Man, my body is killing me! Never realized what two and a half hours of tennis could do to this old body of mine. I can barely move my right arm. My right shoulder feels as if Atlas and I had been taking turns lately. And my left buttock -- don't laugh -- seems like protesting every 5 mins or so. And the game didn't even take place today, it was yesterday.

Isn't it nice, getting paid to do what you like?

Nah, I'm not a tennis player. In fact, I was beaten 0-6, 0-6, 0-6, and... 0-6. Was that a record or what, huh? Real life lesson #1: never play tennis against a college kid. Especially when your last game was more than three years ago. Oh, and that kid happens to be one of his college's representatives in some recent competition.

Anyway. What's this about getting paid to do what you like? I've heard this said too many times before. And her heart is breaking in front -- never mind. I dunno, somehow it just doesn't work for me. Getting paid to do what I like, I mean. Because when you -- sorry, when I get paid, I tend not to like what I do anymore. Because then it has become a job. Something that I have to do, as opposed to something that I want to do.

Take these LP -- that's Linkin Park, not LP Cipinang. BTW, interesting how something sounds nicer when more familiar. Try saying Rutan Cipinang and LP Salemba. Or instead of Roberto Carlos, try saying just Carlos. Something just doesn't feel right. So. Take these Linkin Park songs for example. I've spent the last two days trying to memorize the lyrics and what keeps on coming back is only: shut up when I'm talking to you! Shut up! *scratching, screeching* Only because I have to get all these memorized before June 22.

It's all about pressure, my man. That's why athletes like Kobe and Michael are more loved -- and hated -- than guys like, say, 'Sheed. Huh, who? Exactly. Because they handle pressure so well, at times even seemingly thrive on it. A lot of kids can shoot the ball well. But only few can get their own shots off. And even fewer can get 'em off when games are on the line, never mind make 'em.

Speaking of love and hate, the Lakers -- the team that everyone seems to either love or hate, no in-betweens -- are in the finals again. Meaning that I will have to work extra hard so that I could leave early (read: before 8 PM) to catch the repeats. And don't you dare spoiling it. Either that or I could call in sick or something. Although I played that card before, in LA-Minny series, so let's just see what happens. I'll say Lakers in six.

Back to tennis. What's with all these Russian women dominating the French Open? Russian athletes are always beautiful. And now they're good, too? How unfair could life be! Oh, that one above? That's not one of those Russians. That's Miss Universe 2004. And I'm proud to say I picked her right from the start (read: right after they announced the final 5 because that was when I started watching) to win the crown. You know what, I don't think she looks that good in her photos. Weird. Must've been the evening gown.