You guys. I have spent the last few days in the suburbs visiting my great aunt and some other relatives who are in town to see her. As it turns out, the “hotel room” my aunt and uncle booked for me is in fact a studio apartment in her assisted living home.
This may be uncharitable (even for me), but the simple truth is that I’m afraid of old people. Here on my ward in the assisted living home, there’s this whole nightmare vibe of, like, zombie dormitory meets Eli Roth’s Hostel. I mean, wild-eyed seniors staggering through the halls is one thing, but whatever is going on behind some of those doors is quite another.
In addition to praying in restaurants, one of my family’s favorite activities seems to be watching the Olympics. Just when I thought there wasn’t anything worse than watching sports, NBC goes all Faces of Death and airs the footage of that poor luger. WTF? Who wants to watch that?
The answer, evidently, is most people.
The worst part is that I think Bob Costas’s snuff film is an apt symbol for the whole sick sorry affair. Listen, I’m not trying to be contrarian or cute. I’m not even exaggerating. I think the Olympics are totally grotesque. I know the consensus is that these elite athletes have accomplished something, but as far as I can tell they are monomaniacs who are willing to sacrifice everything for...what exactly? Olympic athletes are very, very good at one thing, and very, very bad at the rest of life.
They all have different versions of the same story. Sally Olympian has had three knee surgeries just this year. Her mom worked three jobs so she could pay for lessons or whatever. She works out at least eight hours every day. She is doing something so unnatural with her body that she will probably be crippled by middle age.
Um, Sally? Maybe you shouldn’t do that! Also: maybe people shouldn’t admire you for doing that! You’re kind of a freak!
I’m sorry, America, but maybe some guy who skates around in a circle for 12 hours a day like some kind of douchey Rain Man shouldn’t be our next national hero. Besides, body dysmorphia and soul patches are so 1992.
3 comments:
I know, I know. But you have to get on board with Johnny Weir. He wears fur for god's sake! I think his next routine should be to 'Voulez-Vous' or 'Fernando.' ABBA all the way!
Are you watching his reality show? It looks pretty good!
Of COURSE I am. Welcome to MY 30s.
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