Olympiatrics
My present finally arrived — I have been having such fun with the Olympics, as the winter Olympics are always my most favorite long awaited gift. I don’t know how I got hooked on them; was it my childhood memories when I sat with my Dad in his Dad chair and me sprawled on the floor as we compared the runs of each downhill skier together? Was it when I watched in my teens as the jumpers went shzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzs
sssssssssssssssssssssssss
WHOOOOOMPP…………………….
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…………..::poonksssshhhhhhhhhh::?
Or was it when Mike and I sat on a chilly rug in a cold garage in front of a telly with bunny ears and rooted for Kristi Yamaguchi and Michelle Kwan and screamed bloody murder when Midori Ito came out of the worst crashes in skating history to land a quad? Probably bit by bit I got addicted, and I never miss it now. If I won a lottery, I probably would be going there in person, wherever there was. But I’d be hard-pressed to pick one sport, what to do… but give me the opportunity, I would like that.
But you know, I’m just looking at my bare toes here on the couch and…. I have great toes. I like them. They’re great toes. I don’t like frostbite much. I wonder if I could keep them in the freezing hours standing there….
I could stay indoors for the skating; AND LET ME JUST SAY: It should have been Johnny “I’m Here, I’m Weir, and … We forgot the rest, but you know because you’re going to be a designer” Weir. I just have to like that guy. How can you not like someone who says he’s tired of Republican fear over what comes out of his mouth in press conferences? How can you not like an Olympic skating competitor who says “…all of a sudden I was causing a stir because I told Phil Hersh he looked thin and I was wearing a chinchilla scarf that someone thought was a boa. First of all, boas are so out. Secondly, I would never wear a boa to a press conference.” Beside his swans-on-acid costume with its red puppet head hand, I like his rhythm, his emotional carry-through, and his sense of continuity and concept. It sucked that he ran out of steam.
The women I’m not much interested in this time; we’ll see who can entice me. They’ll have a hard job. I do not much like the spotlit calculation and jocktalk of Sasha Cohen, and her neither her dance nor technique inspires me. The shape of Emily Hughes is puppy-like, and I crave something more sophisticated. I haven’t seen anyone I like, really. I hope there is a way out. Someone else. I was sorry to see Michelle go, but I knew she wasn’t going to be there, somehow. In one way or another, I knew she was gone. So… I hope for surprise.
But now, sleep, and hope that I can hold out for one more disasterous day in the place that hates me. I have to jump in an altogether different way. And it’s cold out there. Wish me luck.