Have a ball? Admit it: You’ve watched the U.S. Open—the tennis one, of course, golf is insanely boring!—and wondered what it would be like to be one of those silent cuties who get to chase down all of Roger “I play very amazing” Federer’s loose tennis balls (actually, we haven’t watched the U.S. Open since thinking woman’s sex object Pete Sampras won his 14th Grand Slam title there in 2002, but who’s counting?). Find out today in Flushing, Queens, where the buttoned-up United States Tennis Association is holding P.C.-sounding “ballperson” tryouts for the 2007 Open; prospective candidates will be evaluated on their running, throwing, catching and kissing-up skills. (Re. tennis: We were among the few who saw the Kirsten Dunst romantic comedy Wimbledon, about two aces falling in love, but why have we not seen anything about a tennis star and ballboy/girl hopping into bed? Capulets! Montagues! Hollywood, we’re here for the taking!) Meanwhile, out in terminally smug Park Slope, bored and horny moms go hear authoress Lynn Harris read from her new book, Death by Chick Lit, about a freelance writer living in—shockarooni—Brooklyn who is determined to find out who is killing all the chick-lit authors. We smell HBO series!
[U.S. Open Ballperson tryouts, USTA Billie Jean King National Tennis Center, Flushing, Queens, 3 p.m., 718-760-6200; Death by Chick Lit, Park Slope Community Bookstore, 143 Seventh Avenue, 718-783-3075.]