Olympic-itis

I'm addicted to the Olympics, which is where I've been the past couple of weeks. No, I don't mean I was in Torino; I was making quite a big dent in my year-old sofa, and somehow this will-sucking sofa prevented me from even posting my whereabouts.

One week of Olympics is fine. By the second week, you're an addict. You sit in front of the TV almost every night till midnight waiting for some major climax that never comes, yet you can't tear yourself away. Also by the second week, a bit of self-loathing creeps in. Hour after hour of ripped bodies pushed to the limit of human endurance, and I've spent two weeks on my ass eating Godiva chocolates. My favorite parts are when the announcers say, "At 27, she would be the oldest woman to ever win a gold medal in figure skating." God, and I was feeling good about the early 30s.

Yesterday, after watching Sasha Cohen yet again fail to put two programs together, I announced the end of my figure skating affair. It won't last. I can't shake ever shake it for long. Even so, who would have ever thought that the most exciting figure skating event would be ice dancing? Yes, they were always divas, but the falls, the fights! You gotta love the Italians, who one minute before their program wouldn't even look at each other and glared at each other before their program started. (This is where we started playing MST3K with the TV: "'You better not fall this time,' she says. 'Or I get my mafia uncle to whack your kneecaps.' And, 'I get a dead horse's head and shove it up your ass.'") And then after the program, cry and hug.

I still did manage to get to some theatre. ACT was good enough to schedule press night of Gem of the Ocean on the only night figure skating wasn't on, and I did see two or three other shows, which I will post about shortly.