And a conversation with Ari Gold (really, my conscience).
From the blogs:
- Ramit, from a while ago, on why immigrants save more money
- Rima, on the perils of bilingual parenting
- What do men need liberation from, by an Indian Homemaker
- Mia, on how to paint an Israeli Russian Orthodox painting
From the Internet:
At first, I didn’t want to go because I thought this show was exploitative of gold medalist Olympians who have accomplished a great deal athletically and have danced to great music for athletic and artistic merit but are now being paraded like circus freaks before mainstream audiences and forced to gyrate to I Gotta Feeling while wearing cowboy hats.
However, my dad did have suite seats from his company and I was cajoled into attendance by being privy to information that there would, indeed, be alcohol available. Fortunately, I was in luck, because Stars on Ice featured all of the things I love: screaming children, people who know nothing about ice skating, those people who try to hype the crowd up at the beginning of shows by yelling “I can’t hear you!” over and over, and, buying over-priced sub-par alcoholic beverages and gulping them down before 8:50 p.m., the cutoff time for the bar.
Let’s start with a pictorial recap of the Grover Cleveland of Olympic Ice Skating, Todd Elderege, doing a triple toe loop:
Sorry for the poor quality of the picture, but as soon as the usher spied my Nikon D40, which she eyed as skeptically as a malignant tumor, she wouldn’t let me bring it into the auditorium because “the tour doesn’t allow cameras with lenses longer than 4 inches (that’s what she said,)” and possible flash. This tour would NOT do well in Washington, D.C., where everyone is required to have a DSLR by law and my measly D40 will not get me admitted to stand in line at the 19th street McDonald’s, much less theatre events. It was promptly taken back to the car and, as I was climbing the stairs to our seats, I noticed at least three cameras go off, with flash.
Here is a picture of graceful Yuka Sato, 37, ice dancing to a hauntingly beautiful melody while my mom watches, breathless with appreciation of grace while little Jacob from two rows over shrieks that he wants more Slurpees and his mom, dressed in a NASCAR sweatshirt, growls at him in the darkness:
Here’s main cash cow Evan Lysacek, making a brief, three-minute appearance to ice dance to something by honored artist Michael Jackson, looking over the crowd, the gloom quickly settling over him, realizing that the next 20 years of his life will be spent either in third-tier towns such as this one, scraping together funds to continue to pay his chain-smoking Ukranian coach hourly wages to train for a spot at Sochi, and maybe realizing that his Olympic teammate Johnny Weir was onto something by opting out of the tour.
And here’s a shot of me and Mr. B sipping a screwdriver in the twilight, cringing inside at the fact that men and women with real talent and determination have to be packaged and dumbed down for public consumption and paraded like cartoons in front of 7-year-olds and their provincial parents in order to scrape by in the career path they’ve chosen.
Things I want to blog about but can’t because we still don’t have high-speed internet at our new apartment yet (hopefully by the end of tomorrow):
- The Air Force Memorial and how cool it is, especially since you can almost see it from our apartment:
- Ari Gold and how I want to be him
- Our potential trip to California
- Weird girls like Regina Spektor
- How depressing Stars on Ice is
- My mom’s lilac:
but for now, I remain wireless and WiFi-less yours,
How do I know we’re close to the Pentagon? Agents have been surreptitiously checking out our apartment all the time. I hope this is not Nicki.
From the blogs:
- What types of plotlines in books do you tend to avoid, asks Hannah
- Scary Azeri wonders what the deal is with the Western view of depression
- Hadassah on tangible things as gateways to memories (the key reason I’ve been having trouble trashing stuff)
- Emily on how sad it is to let go of childhood
From the internet: