Chicago! Olympics! Exclamation points!

Welcome to my first blog post since my move to Chicago!

Yes, one week ago today, I set out on 1-90 W with my mom and my diabetic cat, Maude. Sitcom fodder, I know, right? We arrived the following evening after driving through the scenic states of Massachusetts, New York, Ohio and the top of Indiana.

My new digs ain't too shabby:

There are skylights and an amazing amount of natural light. There's a dishwasher. A patio. A fireplace. Central air. I feel like such a grown-up. It's all so civilized. Maude's adjustment has been a little rockier, as her new home is inhabited by another cat, Miss Meaty. The cats are hopefully moving toward being civil or at least aloof toward one another; right now, there's a lot of hissing and growling and chasing. 

In between unpacking, I have also, like the rest of the world, been watching a lot of Olympics. I realized yesterday that I watched the Beijing Olympics also after just relocating to a new city (Boston). I think I will always associate the Summer Games with living out of boxes and feeling disoriented.

I love watching gymnastics, probably because it was the only sport I was even halfway decent at as a kid. I totally had the gymnast body, before my boobs came in: short, broad shoulders, strong stocky legs. If I'd had a little more grace and balance, I coulda been a contender. I was good at vault and floor -- couldn't stay on the beam to save my life. But I remember feeling awesome after doing my first unassisted back walkover. I was a good little tumbler -- being close to the ground helped. I went to All-American Gymnastics in St. Louis a few times a week. Other than the foam pit, the thing I most looked forward to most was getting a reward of a small bag of Farley's Fruit Snacks after practice. Nothing like some high fructose artificially-fruit-flavored gummies to ruin your dinner.

The best part of watching the Olympics is how everyone is suddenly an expert. It's easy to get lost in the moment, beer in hand, bemoaning to your peers how not sticking the landing is going to result in a 3/10ths deduction. I mean, we all sound like assholes. But it's all in good fun. I nicknamed this gymnast Bangs:

Bangs did not have a good night last night. Basically, the Fab Five could have done the Funky Chicken for their floor routines and still won gold. 

But don't think I always root for the U.S. -- in many cases, I'd rather see another country win because, let's face it, the U.S. is going to get a ton of medals. That South African guy who beat out Phelps for the gold? For the rest of his life, he can say he beat Michael Phelps, most decorated and celebrated Olympian ever of all time*. Yay for that guy and for all the underdog countries who consider it a victory just to make it past the qualifying rounds.

*until some other freakishly gifted athlete tops that

So here I am, in Chicago, getting acclimated. Gearing up to teach some freshman comp at Roosevelt University and hopefully do some freelance writing as well. Hoping to join a choir and maybe even audition for a play or two. It's a whole new world.

What is the point of curling and other reflections on the Winter Olympics

Despite the fact that I have basically failed at every athletic endeavor I've ever attempted, I love the Olympics. They make me weirdly patriotic and optimistic about world affairs. If we can all get along on the slopes and on the rink, can lasting world peace be far behind?

Some thoughts on this year's Winter Games in Vancouver, in no particular order:

1. Shaun White looks like a less-creepy Carrot Top













2. Male figure skaters can be sexy even when questionably attired. Let's just say that I wouldn't kick any of these guys out of bed:

















Ok, maybe I would kick Johnny Weir out of bed, but I'm not sure I could get him there in the first place. I am, however, fascinated with the euphemizing of his gayness that plagued commentators during the men's competition.



3. Curling looks neither fun nor athletic. Was it invented by hockey-loving janitors?

4. Now that has someone died, it's pretty tasteless to make luge jokes. Tasteless, but not impossible.

5. Watching the opening ceremony, I wondered if I had smoked marijuana and then forgotten I had done so. My favorite part was what I termed "Hipster Riverdance." I hope you saw it, because after an exhaustive Google image search, this is the best photo I can find:


I've mostly been watching the Games at bars or friends' apartments, because the picture quality of my T.V. is so terrible. But apparently, I'm getting a new flat screen T.V. from my Dad for my upcoming birthday....here's hoping it arrives before the closing ceremony, which undoubtedly will feature more random and unrecognizable Canadian celebrities!

P'scuse me?

I was all prepared today to blog about something else entirely, but after finally getting a chance to catch up on my Olympics viewing, I have to just say:

<----- That girl is NOT 16.












Now, hear me out. I understand what it's like to look younger than you actually are. People regularly mistake me for being a high school student when in truth, I'm pushing 30. Well, not pushing maybe, but getting pretty close.

The Chinese government has provided documents that allegedly prove that all their gymnasts are 16, the legal age to compete in the Olympics. Which makes me wonder if the people vetting these documents are bouncers from the same NYC bars who accepted my terrible fake ID in the summer of 2001, when I was 20.

I'll never forget nervously handing my Colorado non-driver ID to a man blocking the entrance to Bohemian Hall, the storied beer garden in Astoria, only to hear him chuckle and say, "I coulda made this in my basement." He then took my friend Kim's ID, studied it, and asked her, "Are you 21 or 22?" Kim blanked, and couldn't remember the birthdate on her fake ID and just grinned and said, "...yes." Yet the bouncer still let us in, offering only these words of advice: "Don't drink too much."

I'm not saying China didn't deserve to win the gold, but come on, they should at least be expected to play by the rules. I may not be qualified to judge the validity of Deng Linlin's passport, but I'm also NOT A BLIND PERSON.