Like all Bob-Costas-loving Americans (and really, what American isn't loving Bob Costas right now?), I've been watching my share of the Olympics. I've also been watching the share belonging to people who don't have TVs with reception. I have watched fencing and tennis and gymnastics and swimming and swimming and swimming. Actually, that's all I've watched, and I wish I'd been watching a few more of the random sports like handball and bridge and street luging and synchronized snoring and donkey kicking and whatever else, but I suppose there are still a few more days. I have been not doing anything I should be doing, such as sleeping, now, so I can watch scary prepubescent girls stake their entire lives on a quarter of an inch of one heel over a piece of white tape.
Bridge is for real, by the way. There is bridge in the Olympics this year.
Today, I even interrupted my daily gym viewing of "A Different World" -- it was a good episode, too, Dwayne and Whitley were moving to Japan ("but Duhwaaaiiyyuunn, ah don't spayk Japuhnaiyce") -- to watch women's tennis. Martina Navratilova and some other woman no one was paying attention to played doubles against two Japanese -- Japuhnaiyce! -- women who eventually wound up winning. But it was so great. The Bravo announcers, who are less grating than Bob, kept talking about how Martina was playing in her first championship in 1973, and both of the Japanese women AND her doubles partner weren't even born until '75 or '76. It was great. She is the most badass thing ever -- I love how she jams her elbow into her side when she does well and screams "fuck!" when she messes up. Can you imagine doing anything for almost 30 years with that level of intensity? Amazing.
I have to go to bed now, but Michael Phelps is in lane 4, and Bob Costas is still wide awake...
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