Things I Think I Learned This Week

Hey there.

So I gotta make this quick because it's become clear to me at some point during the past 29 hours that I've developed an unhealthy addiction to watching the Olympics.

Let's jump right into some things I think I learned this week:

1. I've developed an unhealthy addiction to watching the Olympics. I don't know what it is. Under usual circumstances, you couldn't bribe me to watch a flatwater kayak race or the quarterfinals of rhythmic gymnastics with one-of-a-kind, long-lost Brand New demos featuring Thom Yorke on guest vocals. But for some reason this summer, I'm effing captivated. I don't care what you're putting in front of me--badminton, water polo, women's tandem cross-stitching--if you throw a competitor in a snazzy, color-coded unitard, I'm gonna be unable to resume my usual routine until I see the tearful results. Although...

2. I'm phucking sick of Michael Phelps. Look. Dude's a good swimmer. We get it. Let's move on. Don't get me wrong, I'm stoked the guy broke all those records. But the extensive over saturation of all things Phelps has brought up a fundamental question that plagues me every time I watch a press conference after a football game. Why do we treat athletes like politicians?

Every six minutes, there's a break in the coverage to show me yet another interview where Michael Phelps talks about Michael Phelps "in his own words." First of all, I'd love to see him talk about himself in someone else's words: Like the late Mitch Hedberg's. Secondly, just cause kid can swim, don't mean he can talk. And he can't. All he says is, "Man, I'm at less of a loss...or is it more? I'm at more of a loss than words than I was even yesterday when I was at a loss for words." And yet Andrea Kramer sleeps outside his hotel room just to keep thrusting a microphone in his face everytime he goes for a peach Snapple. Stop making athletes talk. It's ruining my ability to believe in anything.

Also, his nipples are scaring me. His upper torso looks like a face that is very perplexed.

3. Telling people your blog is ranked last leads to a groundswell of compliments and moral support. Thank you guys for all your suggestions to bring this blog out of the gutter. But guess what? My blog is the highest rated for the month of August (so far) (!). It might have to do with the fact that every other editor has been absent for at least one week and Jason actually had a link that led to my blog on journalism, but numbers is numbers, son!

4. Sigur Ros make me cry. Here's the thing: I really do want you to finish reading this blog, but I want you to take a moment to go to iTunes and buy the new album, med sud i eyrum vid spilum endalaust. If these guys spoke English, they'd be the biggest band in the world. (In contrast, I might like Linkin Park if I couldn't understand a word they say.)

5. My cat is smarter than me. This is my cat after I attempted to give her a bath (leading to nothing but my own bloodshed and disillusionment):

She's been clawing the hell out of my couch lately, so I bought this clear, two-sided kitty tape that is supposed to deter her from clawing, since her paws will stick to the couch and freak her out. Except she saw me put it all up and knew something was up. She walked over slowly and just kind of gently tapped it with her paw and then licked it. She really liked it. So now she just licks the couch--which is only slightly less irritating.

In the meantime, every time I pass the couch in my shorts, my entire leg becomes immediately affixed to the couch, leading to (yep) my own bloodshed and disillusionment.