We’re currently embroiled in a debate about the Olympics: which is better, Summer or Winter? My vote is for Winter, if for nothing else, than the destruction factor. In what other collection of sports can one participate in which the chance of winning a medal is overshadowed by the danger of personal mutilation, dismemberment, and death? Not to mention the loss of control on icy surfaces is far more entertaining than the resounding thump of a discus on turf.
Then there’s that flexible spandex-like material that makes one feel like you’re wearing…nothing at all…nothing at all. NOTHING AT ALL. I’m a sucker for figure skaters, especially the ones wearing the outfits that are coloured like Caucasian skin. It’s like watching a softcore ballet on ice. And the numbers the judges reveal at the end are precisely what we should have for things like elections.
But, I don’t want to reveal too many of my thoughts on the Olympics, as I would like to share them on next week’s Fringecast. I’ve begun the lineup for next week’s broadcast, and it’s shaping up to be quite an interesting and funny show. But I don’t want to get ahead of myself.
Work was a beast yesterday. I went to bed with a sore throat the night before, woke up yesterday with a sore throat, and battled it all last night. I was sucking down cough drops like they were credit card payments, but they didn’t help much. Sore throats are the kind of sickness you just have to endure, swallow after painful swallow. I went to bed last night practically holding the bag of drops, but didn’t use them, and woke up this morning feeling basically better. I’ve had a slight tickle all day, but it’s no worse than watching Eddie Murphy making a parody of himself in such films as Pluto Nash and Haunted Mansion.
Actually, when I think about it, I almost prefer the former.
It’s Friday, and I doubt anyone reads Fringe much on the weekends. I haven’t studied weekend site stats, so I can’t be sure, but it’s my general impression that one is more inclined to, you know, actually have a life on weekends. So go, have one. Enjoy it while you can. Because you never know when a flying bobsled will knock you dead.