Let the Games begin

I love sports. LOVE. But I'm tiny and really only participate in individual sports. This is why I love swimming and skiing so much, as every little improvement seems like a big victory and gives me a chance to dance like this:

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Seriously, I was kind of doing this when I hit 1,550 yards in the pool without dying last week.

Perhaps this is why I get so ungodly excited about the Olympics. Thousands of athletes all looking to perform at their absolute best, and the whole world gets to watch and cheer. It should come as no surprise that I'd rather watch individual events than team events in the games (with the exception of Winter Olympic ice hockey). And I'd rather watch timed events because there's a clear-cut winner. Subjectively scored events are great -- they're entertaining and it's kind of fun to critique performances (you know, when you are oh-so-qualified to say anything about the technicalities of gymnastics), but the subjectivity makes me a little nervous. When it comes to summer Olympics, swimming is my sport -- always has been. Swimmers are crazy fast, and it doesn't hurt that you have people that look like this, this, and this (amirite, ladies?). I'm not ashamed to admit how excited I got watching the Olympic trials and how some of those finishes made me nail-bitingly nervous. Lord knows what'll happen when they throw some Australians into the mix and a medal is on the line.

Aside from swimming, what else am I looking forward to during these Olympics? Stunning shots of London, a city I love. The Opening Ceremonies and the cultural aspects of Britain that will be highlighted (OMG, will they recreate Stonehenge in the middle of the arena? Please, for the love of God, somebody make that happen). Will the Duchess of Cambridge be there, and will we spend two weeks critiquing her outfits? (Please, let's make that happen, too.) Medal counts. Bob Costas. Getting much more excited about football (erm, I'm sorry America -- soccer) teams from around the world than the US men's basketball team. Trampoline. Diving. Water polo. A little track & field. National anthems. Announcers yelling. Requisite shots of London cabs and Parliament. Foreign accents.

I know not everybody gets into the Olympics. The athletes aren't perfect (but you know they'd be fun to hang out with and seriously, that's one of the best reads I've had in a while). Neither is the USOC/IOC (meh, not so fun to hang out with). It's two weeks of camping out in front of the television and yelling, or going to bars and cheering/chanting/drinking with strangers. There are lots of tears, both of joy and heartache, and there is an abundance of overly-dramatic music (thanks, NBC Sports). And it's two weeks of supporting the athletes, and not necessarily a country, and all of their achievements because they just accomplished something you and I could never even come close to. Like this:

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Go Ryan Lochte. Go Michael Phelps. Go USA. Go London2012 volunteers. Go athletes everywhere. Go find the nearest television and cheer your heart out.

Tricks of the Trade

I was a subscriber to Real Simple for years. Loved it. In fact, look in any floor baskets in my house and you'll still find copies from who-knows-when. My favorite issues were always the November and December ones because I love the holidays and especially holiday baking. But I think my biggest draw to the magazine was all the little tips it provided, like the new uses for everyday household items. You would read them and immediately wonder why you didn't come up with the idea yourself because it was so...simple.

Right.

I've felt like my life in the past 24 hours has been an issue of Real Simple, as two "tricks" saved me from totally losing it.

Case Study 1: Sunday. Laundry. Gently washing a HOT white and navy striped dress I wore in the sweltering heat. During the course of wearing said HOT white and navy striped dress, I rubbed my disgusting, sweaty face against the shoulder, leaving my makeup right where you could see it. I washed it twice (and even treated it) and you could still see my Clinique-#2-mineral-powdered-stupidity right where I left it. The Husband suggested olive oil and a toothbrush. Huh?! So, I olive oiled the spot, scrubbed it with his toothbrush (yes, his -- shush, he has a new one), then treated it again with detergent and continued scrubbing, this time in a sink full of cold water. Threw it back in the machine (on the hand wash cycle, naturally) for the third time and HELLO, GORGEOUS! I can now comfortably go back to being the Kate Middleton-inspired Nautical Princess I was always meant to be.

(Basically, if you have an oil-based stain, treat it with more oil...it's that whole "fight fire with fire" concept. And since olive oil is good for everything, that's what I recommend.)

Case Study 2: Apparently you can still get hiccups even when you're 30 but somewhere along they way they've lost their humor and are just annoying. I tried holding my breath. I tried staring at a doorknob, thinking of nothing else. I tried holding my breath while staring at the doorknob. **hiccup** So, I went back to the tried-and-true method from my mother which absolutely works, but you need somebody nearby to help you out. Get a glass of water, hold your nose, close your eyes, and have somebody plug your ears (you know, somebody who doesn't mind actually plugging your ears). Chug the water. Hiccups gone. It's that easy.

So now, if someone could return the awesome favor and tell me how to get dry erase marker off my hands, that would be great, because it looks like I've shaken hands with a family of Smurfs.

Random thoughts for a Friday

I know I haven't been around much. Life's been a little busy cleaning sand out from between my toes. I have a lot of random thoughts bouncing around my head I just need to get out:

• As I sit here watching the NHL Draft, I'm realizing how much I like watching the TSN coverage. Canada does a lot of things right, and TSN is definitely in that group.
• I love a good thunderstorm, and lord knows my grass and garden need it, but I don't love it so much when all I want to do is get in the pool.
• I don't even feel a bit guilty about the amount of fried zucchini I consumed tonight. Hell, I picked six GIANT zucchini this morning. I need to do something with them, right? With that said, in our attempts to be healthy, I will not fry all six. In fact, I already have plans for the other battering rams large ones sitting on my counter.
• Three days at the beach was perfection. Eating delicious crab each night was perfection. I need my seasons and I love winter, but there is something about the ocean that just makes me never want to get out of it.
• I have an incredible amount of love for UVa. This may seem odd since I never attended as an undergrad, but the honor I feel from graduating from there with my masters degree trumps anything I ever did in undergrad. To see the chaos surrounding the coup (yes, I said it) regarding President Sullivan's ouster goes against everything Jefferson stands for. I'm sure he's doing more than simply rolling in his grave at everything. The only way to make this right is to reinstate President Sullivan and for Rector Dragas to honorably step down from her post. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for both early next week.
• I still don't deal well with illness, death, and funerals. Who does? But I think I'm dealing better than I have in the past, and that's a huge step. I still don't cry, though.
• But the post-funeral food in the basement of the church? Took me back to my elementary school days where the little old ladies prepared the food in the cafeteria kitchen. I gorged myself on the best homemade applesauce I've ever had. Don't tell my grandmother.
• I need to read like, four books at once and I don't even know which one to pick up first. Reread Mockingjay? Finish all the essays in The Hunger Games and Philosophy? Plow through At Home (which I want to enjoy more, but Bill Bryson, you are all over the map with this one)? Finish This I Believe essays? I don't know what I want!
• I know you could never, ever pay me all the money in the world to pick up the absolute trash that is Fifty Shades of Horseshit Grey. Grow up, ladies. Find something decent.
• I think before the weekend is over, I need to make this blackberry cheesecake. Because that just looks incredible. Who wants a slice?

When you love what you do...

Summer for teachers is usually a time to catch up on all the sleep they didn't get throughout the year, recharge, make doctor's appointments, vacation, and generally morph back into a functioning human. I can happily say I'm achieving all of those (eye doctor? check! sleeping? check! vacation? check! feeling slightly normal? check!). However, I'm also still working.
I'm thrilled to be back at my FAVORITEJOBINTHEWORLD at The University, teaching the gifted children and remembering that not all students are awful. My course this year on The Hunger Games has filled me with enthusiasm I haven't felt in years. These kids are making connections I haven't even considered. They're young, fun, and willing to think about virtually every aspect of the books. They're happy to work hard. And they're so eager to discuss these books I can barely keep them quiet. It's perfect.
I'm beginning to remember what it's like to be in a job you love. Yeah, I'm only a week in and by the end of July I might be a little burned out. I may have analyzed Peeta's transformation to death. But it's not very often when you go in to work early because you're eager to get started. And it's not very often when you wish you had another couple hours each day to continue the lesson. It's a good feeling.
And it's a feeling that has me seriously considering where my future in education will be.

So You Think You Can Drink

The first show full of tryouts for So You Think You Can Dance isn't even over yet and I've decided that as much as I LOVE it, fans may need a little help to block out the horrible auditions (ahem...The Wiggler) and Mary Murphy's LOUD LAUGH AND SCREAMS AND OMGYOUDON'TEVENKNOWWHATSHE'SSAYINGBECAUSESHE'SSOLOUD!!!

The Rules
With a drink of your choice and your finger on the volume button, enjoy SYTYCD responsibly.

1. Every time you hear a sob story or dancer's history....drink.

2. Mary Murphy crying...drink.

3. Audience members crying...drink twice.

4. Dancer crying...chug.

5. Girl with Adam Lambert hair...WATERFALL!

6. Every time a commercial featuring Siri comes on...order tomato soup.

7. Get on board the hot tamale train WOOWOOOOOO...shot of tequila.

8. Jesse Tyler Ferguson proposes marriage or makes hyperbolic comparisons...happily finish your drink.

9. Cat and Nigel flirt...drink until the awkwardness passes (be prepared)

10. When Lil'C notices a dancer "modifying your manipulation of movement" and he appreciates it...toast whatever it was Lil'C said.

11. Dance dedicated to mom...drink water so she doesn't yell about you getting dehydrated.

(To be continued as the season goes on...)

A little guilty pleasure television never hurt anybody...

The school year is winding down to a close and I could NOT.BE.HAPPIER. The end of the year means no happy medium between having to grade a lot at once and then having nothing to do for days. So, when I have nothing to do for days (or, realistically, when I've mastered the art of not caring and realizing why I have a planning block), I start flipping channels and begin rediscovering what I haven't watched all year long.

During the school year, the only television I will watch religiously is living sporting events and ESPN. I don't have a sitcom I tune in weekly to see; the same goes for a drama (Downton Abbey became the exception this year). Sure, we'll turn on cable and watch Law & Order: SVU reruns like we get paid per episode, but I don't find myself watching the new episodes each week. Why do I watch so much sports in the fall and winter? Well, for one, I thoroughly enjoy it. It's not scripted and the outcome is truly never known. Two, if a game is boring, I can tune it out and get some work done that I usually put off. I enjoy the background noise, but if San Diego is crushing Denver, I don't really care.

But in the summer, I'm COMPLETELY invested in two guilty pleasure shows: So You Think You Can Dance and Food Network Star. Hardcore, DVR, must-not-miss-or-else invested. I love the competition of both shows and openly rooting for (and against) certain people. With SYTYCD, I love watching the performances that bring tears to your eyes, especially this one from Melanie and Neil last year when SHE FLEW.




And maybe I love SYTYCD so much because I've never been a dancer and always wished I could.

As for FNS, the competition is fierce, the food looks like you could eat it off your screen, and there is SO MUCH DRAMA (retract the claws, Season 7's Penny). Plus, I kind of love watching celebrity chefs get annoyed with those who think they already are celebrity chefs. I watched this season's first episode, and Alton already looks bored (I love it!). The show gives me a little inspiration to play in my own kitchen, which I love to do anyways, but I always feel like I can do more.

What else will I be Netflixing when it's raining outside or simply too damn hot to exist? New Girl, which I've been told is hilarious, and Friday Night Lights, which, if it is anything at all like the movie, I will love.

Alrighty dearies, what guilty pleasure television will you be watching this summer?

Ode to a Saturday

Back when I was in high school, my girlfriends and I took a trip one night to a Mexican restaurant outside of Pittsburgh. This was a huge deal because driving to Pittsburgh from our houses without our parents was a huge deal. We were all babies who led happy (albeit sheltered) lives and we were spreading our delicate little wings. We tested the strength of those wings, were sufficiently happy with the results that night, and had a goofy, enjoyable night as any group of high school best friends could have. Naturally, no night could be complete without an abundance of inside jokes. On the way back home, we forever memorialized those jokes in a poem, titled "Ode to Saturday." I'm not sure my copy still exists, but I've no doubts that somebody has it, tucked in a box with notes and awards and yearbooks we can't bear to part with just yet.

Recalling this makes me not only miss my dears, but is making me think my Saturday 12 years later deserves its own dedication.

Ode to a Saturday

There is something to be said
for sleeping in, then lazily making breakfast,
for tea with honey and a touch of milk,
for pretty skirts purchased with discount codes,
for watching the garden grow,
for tea parties with
fancy dresses, high heels, and hats
and big dogs sniffing tiny babies,
for cooking with a wooden spoon in one hand,
a glass of wine in the other,
for books that should have been read
a long, long time ago
and catalogs fresh out of the mailbox,
for teams celebrating goals
and the roar of the crowd,
for the smell of spring, herbs,
and a hot, soapy shower.
There is something to be said
for love, hope, peace, and joy,
all warmly felt on a Saturday afternoon.

-rlk7m, 5.12.12