Love the Olympics

I don't know the difference between a triple axle and a triple toe loop or between a 1080 or a corkscrew-flip-doomahickey, yet I feel completely qualified to judge which athlete's performance is best.

How 'bout those figure skating costumes? From Johnny Weir's hot pink fishnet hotness to Lysacek's snakes and Kim Yu-Na's little Bond dress...I love them all (except the shiny blue leotards worn by that couple from the Ukraine) and think that all the haters are overcompensating for their secret desire to wear such frivolity.

The calves on the women bobsledders...they're massive and intimidating and remind me of the legs I (think I) had in college. Speaking of bobsledders, I can't help but giggle thinking about the person in the back who's all folded over having to smell a stinky toot every once in a while. You know it's happend, and you know you're smiling thinking about it too.

Bob Costas. Sometimes, I wonder if his hair is real or whether he's drinking a magical smoothie made of bananas, whey, and monkey brains from the Temple of Doom to stay "on" around the clock. Either way, I can't imagine the Olympics without him.

The whole thing triggers memories of an old Sega Game Gear game I used to have of the 1994 Lillehamer games. I'd always choose to be either Jamaica or France. Don't ask me why. I remember enjoying the Slalom. And for the record, I still have my Game Gear.

It gives me an opportunity to be all "U-S-A! U-S-A!" alongside people with whom I otherwise couldn't bring myself to chant such things.