinking it up in those spots, isnt it time to make a lineup change and perhaps move up Xavier Nady, who has torn the cover off the ball since coming over from the Pirates? Sometimes, you wonder if the bulb will go off in Girardis head. Just amazing.
As for A-Rod getting nailed trying to get the extra base on a perfect defensive play by Lyle Overbay to start the ninth, what can ya do? Initially, I yelled probably just like every other Yankee fan. But really, it was the right play on what was a dunker just over the first basemans head and rolling to the wall before Overbay dove and then in one motion made a perfect throw to get Rodriguez. Chalk it up to just bad luck which sums things up. Not surprisingly, the Yanks went out with a whimper as B.J. Ryan Kd Giambi and then got Nady to harmlessly fly out to right putting them six and a half behind the Red Sox, who got Kevin Youkilis 24th dinger in a 7-2 win over the Orioles extending their lead.
The Twins also won and remained a game behind both Boston and the White Sox. And the Rays won again despite not having certain AL Rookie of the Year Evan Longoria and Carl Crawford rallying for three to get past the Angels for a second straight day. Want to know why? Cause they got plenty of heart.
Sadly, the Yanks have morphed into a bunch of Tinmen. A word I once used to describe Peyton Manning before he stood up and rallied the Colts past the Patriots and then won a Super Bowl MVP. Thats how a once proud franchise rich in history and tradition looks like it will bow out in the final season at the House That Ruth Built. They now trail Tampa by 11. And really, whats the point of even tracking it? Theyre deader than the people who were on The Titanic.
Ya know what also gets me. How a Girardi managed team could be so unclutch despite whats supposed to be a tougher manager. You wouldve thought hed lace into them and theyd snap out of it. But thats never been the case. Apparently, all they had was that strong second half start where they even got within three of the Rays making us believe they could again turn it on and make a 14th straight October. But that was all. Even if you point to Joba Chamberlain on the DL, the Yanks have gotten plenty from retread Sidney Ponson and even Rasner gave them every opportunity to win last night. But again, the offense came up small which has been the broken record all season.
When they write the obituary for this team, it should mention how an offense led by a three-time MVP fizzled and not talk much about a banged up staff which for the most part kept them in games. Whoever wouldve believed it? Not even the biggest Yankee hater.
-Whatever happened to Pudge Rodriguez putting the Yankees over the top?!?!?!?!?!?! They shouldve just kept Kyle Farnsworth. Guess the message never got through that Pudge is done as a productive player now that hes off the juice.
-Ive seen more intensity from Brett Favre in his press conferences with the Jets than the Yankees.
-Considering how shaky their pen remains without closer Billy Wagner, perhaps the Mets should dial up 1986 hero Jesse Orosco.
-It was nice to see the USA gymnastics tandem of Shawn Johnson and all-around champion Nastia Liukin finish 1-2 in the final competition on the balance beam. Both were terrific as usual and for once, the scoring was about right with the 16 year-old Johnson taking home her first ever Olympic gold while Liukin added another silver to an impressive list making it five total medals. Congrats to both!
-Speaking of Liukin, we came across an interesting piece featuring former NFL star corner Deion Sanders swinging by her family house in Texas to follow a day in the life of her Olympic training which included two gym workouts over three hours between four half hour sessions at school. Talk about dedication. Definitely worth the watch.
-Whoever thought it was a novel idea to roast Bob Saget and why? The mans never been funny even if he did star on Full House with Dave Coulier and John Stamos. Its also just a tad weird for them to be cracking jokes about the Olsen twins all these years later. Still, if theyre roasting the guy who hosted Americas Funniest Home Videos and is just very dull, then you know its completely gone to Hell in Hollywood.
-Im not a big NFL preseason guy but that was quite a first half performance by Domenik Hixon the other night in Big Blues 37-34 home win over the Browns. Speaking of which, should Cleveland be concerned when former Heisman candidate Ken Dorsey is outperforming Derek Anderson and Brady Quinn?!?!?!?!?!?! Just saying.
-I have to admit that its still a little odd seeing Roger Federers name as the No.2 seed at the upcoming U.S. Open while Rafa Nadal assumes No.1. And when you see a No.8 next to former 2003 champ Andy Roddick, this isnt quite how you pictured it five years later.
-I like how those quirky NBC announcers stole my Usain Bolt nickname before the 200 M semi-heat. Its my opinion that this time, he could be pushed by defending Olympic champion Shawn Crawford and Churandy Martina in the final. Well just have to anxiously wait and see later today.
-I like Method Man but what the hecks he doing on a SC set for a stupid fantasy football draft discussion? Talk about a wasted segment. Click.
-If you havent caught Little Children, see it.

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Time to re-shuffle the deck. After five years on the web, weve decided to make some changes in BudCollinsTennis.com - in appearance, incorporating new technology, making dialogue between readers and me easier. Rather than a daily who-beat-whom-and-won-what, Ill offer my observations and welcome yours.
Ive been fortunate in being whisked across the globe for decades by this game, and Ill be sharing some of the fascinating experiences and destinations.
Meanwhile, keep on hacking. While your own game may not take you to Wimbledon, its more important than Nadal or Federers because it keeps you moving (in whatever manner) and, for a valuable while, rescues you from the cares of the day.

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Depending on how sleep is defined, there are several people who can claim the record for having gone the longest without sleep:
1. Thai Ngoc, born 1942, claimed in 2006 to have been awake for 33 years or 11,700 nights, according to Vietnamese news organization Thanh Nien. It was said that Ngoc acquired the ability to go without sleep after a bout of fever in 1973, but other reports indicate he stopped sleeping in 1976 with no known trigger. At the time of the Thanh Nien report, Ngoc suffered from no apparent ill effect (other than a minor decline in liver function), was mentally sound and could carry 100 kg of pig feed down a 4 km road,but another report indicates that he was healthy before the sleepless episode but that now he was not feeling well because of the lack of sleep.

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Hungover today. There's a huge cat happily rubbing the side of his face against my knee. Doesn't take much to please him. Takes too much to please me. Too needy. Too greedy. Too much too little too far away. Unattainability. Was that it? Was that it? I can yell. I can scream. I can sit here on this couch listening to faint music coming from a bedroom so damn far away now and hope and my mind plays tricks. And I can feel the tears streaming and I could fucking kick myself. I am disgusted. It's not worth it. None of it. Why do I do this to myself? Why do I follow. Driving driving so damn far. Seeing someone. Seeing people that I love. Leaving so much. I left so much. Didn't do it for you. I DIDN' T DO IT FOR YOU! I yell when I need convincing and you apologized. Something happens. You apologize. You say something. You apologize. Hurt is around the corner. O, apologies. So long ago at this point and I smiled in the glow, I was glowing, and I said "I could never hate you." And I can't. I can't ever ever hate you. And I don't WANT to. So I will be this for now. I will be this lump this pulsing heaving lump that has no control and you read to us while we were watching TV and you put it on mute and I could see it in her eyes, she really wanted to hear what was happening on that screen but I didn't. I sat there rapt as usual and you said those words and it was so damn hard. Fucking waterfall. I shouldn't do this to myself. I shouldn't. It's fiction. It's as fiction as those words. Lies. Someone else's life. I'm attainable now. I'm cemented and I'm not going anywhere and it was so damn awkward. Standing in the kitchen. Leaning against a wall. And she was so thin and her breasts were nicer than mine not that I CARE. Not that I am bothered by it. I'm not really and maybe I should. No. Not my place. Distance distance distance. And those apologies, they flowed like sunshine through my window as I'm sleeping on the porch on a couch that's too small and my feet are hanging over the edge and I'm wearing a sweater because it was cold in the night but now it's not now it's hot so hot and my sweater is sticking to me and other places are sticky too and I need a shower. I need that shower now. I need rain to fall on me. Make me smile. Do you have any idea how happy you make me and people say so often "O, the world is an awfully big place." The logical part of me agrees wholeheartedly, taking the sadness in it's hands and trying to toss it away. No need for this none at all. But the emotional part, the part deep in my stomach where all this hurt and longing and feeling and pulling and dreaming and pining and whining and greed and FUCK and that's all that's all that's all what do you want I'll give you whatever you fucking want walk all over me smash me like I'm nothing nothing nothing under your shoes on a sidewalk in this beautiful city that I'm going to live in and I'm so very excited but I will be in knots forever. Is it worth it? Those things inside me kick my knees out from under me and when I'm warm and full of rum and diet coke they come out. And strangers have to deal with the flow because I fucking can't anymore. I slept in her bed and it was fun everything is fun isn't life fun? Isn't it? Isn't it fun? Well, we had fun and we talked because they are best friends much better friends because it will always be there I know it will never ever go away and I kinda don't want it to but I kinda do too. But we talked until the sun was about to come up and then I dreamed that it wasn't her lying there next to me. Rolling over and there's those eyes staring at me like they used to and there's that arm reaching around me like it used to and skin and breath and words that weren't right and they were telling me I'd better not get fat. I saw my teeth then and they were black and falling out and when I opened my eyes into actuality she was there again. Sleeping. Unmoving. And I felt so alone. And the same fucking thing happened again. And there were kittens again. But this time they were both so beautiful and strange. Like little aliens orange spots on jet black fur and silver eyes that looked like ball bearings. The other had black eyes and a greenish tint to his fur accented with silver and they were gorgeous and both appealing in their own way but obviously they were different obviously they were freaks so who on Earth would want them? I gathered them both up. And the house was falling down. In the night, everything shifted and so many people were here the place was packed and you walked up to hug me and you wouldn't let go you wouldn't let go of me and everyone stared and I didn't know what to do but close my eyes and hold on so tight my fingers were numb. So everyone left. Everyone walked away and we sat on the couch and you put your head in my lap and said you were as big a mess as I was and that was so comforting but I couldn't help but notice that your hair was blond.

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Haha my father keeps singing "But there are no cats in america" to me. Itapos;s this song from a KIDSapos; MOVIE... Geeez

Tmr is 1 Aug 2008. And Iapos;ve achieved one of my biggest goals for summer 2008. That is, to LEARN HOW TO COOK.
I finally stepped into my kitchen and learnt how to turn on the stoveS And I overcame my fear of bubbling oil... Hehe
Been experimenting.. These are the things that Iapos;ve learnt how to cook:
a) Sunny side-up egg (boring, but staple food)
b) Fried rice paradise
c) Pork chops (western)
d) Pork chops (eastern - hainanese)
e) Oyster-sauce vegetables (haha)
f) Quesadillas

Quesadillas sound the most cheem but are the easiest out of all to make Without any compromising of the taste.
The hardest I would say is prolly the hainanese pork chops cos itapos;s a lot of work... Haha but thatapos;s a for-fun dish so I doubt Iapos;ll actually cook it. Cooking is quite easy But think Iapos;ve been having it really good cos my dad oversees the cooking... So basically he does the hard stuff like flip the pork fillets in the bubbling oil heehee... Oh sth funny happened. He was telling me to get the pork chops out onto the plate with the tissue paper and he was like, "Make sure u turn off the flame first or else the tissue paper will catch fire". And then the next batch of pork chops, he took them out, and he put the tissue paper too near the flame and he was like, "OOOH FIREEEE" Haha what a scare.

peter dodds mccormick anthem, propulsion control engineering, propulsion control system, propulsion control systems.

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This weekend was my mom's 60th birthday party. She decided to organize a party for all of her closest friends and family in their garden. I will post some pictures of the party (June 9 or 10th) later on my Picasa site. That of course meant we had to drive from Hamburg back to Breda, the Netherlands. This is a 450 km trip, and for those of you with kids, you know that that requires a significant amount of planning. But as usual my wife Susanne did an excellent job or preparing everything so we could leave in a relaxed way.

Saturdaymorning we decided to start our car travels at 6 in the morning. We woke up at 5 (our daughter threw up due to an light stomach disease) so we were ready to go at 6. From 6-9 everybody slept in the car, which meant I could push the pedal to the metal and get some KMs behind us. Around 9am, everybody was awake, we stopped for a little break. Now normally we'd go into one of these road side restaurants and pay way too much for a shitty breakfast, but this time my wife had prepared a picknick breakfast. So there we were, on the side of the Dutch Autobahn at 9am having a picknick. It was one of those little moments that made me feel extremly proud and happy. Proud of my family and happy with where life is taking me.


You have to enjoy the little things in life, it took me way to long to realize that, but I'm glad I can see and feel it now.

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After the Reichs did a bit of practicing on the famous large putting green and the driving range known to players as Cardiac Hill, it was time to hit the course.

Or was it?

Just as the Reichs were preparing to tee off with the Stricklands, a crowd walked up the 18th fairway watching two young men battle in the quarterfinals of the North South Amateur Championships. The match play tournament is held throughout the summer every year at Pinehurst, and this particular match was a dead heat at the last hole. One of the competitors hit a nice chip shot from the right side of the green and landed next to the hole, then putted for par. This sent the match into sudden death, but more importantly set our tee time back about 20 minutes.

But none the less, we were finally able to hit the course that Ross considered the fairest test of championship golf I ever designed. On this day it would be, as the foursome of vacationers were about to play tournament tough pin placements.

The Reichs and the Stricklands were up for the challenge. Especially thanks to their caddies Jon and Jimmy G.

Jimmy G was an outgoing caddie from Brooklyn, which gave me a little sense of home. He could talk your ear off about anything, whether it was about the course (which he affectionately referred to as ) or a secret drinking society found in the trees of Pinehurst. Jimmy Gs knowledge of the course was impressive, but his command of the greens was phenomenal.

Jimmy G was not the veteran caddie on the course that day. That title belonged to Jon. Jon was the ying to Jimmy Gs yang. Where Jimmy G walked up on the green and immediately told the Reichs where to place the ball, Jon sat back and quietly gave his 53 years of expertise to the Stricklands. The African-American caddie had helped many golf greats including Gary Player, and when asked how many hole-in-ones he had seen, laughed with an answer too many to count.

Whether it was the quiet Jon or the thunderous Jimmy G, both knew how to attack the crowned greens. As Morgan told me days before, Pinehurst No. 2 greens were like a fist covered with grass. They were nice and flat next to the pin, but if you didnt hit that small safe haven, your ball would roll off the green quicker than Michael Phelps in the 100 meter butterfly. It was a fate Mr. Strickland found out on numerous occasions.

The wide open fairways were breathtaking, with trees on both sides and a landing area a jumbo jet could sit on. But it wasnt until the fourth tee when I was able to engulf Pinehursts true beauty. A massive drop from the tee to the fairway on this par-5 really complimented the tree line that surrounded the hole.

The day continued and the players fought through a bit of rain, a few lost shots and an annoying camera man before we came to the final three holes. Three holes that a golf enthusiast will tell you hold some of the most memorable moments in the sports rich history.

First was the 16th, the only hole on the entire course that has a water hazard. The hazard sits right off the tee, so it never comes into play. Well, except once on July 4th, 2008.

This spectacular par-5 is where, according to one random golfer at the beginning of the day, Payne Stewart really won the open in 99. On that fateful day, the hole played as a par-4 and Stewart sunk a 20-foot double-break putt to save par and was the beginning of the end for Mickelson.

Next was the par-3 17th. A hole that was the demise for Tiger Woods in both the Opens played at Pinehurst. In 99, Woods was charging towards the leaders until he bogeyed the second to last whole of the tournament. In 2005, Woods three-putted the hole for bogey and lost to Campbell by two shots.

The hole wasnt as challenging for Mr. Reich. After hitting a tee shot left of the green in the pine needles, he was able to chip a wedge inches from the hole giving him a near gimmie putt for par. It was a putt he made easily. Well played, sir.

As the sun began to set behind the famous clubhouse, the seven of us walked up to the 18th and glanced down at greatness. This was the hole that sent Stewarts caddie jumping into his arms. This is the hole that made Campbell raise his hands in victory when he became only the second New Zealander to win a golf major.

This was the hole we were about to play. What an honor.

After taking a few pictures, the Reichs and Stricklands went down the fairway like they had been playing there for years. Good shot after good shot put the group on the green faster than we wanted to be. And before we knew it, it was over.

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Posted on July 7, 2008
Filed Under WTA | Leave a Comment
Born in Sichuan, the earthquake-ravaged province in China, Zheng Jie is the first Chinese player to reach a Grand Slam semifinal, and the most successful wild card competitor in Wimbledons history.
Zheng Jies first memory of tennis was watching a match between Graf and Seles. Her older sister started playing first, which influenced Jie to take up the game at 10. Zheng Jie graduated from St. Chuan Sports Academy in June 2000 and made her WTA rankings debut in the same year. She turned professional in 2003 and ended the year for the first time in the top 100.
Zheng has won three career WTA singles titles: Hobart 2005, Estoril 2006 and Nordea Nordic Light 2006. She has reached one Grand Slam semifinal (The Championships, Wimbledon, 2008) which is her best performance. In addition, she has won eleven WTA doubles titles, all with Yan Zi, including two Grand Slams: Australian Open, and Wimbledon, both in 2006.
Her height is 164 cm; she weights 57 kg and is a right-handed player. Her favorite shot is backhand. Her favorite color is blue, favorite flowers are roses and favorite cuisine is Chinese.
Singles Career
In May 2002, she won two successive $25,000 ITF singles tournaments, at Shanghai and Tianjin, right after reaching her first $50,000 tournament quarterfinal, at Fukuoka, Japan. That September, she gained direct entry into a WTA tournament at Shanghai, and reached Round Two before losing to Anna Kournikova. She ended the year as World No. 183.
Wimbledon 2006
At Wimbledon, Zheng and Max Mirnyi, seeded two, reached the semifinals of the Mixed Doubles, where they were beaten by Bob Bryan and Venus Williams 7-5, 7-5. She triumphed in womens doubles with Yan Zi over Virginia Ruano Pascual and Paola Suarez 6-3 3-6 6-2, capturing Chinas first Wimbledon title. With her win, she became the first Chinese tennis player to amass over 1 million dollars in career earnings.
Wimbledon 2008
Despite being ranked as low as number 133 in the world, preventing her from directly qualifying for the Wimbledon Ladies singles main draw, Zheng was given a wild card into the main draw, where she defeated seeded Slovakian Dominika Cibulkova in the first round, then Great Britains Elena Baltacha in the second. She then went on to defeat the first seed and World no. 1 Ana Ivanovic in the third round, dominating the match relentlessly and winning 6?1 6?4. This was her first victory against a top 10 player. Zheng beat Agnes Szavay of Hungary, the number 15 seed, 6?3, 6?4 in the fourth round, and defeated number 18 seed Nicole Vaidisova of the Czech Republic 6?2, 5?7, 6?1 in the quarterfinals. This was Zhengs best singles result in a grand slam tournament and made her the first Chinese womens tennis player ever to reach the semi-finals of a grand slam, surpassing the previous record of a quarter-final finish set by her compatriot Li Na at the same event in 2006. She also became the first wild card to reach the semi-finals of the ladies singles at The Championships, Wimbledon. In the semi-finals, Zheng lost to two-time Wimbledon champion and former No. 1, Serena Williams 6-2, 7-6. Zheng could not effectively counter Serenas extremely strong serves, but tended towards having the upper hand in rallies in the second set, and earned a set point on Serenas service at 5-6 30-40 in Zhengs favour, only to strike a risky drop shot into the top of the net following an unexceptional second serve by Serena, thus forfeiting her only chance to level the match.
She will donate her prize money from the tournament to and spend time helping the victims and post-reconstruction effort of the May 12 earthquake that killed nearly 70,000 people and left 5 to 10 million homeless in her home province Sichuan. She did the same with her French Open prize money earlier in the year.
In August 2008, Zheng Jie is expected to compete for China in both singles and doubles in the Beijing Olympics.

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Marat Safin has been as focused at this Slam as I've ever seen him. When he upset Novak Djokovic in the second round, he hardly emoted. He followed up that victory with another over grass court lover Andreas Seppi in the best match of the event so far.

He hardly emoted.

He fought through a rough patch in his next match against a talented opponent in Stanislas Wawrinka to advance to his first Wimbledon quarterfinal in seven years.

He hardly emoted.

Then he played a man he lost to four times out of five, including the last time he played him at Wimbledon. After being down a set and a break, fighting through his first outburst of the event, and taking advantage of a rain delay, he beat Feliciano Lopez and advanced to his first Wimbledon semifinal.

He hardly emoted.

After every match, in every interview, Marat was focused, internal, subdued.

He's playing this event to win it.

And if you think I'm reaching, you ain't been watching. His serve has been supreme. I haven't gathered the stats on aces or break points saved, etc. What I've witnessed, however, is a weapon that hits its targets whenever he needs it to hit its targets most. Every corner of the box and into the body, too. His return has returned to devastating. His backhand down the line is unreachable. His transition game, volleys and improvisational skills, exquisite.

He's playing this event to win it.

He knows how to beat Roger Federer. No, not yet on grass. But Marat hasn't played his best tennis against on grass.

Until this fortnight.

And Raja hasn't yet shown his best tennis. I'm certain he will against Marat, he will have to, because he knows that Marat can beat him. That Marat is playing this event to win it.

If Marat attacks Federer's second serve without relent and uses that deadly backhand down the line to keep Raja running to his right all day long, do not be shocked when Marat moves into his first Wimbledon final.

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I've been working on two pieces for the past few weeks: one a large abstract, which I will post a peek of later, and one an illustration-type watercolor, about far-away places. Neither is finished, however, and I wanted to enter something for the Mixed Media Monday challenge "Places." So here are two pictures of one of my favorite places: our garden. The main reason I love our garden is that it was inspired by the gardens of the grandmothers of Mr. Alberta and me and created entirely by the two of us. We live on twelve acres in the middle of a forest, the most beautiful piece of land we could find on which to build our dream house eleven years ago. If the house was our dream, the garden was even more so. Gardening is the one thing that the very left-brained Mr. Alberta and I have in common. (He's an accountant; I'm an artist. He keeps lists in his head; I can't remember what I'm supposed to do 10 minutes from now. I'm a crybaby; he's stoic. He's an introvert; I'm an ...well, YOU know!) but we both love old-fashioned gardens, thanks to our very southern grandmothers, who grew figs and roses and wisteria and most important of all: tomatoes! The first thing I ever planted was in my grandmother's yard: a watermelon directly under my swing which hung from a branch of a crepe myrtle tree. To tell you the truth, I think I just spit some seeds into the dust there, but Mumu tended them carefully and transplanted the seedlings into her flowerbed. Weeks later my whole family celebrated by eating the one watermelon I produced, which turned out to be one of the rare yellow ones. Well, I was hooked from then on. Mr. Alberta shared a similar childhood experience in his granny's yard, and, since then, I think we have both simply tried to recreate that childhood magic by planting every single thing we could remember our grandmothers growing. I planted roses and hostas and hydrangeas; he planted strawberries and camellias and magnolias. Each year, in the fall, we take a day off from work to garden together. We have iris from his great-grandparents' homeplace and muscadines like the ones on Mumu's arbor. I discovered, at some point during the last 25 years, that, surprisingly, unlike me, Mr. Alberta has TWO well-developed sides of his brain. In addition to his quantitative and organizational skills, he also has a lovely talent for landscape design. After trips we've taken, he's created areas in our yard in different garden styles. We have a secret little Charleston battery bench surrounded by camellias and crepe myrtles and a woodland hellebore garden complete with stone faun and rhododendrons. There are boxwood hedges and a stone wall that echo the ones we saw when we visited the Cotswolds for our 20th anniversary. I think our little heaven overlooking a small pond surrounded by oaks and willows and honeysuckle is the most beautiful place on earth. It's our sanctuary, a place so secluded I can garden in my nightgown, if I want to, and Mr. Alberta can escape the deadlines and pressures of the IRS. Our garden is just about the only common "ground" (pardon the pun) we share, and I think it's probably the biggest reason we'll be celebrating our 25th anniversary next month. We designed it together from sweet memories of sunrises on our grandmothers' sleeping porches and lightening bug twilights in their backyards, from Nehi Grape Colas iced in their birdbaths and Easter Eggs hidden among the buttercups, from surprise lilies that pop up like magic overnight and autumn Saturday morning pecan-picking-up contests. We're an unbeatable combination: he grows the tomatoes, and I won't give him my recipe for spaghetti sauce. He will never leave me.

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now. Watched Made of Honour. I thought it was rather predictable, but then again you tell me which Chick Flick isn't, right? It was a fun movie to watch though.
The scene where Patrick Dempsey's you-know-what was clearly exposed to the world was a complete and utter turn off point. Boo. Now, Andrea and I have completely changed the way we see McDreamy. Out with McDreamy and in with the ever-sexy MsSteamy. Woot.

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I usually am a fan of rainy days. Rain makes me want to cuddle up under my blanket when I should be cramming my head. For just this once, I hope it isn't raining as much. Heh.
So please do keep me in your prayers. First paper is on Friday.
6th June - Management
12th June - Business Statistics
13th June - Microeconomics
17th - Accounting
And to all the other homo-sapiens who are currently having exams, ALL THE BEST.

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cannot figure out why poor Justin is being chastised.

One comment poster at the New York Daily News likened the so-called sanctions (more like a wink and a nudge) to the goings-on of Communist China and the Communist U.S.S.R. against its enemies. Another poster even thought it was disgraceful that the virtue of "honesty" was being destroyed. That one is at least original--almost all of Gimelstob's other defenders insist he did not mean any of what he said.

One woman commented on a blog that she can no longer call herself a feminist (oh, dear) if this is the kind of thing with which feminism concerns itself.

Here are some things to think about for those (including fake feminists) who have obviously never in their lives thought about them before:

"Trash talk" is not harmless; it normalizes hate speech and teaches children that hate speech is acceptable.

Gimelstob, in his original "apology," edited by Tennis Channel, World Team Tennis, etc., made it clear that what he said about Kournikova was not trash talk, anyway--that he really does hate her.

If Gimelstob hates Kournikova, it may be classless for him to talk about it on the radio or it may be exciting, but he could have discussed her personality and failings as a human without hurling a gender insult at her, and without creating a sexually violent metaphor with which to attack her. When you attack a person's gender, race, ethnic origin, sexual orientation, etc., you are attacking everyone of that gender, race, etc. You are also a bigot. When you display your violent sexual fantasies in public, you are kind of scary.

If you despise someone or have no respect for her, you can find plenty of things to say about her character, her personality, her associations, her history. But no matter how much you hate her, it is still inappropriate to attack her gender.

Pointing out your opinions about WTA players' bodies on a radio program is both sexist and crass.

Suggesting that you consider a woman so much trash but you would receive pleasure from having your brother have sex with her is both sexist and sick. It also implies a strong adherence to the ridiculous sexual double standard (what a surprise), and it reeks of misogyny.

When you have been making sexist comments for years, neither you nor your apologists should be surprised that many women and men finally insist that you stop.

A public figure does not represent only himself, but every organization with which he is involved or who pays him. In Gimelstob's case, that would include Tennis Channel, World Team Tennis, Tennis Warehouse, Wilson, and other entitites. World Team Tennis was founded by Billie Jean King, for god's sake, who risked her entire career to bring about some semblance of gender equality in sports. To be part of the orgainzation she founded and say humiliating things about women is beyond cheeky.

"Jokes" about gender, race, sexual orientation, etc., are usually clumsily masked expressions of hostility.

Taking one small quotation and saying "oh come on, it's not such a big deal," while ignoring the other dozen things Gimelstob said (not to mention years' worth of demeaning comments about women not only about Kournikova, but about other members of the tour--is neither rational nor honest.

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On 25th June 1678, the University of Padua conferred the first ever doctorate on a woman: Lady Elena Lucrezia Cornaro-Piscopia. She was born in the Palazzo Loredano, Venice, on 5th June 1646 to John Baptist Cornaro-Piscopia, Procurator of San Marco, and his wife Zanetta Giovanna Boni. At the age of seven Elena began her studies under the mentorship of the Aristotelian John Baptist Fabris. Fabris persuaded Elena's father to do all he could to further his daughter's education. Having the money and influence to do so he recruited Professor Alexander Anderson of Padua, Professor Luigi Gradenigo - the librarian at San Marco, and other tutors to school Lady Elena in a variety of disciplines. She became fluent in at least seven languages, including ancient greek and latin, and because of this became known as Oraculum Septilingue. She also studied mathematics, astronomy, philosophy and theology - the latter two being her favourites.

In 1672 Lady Elena's father sent her to the University of Padua to complete her studies. Initially she had no intention of attaining academic qualifications, rather she simply wanted to continue learning. Nevertheless, because of her father's insistence and in spite of the resistance of some academics and churchmen, who would not permit a woman to become a Doctor of Theology, she was eventually allowed to prepare for the examination for Doctor of Philosophy with Professor Carlo Rinaldini as her tutor.

Six years later, the Cathedral in Padua hosted the public ceremony in which Lady Elena received the doctoral insignia: the laurel wreath placed on the head; the ring on the finger; and the ermine cape over her shoulders. In attendence were the professors of the University of Padua, invited academics from the Universities of Bologna, Ferrara, Perugia, Rome, and Naples, as well as other notable scholars and many of Venetian politicians.

Elena turned her back on the life of privilege and devoted herself to charitable works, becoming a Benedictine oblate. On 26th July 1684, eight years after receiving the doctorate, and at only thirty-eight years of age, Lady Elena Lucrezia Cornaro-Piscopia died of what is believed to have been tuberculosis. The whole city of Padua mourned the loss of this remarkable woman who continues to be remembered: a year after her passing the University of Padua struck a special medal in her honour; a statue of her still stands outside the University; and further afield, Vassar College, New York, has a stained glass window that depicts her presenting her thesis on that day Cathedral of Padua when she became the first woman to receive a doctorate.

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Gaye's rocky marriage to Anna Gordy end after fourteen years as the Seventies came to a close. Reeling from the divorce settlement Gaye filed for bankruptcy. He married his second wife Janice in 1977 and had a #1 hit, "Got to Give It Up, Part 1." They had two children Nona, who became a recording artist and Frankie.
I.R.S. pressures forced Gaye to move to Europe to record his 1981 release, In Our Lifetimes, which concentrated on his philosophies of love, art, and death. In 1982 he left Motown for Columbia. His first Columbia album Midnight Love sold two million copies and included Sexual Healing" which won a Grammy for Best RB Vocal Performance, Male. He sang live at the Grammy broadcast and in 1983, in concert at the Radio City Music Hall. Also in 1983, he appeared in one of the more memorable segments of the Motown 25th anniversary television special.
Despite his success, Gaye was depressed and was abusing cocaine. He moved back to the U.S. and into his parents home. where he often quarreled with is father who he had been at odds with since his teenage years. In early 1984, Gaye reportedly threatened suicide several times before his father shot him following a Sunday morning shouting match April 1, 1984. After his death Columbia and Motown collaborated to produce Dream of a Lifetime and Romantically Yours, both based on unfinished recordings from the Sexual Healing sessions. In 1992, his daughter Nona launched her own recording career on Third Stone Records. Motown issued a tribute album to Marvin Gaye in 1995.

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