Little chocolate donuts have been on my training table since I was a kid.
Olympic rundown, part one of however many I get around to:
--As thrilling as the opening ceremonies were, there was also this unshakeable undercurrent of discomfiture because of the wondering how, exactly, you get that many people to DO those things so very perfectly. It’s just weird when you suspect that your own entertainment has come at the expense of a certain amount of arm-twisting (literal or figurative) …
--Why does Costas look like he’s made of wax, and what’s with the Sears suits and Just for Men hair dye?
--That one Chinese gymnast? Yeah, she’s sixteen like I’m sixteen.
--Coolest thing about synchro diving? Hearing what they say to each other before they dive. The Chinese chick just said two words, then they jumped; the Germans had a little routine; the Americans went “Ready?” “Yeah.” “One. Two. Three.”
--Speaking of which: technology has seriously enhanced my Olympics viewing – from the gigantic fiddy-inch HD plasma teevee on our wall, to the underwater and starting-block cams in the swimming pool to the sheer volume of programming – this is great stuff.
--If you row crew, you probably went to an Ivy.
--Trap shooting is kewl.
--We couldn’t help ourselves with the constant comments in re: the Chinese, such as when one gymnast stepped out after a tumbling run: “Ohh, that’s gonna cost her family that car they were slated to get next year. So sorry, but the people are displeased with her performance.”
--Our crackerjack PackageWatch 2008 Team reports multiple hilarious sightings in the brief (heh) bit of men’s gymnastics we watched at normal speed (instead of zipping past like we did with the rest of it). “His package just brushed the … apparatus,” grimaced our ace reporter. “Heh, the apparatus,” giggled our other ace reporter. “They’re mounting the apparatus,” continued our ace reporter. “But did he stick it? The landing, I mean,” replied our other ace reporter. (Commentary degenerated further from this point, in a manner not fit for a Family Blog such as this one. We have our standards, people.)
--Phelps is a giant happy Labrador puppy. I like that. But not as much nor in the same way as does my friend Indira, who during the last Olympics, dwelt at some length on her desire to devirginize young Phelps. No word on whether she attained her goal, then or since then, but I would guess that though the candidates are many, the Big Event may still yet be in the offing for young Phelps.
--Odd that it took seeing a black guy in the water to realize how very very white swimming is.
--Il Douche is apparently attending these Olympic Games. Mr. Gleemonex and I had some very harsh words for him as we sped past his ugly visage on the teevee, both during his interview (in which the lazy motherfucker couldn’t even be bothered to SIT UP STRAIGHT) and when he was shown in the stands watching the swim races. Fuck you, man. And also: You know how there’s sort of a little bit of a war on, between Russia & Georgia (the nation, not the former Confederate state)? You think you might want to pay a little attention to that (not that you have any diplomatic capital left to spend on it, but, you know) instead of farting around poolside, fuckwit? Or is it just a case of, well, you can’t be assed to pay attention to Operation Desert Boondoggle, the war you personally started, so what’s another crazy murderous situation in a long line of ‘em on your watch?
--There’s apparently a lot of screaming in fencing. But very little hair product, or even shampoo.
--As thrilling as the opening ceremonies were, there was also this unshakeable undercurrent of discomfiture because of the wondering how, exactly, you get that many people to DO those things so very perfectly. It’s just weird when you suspect that your own entertainment has come at the expense of a certain amount of arm-twisting (literal or figurative) …
--Why does Costas look like he’s made of wax, and what’s with the Sears suits and Just for Men hair dye?
--That one Chinese gymnast? Yeah, she’s sixteen like I’m sixteen.
--Coolest thing about synchro diving? Hearing what they say to each other before they dive. The Chinese chick just said two words, then they jumped; the Germans had a little routine; the Americans went “Ready?” “Yeah.” “One. Two. Three.”
--Speaking of which: technology has seriously enhanced my Olympics viewing – from the gigantic fiddy-inch HD plasma teevee on our wall, to the underwater and starting-block cams in the swimming pool to the sheer volume of programming – this is great stuff.
--If you row crew, you probably went to an Ivy.
--Trap shooting is kewl.
--We couldn’t help ourselves with the constant comments in re: the Chinese, such as when one gymnast stepped out after a tumbling run: “Ohh, that’s gonna cost her family that car they were slated to get next year. So sorry, but the people are displeased with her performance.”
--Our crackerjack PackageWatch 2008 Team reports multiple hilarious sightings in the brief (heh) bit of men’s gymnastics we watched at normal speed (instead of zipping past like we did with the rest of it). “His package just brushed the … apparatus,” grimaced our ace reporter. “Heh, the apparatus,” giggled our other ace reporter. “They’re mounting the apparatus,” continued our ace reporter. “But did he stick it? The landing, I mean,” replied our other ace reporter. (Commentary degenerated further from this point, in a manner not fit for a Family Blog such as this one. We have our standards, people.)
--Phelps is a giant happy Labrador puppy. I like that. But not as much nor in the same way as does my friend Indira, who during the last Olympics, dwelt at some length on her desire to devirginize young Phelps. No word on whether she attained her goal, then or since then, but I would guess that though the candidates are many, the Big Event may still yet be in the offing for young Phelps.
--Odd that it took seeing a black guy in the water to realize how very very white swimming is.
--Il Douche is apparently attending these Olympic Games. Mr. Gleemonex and I had some very harsh words for him as we sped past his ugly visage on the teevee, both during his interview (in which the lazy motherfucker couldn’t even be bothered to SIT UP STRAIGHT) and when he was shown in the stands watching the swim races. Fuck you, man. And also: You know how there’s sort of a little bit of a war on, between Russia & Georgia (the nation, not the former Confederate state)? You think you might want to pay a little attention to that (not that you have any diplomatic capital left to spend on it, but, you know) instead of farting around poolside, fuckwit? Or is it just a case of, well, you can’t be assed to pay attention to Operation Desert Boondoggle, the war you personally started, so what’s another crazy murderous situation in a long line of ‘em on your watch?
--There’s apparently a lot of screaming in fencing. But very little hair product, or even shampoo.
Labels: christ on toast points -- politics, deportivo, they ain't takin the TEE-vee, things that are great
posted by Gleemonex at 11:57 AM
5 Comments:
Oh G, you are much more generous than I -- while watching the gymnastics with my fam, when the one gymnast clean landed on her back off the pommel horse, I wondered aloud:
"Do you think that's a situation where she goes back to her hotel room and all her bags are gone and there's just a revolver on the table? Or is there just a train ticket out to endless years of toil in the turbines at the Three Gorges Dam?"
Also, the captcha i've been offered looks like that one gymanst's name: WXHANG.
i made the same comment to my husband about the opening ceremonies and what would happen if somebody fucked up - whould they be punished? shot? he (husband) then went on a tirade about how people like me take away from the olympics by focusing on the negative rather than on the athletes themselves. huh.
Oh man, you guys are MY PEOPLE!
Jory, I forgot about the girl who actually fell -- because yep, that'll have some Repercussions! And meanie, focusing on the negative is funny! It's really why we blog, no? ;-)
That's it, I'm stealing the labrador moniker for Phelps.
And I probably won't give you credit for it.
Happy to share, bgirl! :-)
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