The Post Olympic Blues

or
What Am I Gonna Watch Now?


Seems to me the modern Olympics were created for one purpose: to establish an audience, specifically a TV audience. Take me, for example. But for the very odd or seasonal times, the amount of television I normally watch would give programming execs nightmares (not to worry, I’m not part of some new trend… or am I?) and at the same time make being a Nielsen rater the cushiest job, ever; House being the only show I’m a patron of, and even that’s hit and miss at best. Ah, but then along comes the Olympics and I suddenly turn into a constant viewer, watching what I normally wouldn’t walk across the street to see much less plan a day around, and with all the zeal and voracity of a true armchair athlete, too. Crazier still, I miss them (dammit!) when they’re over, the what I refer to as “Olympic Phenomenon” working perfectly once again, no weaning off period or anything, leaving those of us in the habit of tuning in suddenly without anything worth tuning in to.

Hmm. Maybe I’ve just never been in the TV loop. I mean, folks love it, stare at it, spend all night ignoring family in the same room with it and calling that 'quality time,' take it with them, tape it, burn it, use it as a quasi babysitter/entertainment/life what with palm-sized TVs, micro and widescreen, DLP, LCD, PDP, flat-paneled plasmas, front projectors and rear projectors and “Where the hell is the remote?” with cable and satellite and hundreds of channels and tons of packages and hold the onions… so they have to be watching something, right?

Right. But, what?

Well, there’s always American Gladiators. Or one of the CSI spin-offs. And let’s not forget the paranormal shows like Rescue Mediums and Ghost Hunters. Or any one of a bazillion reality shows (how ironic that they called television “The Boob Tube” at a time of decent programming, but now that the term is completely appropriate, they’ve dropped it). And if that’s not enough, there’re murmurs that Stag Beetle tournament fights (yes, it’s real) could be the next big thing.

On second thought, I think I’ll go back to reading.

29th Olympiad

08/08/08

Best of luck to all the athletes!

All Those Cautions

So who knew the new girl would bite ten minutes after she was delivered?

As previously mentioned, we have a new baby in the family, namely a 526 lb. (dry and bare weight) Suzuki VL Volusia with all the aftermarket bells and whistles. Studded Mustang seats with matching sissy bar, luggage rack, windshield, running boards, leather saddle bags, leather tank bib with sunglass case, leather conchoed tool pouch and chrome out the wazoo, including diamond grips, a screaming eagle head fender ornament and Cobra pipes… and it had been one of the pipes that “bit” bad enough to make a trip to the doctor for a huge third-degree burn, because about the only thing the new baby doesn't have are heat shields.

Caution: Bare legs and hot pipes don’t mix.

Speaking of cautions... I dislike overly dramatic “angsty” folks who view life as a bottomless pit of despair. Who no one understands. Who no one gets. Whose world is measured in the three foot radius of themselves. Who truly believe the butterfly in Central Park flaps its wings with the soul purpose of ruining their life. But that’s not me. Nope, I’m not generally like that. But I can do some pretty heavy soul-searching every once in a while. (Surprise—I know, what with me supposedly being a “writer” and all.) Like today. So if you’re interested (and I certainly don’t blame you if you aren’t) here’s a little something about me: there are very few people who know the real me. If you’re one of those who fall into the "don't" category, don’t worry—you aren’t missing anything.

I’m not a very good person, as is obvious by the amount of real life friends (none) and internet friends (few) I have, and worse, by the amount longer than a short while—a short while being anywhere from a couple of months to a couple of years.

Ah now, I already know what you’re thinking: Who’s the common denominator?

Well gosh-darnnit, that would be me!-wouldn’t it. And that brings me full circle, right back to the “not a very good person” part. I guess I change in that time. Or maybe life changes its course and I miss the detour. Relegated to the category of nonexistent. A mist. A specter. A nonentity. So it goes, again... still. I guess I do a lot wrong, and of course I do; I’m the common denominator—remember?

Maybe I'd better start looking harder for the signs. (EDIT: Scratch that. I'm done with signs altogether.)

It's A Girl!

Adopted: 08/01/08




Ain't she sweet.