Monolympics
2004-08-24, 1:36 p.m.

Having Matt home sick has been like a vacation. I so love having him with me, but at the same time, there's a feeling of being sorta trapped, too. We're "off" but we're relegated primarily to the bedroom and livingroom, with a shuffle to the kitchen and the occasional foray to the pat-yo for a smoke. It's like we're on a deserted island, except where pizza gets delivered and it's All Olympics, All The Time. It's like our magnetic true-north, no matter how we get ourselves turned around, we find our ways back to the Olympics. It's the Moon pulling the tides. I'm helpless, really. Oh sure, we've seen the gymnastics and swimming records all broke, but we've also seen archery, table tennis, speedwalking, badminton, rowing, tennis, basketball, sailing, boxing, shooting, cycling, diving, running, soccer, field hockey, water polo, trampoline, fencing, weightlifting, and some kayak slalom racing. And all of their qualifying events. Oh no, not just the medal events; it's imperative that we know how Former Yug Rep Macedonia competes against Kazakhstan in Judo, Round 1. I've been rooting for Belarus wherever I can. Hello? They're in 13th place right now. A mere 39 medals behind the US. Hey. Just don't count them out?

I've actually been somewhat inspired by The Olympic Athlete this time around. For a number of reasons. They're just such physical specimens, for crissake. We had our own "Am I Hot or Not?" series running, as Matt would give the "Ahn the bah-dy, a 9.8. Ahn the fahce..." in mock-Rachel Hunter. It was glorious. Results are still being tabulated by the judges as we speak. But it was hard not to judge what Matt kept calling "such quality of muscle" as if they were conditioned thoroughbreds who had previously passed a dental exam. But yeah, the bodies. Them's were nice, if from nothing else a purely scientific standpoint. It's like opening up my 7th grade Biology book and looking at The Man, conveniently cut in half, offering up his innards and ligaments and tissues and organs and lifeblood as way of explanation for their physical prowess.

But then I also love these peoples as Olympiads, someone who has committed onself to a singular purpose--the kind of perseverance that's freakishly astounding. No matter what we watched, there wasn't one athlete who I looked at and said, "Yeahhh, I could do that." Not one. Well except if you count the guy that sits in the front of the rowers' boat and screams, "Row, you motherfockers, Row! Can't you see them gaining on us?! Sorry ass Pussies! You're not gonna let some limp-wristed Frenchies beat us, are you? Are YOU? Just 7 more! Come on! You're huge! Do it... doitdoitdoitdoitwheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" *humping leg, tipping boat* I think I could do that. That'll be one gold medal, please. The training for it, though? Phhew! The exhaustion of bitch-slapping my pooch for whining continuously and pistol-whipping Matt over the garbage - oh the humanity! The follow-through alone would kill me. And yeah, it's that kind of commitment to it all that really cements what an Olympic athlete is about. I don't know if I'm capable of doing any one thing every. single. day. So I marvel at those who really do have a "Five-Year Plan". And I envy. Did you ever know that you're my hero sandwich?

The other thing I love about the Olympics is that it's the culmination of many years on my part braving a rigorous routine of reality programming. This Olympics? It's like being keyed into the Big Brother 5 House on webcam. Only, you know, good. And free. With a little American Idol mixed in. And a dash of Survivor. And! And I can have that shit on IV. On tap, like. Cause despite occasionally being borrowed from the I, Robot set, these athletes have DRAMA. Such hope. Such vitriol. Such rage. See, they all have their own stories, see? For his dying mother, for fighting through an injury, for breaking the world-record, for the country that has been wronged, for saying goodbye to the Olympic games, for the oft-misunderstood commune, for the father who's three-time Olympic gold, for women everywhere, for FREEDOM! It's true. It's true. The idea of if we pick out the crux of this person's life and set it to music, we could really have something here, like a reason to give a shit if this particular dunderhead wins or not. My particular favorite has been the ever-expanding "Greek Heritage" angle. I mean, the Greeks are all, "You Greek?" And peeps be like, "Ummm, I seen that movie once" and they're all, "Nahhhhh" but then, he's like, "And. I had a gee-ro" and all of Greece celebrates, "Adelfos! Come, brother." And Cameras!

It's given me everything, people. Everything. And still, there's so much more, but I'm afraid I may have taxed myself in the first heat and now need to shut it down. At hour 19 of continuous television watching, following, quel surprise!, Women's Beach Volleyball, Matt turned with glee and squealed, "Ohhhhhh. GOD. It's only the quarterfinals." That's what I'm sayin'.