A word about the 2004 Olympiad ... I intended to write this last night, and then this morning, but I never got around to it. And now I figure it's best to write about my thoughts on the Games a full day afterwards - it sort of goes along with the delayed NBC presentation does it not?
(How's that for suspense, eh?)
Um, there's no set order here. This is a journal afterall and not an English exam. Yet I feel like telling you something about my observations. One, because I CAN, because I am an American and that's what we do. Two, I'm curious to know what the rest of you lot are thinking if you're watching along like I am.
So let's discuss amongst ourselves women's gymnastics first. Yeah, all that hype about this being the most stacked and indomitable team evuh sort of fizzle out in our faces like those sparklers that didn't quite ... sparkle. Silver. Boo. (But hey, fashionably speaking, I think silver is more in than gold, right? So good job there girls.)
1. And is it me or does Wet N Wild "cosmetics" appear to have a monopoly in Eastern European nations?! Every four years my eyes bulge out at the heinous display of tawdry colors plastered on the faces of little Romanian pixies and Russian/Ukrainian vixens. Goodness. The color palettes aren't quite fluorescent, but they aren't normal either. And enough of the glitter. I thought Mariah used it all up already...
2. Svetlana Khorkina. They say diva and I would agree; there's nothing as convincing as high, darkly contoured cheekbones, puckered pout lips and a lock-kneed strut. However, they also say she is tall=graceful, lean=athletic. Um, no. Can gymnasts have scoliosis?! I mean, is that right? She is like the same WIDTH as the balance beam. Crazy! Also, lol, let me parlay a few more words about her floor exercise routine... Did the music not remind you of the very same music you become vaguely aware of when you're spooning mounds of general tso's chicken onto your plate in the buffet line at the local china spot? And, just to be honest, I thought it sounded a lot like a MUZAK (sp?) version of Feliz Navidad (but slower). More about musical choices a bit later =)
3. Choreography. Yeah, now I don't know about you, but I think the commentators, bless their annoying hearts, misuse the word choreography. I can give them artistry - they can stretch that word, but choreography? Nuh unh. I can give them flair, too, but not choreography. Tell me, how is flopping yourself torso first onto a floor mat great choreography? That is equally as graceless as the inch worm/belly flop break dancing move that drunk people do when they see open parkay flooring. I thought choreography was about flow and rhythm. Those girls look like they are counting one-an-two-an-vogue-an-turn and line up in the corner of the square for that tumbling pass...
I think musical choices influence "choreography," and so now we are all able to see how there is a problem here. I wonder, or rather I am suspicious, that somehow John Tesh and Yanni are collecting some serious royalties off this music we hear during floor exercise. Although, I have to say that Mohini Bhardwaj's music was fabulous. That was quality stuff - suitable, pizazz-y and it really gave her routine a cohesiveness that was refreshing. Courtney Kupets' music, on the other hand, was exactly why I am writing about this topic. What was that?! It was like a little modge podge of mariachi music, some arabian riffs fed by some serious Kabuki drumming. And toss in a little bass line tease from Thriller. Oh, and don't forget the clap that I wholly believe was invented in Greece - it is the clap that takes place on the one beat of EVERY piece of music, no matter tempo or origin. It is also known as the white people's clap. It gives me a very Greek feeling, like we are all in a circle with arms raised shouting Oh-pah! (or however you spell it - it's late, forgive me)
4. Last and least in terms of my regard, but NOT least in terms of how unbelievably capable these 2 people are of grating my nerves into neuronic shavings. OH.MY.GOD. How much do I detest Elfie Schlagel and that Tim (Dagget?) or whatever his name is. He is Bob Saget's brother/cousin/sporty alter-ego. First of all, their names give us only a mere prelude into how annoying they can be. But then they have to talk in those equally perplexing, nasal whines of voices that NEVER CEASE! I was under the hair dryer tonight and I kid you not, my closed-captioning could not even process it all. In fact, I'll say it probably got about 50% of what they were saying b/c their "commentating" reminds me of Dorie from Nemo. They go from thought to thought and then come right back to stuff they've already said a billion times. And you know what they are - stick the landing. They didn't stick it. Aohw! ho, ho, ho, hoooo! If only'd they'd stuck that landing! That's going to be a deduction. Sigh. Man. That is really gonna hurt. You know they are going to be thinking about that for another four years - maybe for the rest of their lives... They are like some bean counters about those deductions! You know? They remind me of the totally nerdy guy in Ocean's 11 - anal. Maddeningly anal, but not nearly as helpful.
Blah, friggin' blah, friggin' blah, blah, blah. Those two could kill me faster than Anna Hatch can do the vault. But instead they kill me more like a commercial break - slow, neverending, torturous mock-suspense. Why mock? Because I live for the (anti-suspense may be a better way to say it perhaps) moments when they catch their freakin' breath. Those are moments when I get what I tuned in for and those dear, sweet moments, my little pretties, are too far and few between if you ask me.
Alright, well, that is more than enough for your eyes I'm sure, lol. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. I know it's not as fresh in your minds, but I hope you laughed a bit and unh-hunhed along w/ me on a few points.
More to come I assure you...