Cold War

Most of you know this about me, but I was a competitive figure skater for 10 years back in the day. I wasn't Olympic-caliber or anything, but I could land all the double jumps (minus the axel--that thing's a bitch) and I competed all over the Midwest. I was skating four days a week for at least 2 hours a day and then I decided to quit because I wanted to play other sports in high school and, um, have more of a life.

Anyway, all of that is by way of saying that I feel the need to comment on last night's debacle, otherwise known as the ladies' free skate. I have watched every free skate since Katrina Witt's dying Carmen in 1988 and they have never disappointed. Until last night. No one was perfect, but also, no one was even good. I was completely uninspired and that just made me pissed off because I stayed up until midnight (thanks NBC) to see it through to its conclusion.

The problems weren't just the skaters' faults. The commentators, Sandra Bezic, Scott Hamilton, and Dick "I was the first to land a triple in competition" Button made the night wholly unpleasant with their constant harping. Sandra Bezic's a choreographer so she spent all evening griping about everyone's lack of fluidity, interesting steps, and that "choreography is an emotional commitment that these girls aren't willing to make." Gag.

Scott Hamilton is a former Olympic champion who was able to win gold in 1984 despite a disasterous free skate because he won the compulsory figures portion of the competition. That's right, figures. Scott Hamilton traced a better figure eight pattern than Brian Orser, so even though Orser dominated the free skate, Hamilton won the gold. The compulsories were banned in 1990 after this debacle but Hamilton carries these demons with him, so all night he was stressing how all these competitors were anxious, "suffering from Olympic adrenaline," and "that no amount of practice can prepare you for your Olympic free skate." Scott, I love you, but GET OVER IT!! You won and you're a great skater. Yeah, you blew the free but under the archaic compulsory rules you did win. We know the Olympics are pressure, stop annoying us.

And now, the Grandaddy of them all. Dick Button. I loathe him. He is a mean-spirited, crusty, traditional, nit-picky old man. One girl's laces weren't tied tightly enough. Another girl's arm position wasn't pretty. The amount of the jumps (7 passes) that all the skaters did seemed to strike him as vulgar and not about the "complete package." He views women's skating the way that society used to view women: as pretty packages and nothing more. Skating is a demanding and a physically taxing sport and he was quick to pounce on any athleticism that was displayed if it hindered the program composition. I think that artistic merit is important, sure, but it is only half of the consideration. But the worst part about him is that he plays favorites. Sasha Cohen, yes. Our new Olympic champion, Shizuka Arakawa, no. And this is how it will be for eternity.

Oh yeah, and no Michelle Kwan. Worst. Olympics. Ever.

OCD: Grey's Anatomy

I am not one to make an explicit blog shout-out on these pages, but I feel like this blog merits special status. It's the blog that writers of Grey's Anatomy started called, "Grey Matter." The writer(s) of the week's previous episode (and sometimes Shonda Rhimes for no apparent reason other than it's her show) blog about the show, the idea behind an episode or story arc, viewer reaction, etc. For those of you (me included) who thought Sunday's episode was fantastic but found yourself a little pissed at Meredith for taking advantage of George, have a read.

Damn, this show is too good for its own good.

Sometimes love just ain't enough

Dear Smurfette:

First off, let me say I love you. That isn't really what's being questioned here. What is being questioned is whether our love is enough to sustain us through these difficult times. I partly blame myself for not being there when you were born, but I was trying to lay the groundwork in DC for a job after graduation. As soon as you and I left for Ann Arbor in the Fall of '03 I felt like we really bonded. You liked Ann Arbor--you were economical and clean and I was so happy to have you at school that gas money didn't seem like a hassle. Things were good.

But then winter break came. The snowstorms to and from Ann Arbor were some of the most treacherous conditions that I have ever driven through, and sadly, you were scared! It's not your fault, you're not a snow car. But you were brave as we hit that ice patch and 360-ed off the road. You chugged and you plugged so I could get out of that embankment without the aid of a tow truck. I was proud of you.

The drive out to DC after college was not without its perils as well. Sure, we bonded listening to NPR and you seemed to not mind my singing, but the drive was 11 hours and there were bound to be bumps. The rain on the Pennsylvania Turnpike was more than your little wipers (even on high) could handle. So we pulled over and waited for the storm to pass. You know your limitations, which I have always respected about you.

Since you became an official DC resident, things have been rocky. I love having the freedom to hit the road, but the road has been hitting you back with the two flats tires you've gotten and other inconveniences of city life. Without you I don't know how I'd get to the grocery store, Target, Virginia, or Lizzie's house for the Jewish holidays. I wouldn't know the joy of driving Rock Creek Parkway. I would never have seen the amazing houses in Spring Valley. I wouldn't be able to hit I-95 to Philly or New York. But without you I wouldn't know the pain of erroneous speeding tickets on the Dulles Access Road, rush hour parking tickets that are $50-$100, being towed in Virigina (more Virigina's fault than yours) or feeling the pinch of high gas prices.

This morning's parking tickets (on our own street no less!) make me wonder if you make any sense at all. Oh, Smurfette we've definitely had some good times--but do they outweigh the bad? I just need some guidance on the subject.

Love,
Libberash

Things that make me happy today

**Turk dancing to Poison by Bell Biv Devoe: boy's got moves

**Valentine candy hearts that say "fax me." Oh baby, now that's romantic.

**The Chinese pair who got the silver medal in the Olympics. They're both named Zhang.

**Quaker Oatmeal Squares: best cereal ever

**I finished The Washington Post crossword. Tuesday is the new Monday.

**I made my lunch. Ok, that's a really small victory but the $8 for a sandwich at the deli across the street is really starting to add up.

**Free toliet paper. I used to steal it all the time from my sorority house, but I ran out over the weekend and so I stole some from my building. Toliet paper is one of those annoying items that no one ever budgets for or realizes how much you need. I'm sticking it to the man.

**I'm wearing knee-high boots that I bought when I was 15. Nine years later and they still zip up. Awesome.

**There are entire websites with jokes like this for Valentine's Day: "Did you hear about the romance in the tropical fish tank? It was a case of guppy love." Priceless.

The Bachelor 3000

Ok, so I was watching The Bachelor last night (embarrassing, but let's move on) and I noticed something interesting. Me and my viewing companions were pretty harsh on the obvious lack of physical chemistry between the Bachelor and one of his final four ladies. It was obvious he respected her, thought she was fun, and enjoyed spending time with her, but they hung out more like pals, and this are the comments we all kept making.

"I mean yeah, of course they'd be friends, but..."
"They have a cute friendship but look! They're not even holding hands."

Etc, etc.

The approximate timeline of The Bachelor is one month. He meets 25 women and whittles them from 25-15-8-6-4-3-2 and the final one all in one month's time. So my question is this: why are we discounting two people that have an obvious rapport, even if it's not sexual? An actual relationship is built on friendship and mutual respect. Sure, the Bachelor is hot and having him make out with other hot women makes good television but it doesn't accomplish the show's intended goal of finding him a mate. It may have taken umpteen seasons (I'm not an avid watcher) but I think they may have finally found two people who are actually forging a relationship on television.

Now let this franchise die in peace.

The corner of going deaf and why don't I have a BB gun?

Working at 17th, Connecticut, and K Street (that's right three streets a corner makes, whoever told you otherwise was silly) has forever altered my tolerance for daily urban annoyances. I used to laud DC's restriction on building height because it kept the city from the "people as bugs" sensation a la New York or Chicago, but now I know better.

I work on the fifth floor and I can hear everything happening on the street like I'm standing outside. The guy that plays the bagpipes on Thursday? He sucks. Saxophone man? Learn a new song! LaRouchies? You make me want to join the NRA just to take you and your f*cking bullhorn out. And the worse offenders of all? SIRENS. I don't think you understand how much I hate sirens. Yes, they're necessary--police, fire engines, and ambulances need to get throught and K Street is a major street--I understand these facts. But I rarely see any of these vehicles speeding down the street on their way to an emergency. Instead, I see them as part of a motorcade because your friendly, neighborhood Congressional whip, Ambassador, Veep, and even the President have to get from point A to point B faster than the speed of traffic.

My office window overlooks Connecticut and one of my pastimes has become the "how important are you?" game that you can tell from counting how many cars are in the motorcade that is piercing my ear drums. Six cars including police? Low-level diplomat. Ten cars and two motorcycle cops? Either Congressional leadership or maybe an Ambassador. Traffic cops not letting people cross the street, eight police cars, four motorcycles, five black Escalades, and four squad cars trailing just for fun? It's gotta to be Dick or George.

This was mildly exciting at first, but only mildly. Now I spend my days mentally drafting angry letters to the DC Police Department asking them if escorting these people is really so important that this procession needs to happen three times a day. By comparison, the Hill is rural. Last night's helicopters and sidewalk searches notwithstanding, I don't get harrassed verbally, aurally or otherwise when I'm home. There are no speeding cars, no crazy people badly playing instruments, and when I hear a siren on the Hill I know it's for an actual emergency.

New K Street project: one day of peace and quiet. I beg you.