Now that she's an international recording star and kind of a ho as well, does this mean I have to start referring to her as "Xtina"? No? Too old? Yeah, that's what I thought.

Curtain. End of Act I.

Fuck, am I bored.

Courtside, Andrew voices over where sequiturs fear to dwell: "I was lucky enough to meet Tracey Austin." And don't worry, y'all. By the time you read these words, I will have looked her name up and I'll know exactly who she is. But at this moment, I don't have the vaguest clue. And neither do you, all people who are not Tracey Austin and members of the immediate Austin family. Maybe she's a tennis player. I don't see any reason why she wouldn't be. But even if you're her best friend or her mahjongg partner or Martina Navratilova or something, you've got to admit it's a far cry down from Shaq. She and Andrew meet and shake hands (the power of two future Center Squares meeting like this for the first time leaves me weak-kneed, as being in the presence of fame always seems to do), Andrew losing in straight sets to his fierce competitor of "crappy metaphor" when he adds, "I was also looking for Tracey to be on my team." Christina, Tina, and Liz walk onto the court then, Christina telling us that they were "smokin'." And, tennis montage. Liz swings just exactly like she Moroccan belly-dances (I don't judge it; I just write it), Tina kicks some ass, and Christina wins "most improved," in a way that leads Andrew to note, "I recognize her potential." Thanks, coach. I'm sure she'll quit her day job. What'd you say, Andrew? Oh. "Day job." It's an expression for people who have to go to work to make a living. What'd you say, Andrew? Oh. "Work." This is something the Puritans invented a very, very, very long time ago, which...