Rub some dirt in it!

I wasn't going to watch the Olympics this year.  I just didn't care.  I don't watch these sports--ever--why should I now?

Part of why I'm sick of it is there's always so much hype before the games even start.  We're forced to root on the network-deemed key players: Lindsey Von, Bode Miller, Apolo Anton Ono.

And then, there's figure skating.  That bitter taste of the first sport I ever followed.

I defiantly ignored the pomp and circumstance that is the opening ceremonies.  I was glad to not be a part of those talking about (and witnessing) the Georgian who died in the practice run.

I even stopped listening to my favorite sports shows.

I was that serious people.

But then came Tuesday night, the epic black hole of television viewing.  There was nothing else on, and I was flipping through the channels.

I paused for a second NBC.  Bob Costas was on, so I paused a little longer.  Maybe they would have a segment with Dan Patrick.  Then they started showing whatever sport they were covering. 

And before I could turn the channel, I was drawn in.  For two weeks, it was the highlight of my night.  Maybe it was post-Super Bowl withdraw or that there was absolutely nothing else on television. 

But everything about the Olympics, the history, the stories, the sports had me tuning in.

Of course, the things that bugged me still did.  I watched very little of figure skating.  And, I got sick of the storylines getting shoved down my throat. 

If for nothing else, I'm so happy I didn't miss Shaun White throwing down the Double McTwist 1260.  White excites me the same way Peyton Manning thrills me.  His greatest and dedication elevates the sport.  He makes it look so effortless and turns it into an art. 

Though, he's a bit more naturally entertaining than Manning (even though Manning is deceivingly funny).

So, until we meet again Olympic Games ... I'll try to give you a chance next time around.

Don't judge a book by its first chapter?

All the Flowers are Dying by Lawrence Block surprised me.  I checked out the audio book (most the books I "read" nowadays are audio books) and nearly took it back to the library after a shaky first chapter.  I just had a dud of a book called the White Tiger and I thought my bad luck was continuing.

A man goes to prison to visit a convicted man on death row.  The prisoner claims he is innocent and we learn he's telling the truth.  Because the man who befriends him is the man who framed him.

The book is much too short.  The plot is just exposed and it comes to a conclusion.

But what's there draws you in.  The author shares with you several brutal murders and graphically exposes you to the serial killers mind.  Every chapter you're wondering how his heinous deeds are going to collide with our hero.

The author lent his voice to the recording, which turned me off.  It had little variation from character to character which was distracting.  It took too much concentration to figure out which character was speaking/thinking. 

Plus, it's hard to hear the villain and then the character you're supposed to cheer and relate to share the same voice.

In the end, I'm glad I stuck with this book.  I'd certainly read more from this author.

Feeling Guilty

I didn't wake up on the wrong side of the bed.  I got to sleep in.  My headache is gone.  It's sunny and warm.

So why was I cranky?  I'm not sure.  Maybe it was the bland coffee.  Or that stain on my shirt.  Maybe it was the country music.  Or that I didn't get any breakfast. Maybe it was that my day was planned without consulting me.  Whatever it was I was CRANKY! 

I knew it, I could feel it.  I also could tell it was written all over my face.  But, people being sunny and nice ... it only pissed me off more.  My mom doesn't like it when I'm cranky.  She picks and prods and tries to find out what's wrong ... even when it's nothing more than I'm in a bad mood.  Trouble with that, is that it only makes my mood worse.  She should know, but she does it anyway.

And then I feel guilty for feeling cranky.  But why don't I have the right to be in a bad mood?  Why can I not be left alone to let the sunshine (or coffee) wash it away?


The sunshine, coffee, french fries ... whatever it was .... worked because I'm not in a bad mood anymore.

Now I just feel guilty.

Sunshine Crisis: the Tale of Two Hands

I have a sunshine crisis.  Don't get me wrong, I love sun.  It's wonderful.  We need more to melt the snow and get spring here.  I respect it and always where sunscreen when I'll be out and about.

BUT .... BUT ... and I cannot believe I'm reporting this to you.  It's tanning me unevenly.  Through my office window.

Yes, folks.  My left hand looks like it's back from the future ... the likes of June.  While poor right hand is present day hand of winter-skin-sun-deprived March.  My face also looks like it's been going tanning (without the rest of my pale body).

My office has south windows.  When the sun is shining, it's magnificent, sometimes even too hot. (I know, I know, cry me a river) When it's under, it's freezing. 

I noticed the other day that I had a tan line where my ring is on my left hand.  I thought to myself how odd that was because I usually don't pick up a tan line that deep until late May or June.

As I was putting lotion on yesterday it was like looking at the hands of two different people.  And short of closing my blinds entirely ... I'm not sure what I can do about it, because I cannot move my desk or change where my computer sits.

I guess I'll have to start putting sunscreen on my left arm every morning before I go to work.