not hungry an hour after

08/08/08. I was there. I ordered in Chinese. I plopped down in front of my TV like all good Americans to watch and hope our top athletes beat the crap out of other countries' top athletes.

I caught the tail end of the opening ceremony. I was flipping back and forth - the parade of nations is a bit like watching C-Span with ESPN commentary. They should at least put NBC News (rather than Sports) commentators on for this part. Hopefully they would be able to tell us that the Central African Republic is a republic in central Africa. Really? Are you sure?

The lighting of the torch was pretty cool. But the solo race around the "bird's nest" was a bit long. I hope Chicago gets the 2012 Olympics, but I don't know what we could do that would be as cool. Maybe something with the lake?

But then I started to watch the actual events. I happened upon the Micheal Phelp's 400 meter melody. You know, the event that GW went to. I was so tense. Would he win gold? Would he break his own record? On the butterfly he was neck in neck with lanes 4 and 5. I never understood this stroke - how is it possible to do this well? It is like doing the 'worm' in the water.

Then the backstroke. I don't remember what happen during these 100 meters because all I could think about was how each swimmer out there learned the "flutter-flutter" feet kick I did when I learned the back stroke. How did I end up here eating Chinese and they there? How many times did it take for my head hit the back of the pool because I didn't reach correctly to do the flip to go the other way?

The breaststroke was next. This is where Phelps almost lost it. It is his worst stroke (I learned that from the oh so smart NBC Sports people). He almost lost it, but he maintained. Then - the last 200 meters. He pulled it out. The free-stroke freed him just like freedom fries. He pulled ahead and got 'er done. GOLD!!!!!

But I haven't breathed the whole time they have been swimming, my feet and hands are all crunched up and my sholders are practically in my ears I am so stressed out. I can't handle this. Everytime I watch an event I am either totally stressed about the US team doing well or am bored out of my mind. (Can anyone say men's bike road ride?)

So, after an hour of the Chinese olympics, I am not hungry for more. I think there are a few more weeks of this. I don't think I will miss it. I don't get the channel that well anyway.

Shhhh - it is a Secret

The other day I had an audition commercial - for Secret deodorant. I had to play a sport. So, naturally, I picked the one sport I don't suck at - tennis. I played tennis for many years. I remember being at the YMCA taking lessons ever summer since I can remember. My sister even taught Pee-Wee Tennis. Not that her teaching made me a better player, but you can see how important tennis was in the life of our family.

Then came high school. I was not that great, but I had a great coach that really believed in me and was willing to spend any amount of time I was willing to spend on improving my game -- my Dad. "It is all about visualizing the swing." "See the image of you hitting the ball in your mind." As I look back on high school, I wish I paid more attention in history and English, and I wish I practiced more tennis.

To prep for my tennis audition (since it has been easily 6 years since I touched a racket, let alone hit a ball with it) my cousin and I decided to hit the ball around. It was amazing -- like riding a bike. I hit the ball a few times and realized that I didn't suck. My backhand was a strong as ever. I still hyper-extend on my forehand. And if I just relax into my serve, I can get it in - it isn't an ace, but it is at least playable. And what is even more crazy, or scary, is I could hear my Dad's voice in my head. "She hits a cross-court shot to your backhand. Return it down the line, make her run." "Approach the next, be aggressive." Ect. Freaky, but reassuring. There is really something to the muscle, memory thing. And it is nice to know I don't suck.

So back to my audition. The first four shots are this: 1 close-up on my face, one full-body, one distant armpit shot, and one up-close armpit shot. Yup. Armpit shot. I should really connect with the photographer to be sure to add that to my comp card. After my good, bad, and smelly armpit has been digitalized, we move on to a fake game. Basically I pantomime a tennis game. A few strokes: Serve, return forehand, backhand, backhand, overhead smash, another serve and then my final winning (backhand) shot. Point, set, match. The high point is the celebration of my success. It was hard won, I almost didn't get it, but the sweet smell of victory (because I am wearing Secret deodorant) smells so sweet.

I probably won't get it, but I had fun anyway.

At the ol' ball game!

I, by chance, found myself at Wrigley Field tonight. I was right behind first base, 5 rows behind the Reds dugout. To keep as much of the pain out of it, I will keep the score to myself. Because I am at Wrigley, the players are less than 10 feet in front of me. They were chit-chatting the fans before the game. Now, during the game, there is not so much gabbing.

As they come in from the field at the top of each inning, they toss up the ball to some adorable kid hanging over the dugout. The kid is usually dressed in some Cubs get-up, obviously not a Reds fan, but I guess it would be bad press to tell the kid to shove it.

I am sick of 6 and 10 year old Cubs fans getting all of the face time with MY CINCINNATI REDS. So I begin my plea " I'm from Cincinnati!" It starts quite, just to make a joke to my friends. But then, as the innings go by and bratty Chicago 6 year old Cubs kids tromp up the stairs to their seats with big smiles and a Major League ball, I get more desperate/energized. My plea becomes a chat: "I'm from Cincinnati! I'm from Cincinnati!".

Finally, Ken Griffy Jr catches my chant (one of the few things he caught that night)*. At the top of the 7th inning, he tosses me the ball. The entire area around me cheers. Finally the girl from Cincinnati will shut-up. I am congratulated by Cubs fans all around.

The next time the Reds are going into the dugout, people around me start to yell "I'm from Cincinnati" trying to get them to toss up another ball. I am a semi-celebrity. All because I am from Cincinnati and am proud of it. I left the game saying to all the Reds players, "I know you tried very hard. I will see you on Friday." I am pretty sure they thing I am crazy.

Goodnight from Chicago,


*Jr actually played a decent game, but the joke was there, so I had to take it.