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Why I feel sorry for Sochi.

7 Feb

Image Source: http://img.gawkerassets.com/img/19ennvwskeytrjpg/ku-xlarge.jpg

I’ll admit to laughing at some of the photos in this Buzzfeed collection of journalists’ tweets from Sochi. Mainly because I enjoy bathroom humor and – let’s be honest – who WON’T laugh when viewing “buddy toilets” side by side?

But after laughing, I felt guilty. Because at my core, I feel bad for Sochi. The Olympics have come to represent a moment of national pride for the hosting country, a chance to showcase all that’s great about their land on an international stage. And Sochi’s just plagued with challenges.

According to the coverage, hotels aren’t completed, bricks are still being hastily laid as guests arrive, the snow quality is a icier than desirable, the grass is being spray-painted green, the toilets aren’t installed properly… I mean, I know we’re all angry about the gay rights issue and Putin is a tool, but at some point this seems like a we’re just ganging up on the place.

It makes me think of birthday parties. (Stay with me.)

When I was a kid, a birthday party involved a few of my friends and a cake – maybe a slumber party. These days, birthday parties involve inviting an entire class and doing some expensive group activity – like rock climbing, an arcade outing, etc. And parents seem to struggle to one-up the last party so their kid isn’t teased for being a lame host.

It feels like that’s how the Olympics have become. Maybe I’m romanticizing it, but it seems like back in the day, it was a platform for the best athletes to represent their countries, uniting a world of viewers in the awe that comes from witnessing that kind of talent. And now, the focus has shifted and it’s on the host country to put on a party that tops the previous host. It’s about spending money and opulence and proving a nation’s wealth.

Except in my analogy, Russia is like poor kid in your class, who is being mocked for attempting to compete in a contest that’s a bit out of his depth. When I read things like the #sochiproblems tweets, it feels like a bunch of rich kids are picking on Sochi. And it makes me wonder if – like a kid bullied to the point of dawning a black trench coat – Russia is going to come out of this experience with an axe to grind.

People wonder why Americans get a bad rap internationally. Seems to me that gloating over another country’s failure doesn’t help the cause. Russia may seem backwards by our standards. It may have human rights issues that need to be addressed. But shaming a nation – and the people who were born there – isn’t likely to help those matters.

Instead of rejoicing in Sochi’s failures, why don’t we lead by example and show a little class? After all, the Olympics should provide a lesson in good sportsmanship, if nothing else.

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Said no one, ever.

5 Aug

Meme Alert! For those of you who don’t have Facebook accounts, here’s my attempt to keep you culturally hip.

In the past couple weeks, people have been sharing humorous or ironic quotes (most often accompanied by a generic image rendered by SomeEcards.com), followed by the attribution; “said no one ever” – or another variation, more specifically identifying who wouldn’t have said it.

Of course, that got me thinking about my own versions of this. Although I hate the word “meme,” it doesn’t stop me from participating. So, with no further ado, here are my contributions:

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That awkward moment when…

7 Jun

Sometime in the past year it has become popular to share a status update that begins with, “That awkward moment when…” and then recount something horribly embarrassing. Apparently it’s become so pervasive that my brain now does real-time narration of situations to let me know it’s been an awkward moment.

Or perhaps I’m just lucky enough to always find myself in awkward situations, and I now have a catch-phrase for it. In any case, without further ado, here’s my list from just THIS WEEK:

That awkward moment when your male boss walks out of the women’s room. And you realize the bathroom is actually mislabeled and you’ve been peeing in the men’s room for three months.

[Smack your head moment: So THAT’S why the toilet seat is always up!]

That awkward moment when everyone is trying to pinpoint where the “patchouli” smell is coming from and after proclaiming that you HATE patchouli because it reminds you of stoners who don’t shower, someone produces your new vial of perfume and says, “FOUND IT!” 

Perhaps I should start smoking weed. 

That awkward moment when you’re surrounded by a 55 Scottish bagpipers and you realize you’re a) the only woman, b) the only American accent, and c) likely the only person wearing underwear in the room. 

Well, I’ve always wanted to know what it’s like to be a minority. 

That awkward moment when someone identifies the odd smell on the elevator as BODY ODOR right as you call it out as BASIL.

Kind of makes people wonder a) what you eat for dinner and b) what your armpits smell like. Perhaps this explains my attraction to the nasty patchouli perfume? 

That awkward moment when the gap in the stall door is wide enough for you to see someone sitting on the toilet – and you realize they are praying.

True story. Happened to me in Logan Airport. Fortunately, my flight had just landed. Otherwise, I would’ve thought some jihadist was in there making her peace before getting ready to take out my plane. And I would’ve had to kick her stall in. But since I’d landed safely, I figured, “Probably just a nun pooping.”


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Pesky? I prefer “clever.”

27 Apr

I don’t own a television. I’m not saying that in a superior way, the way vegetarians inform you that they won’t eat flesh. I don’t have a television because a) I prefer to read, b) I think they detract from a room’s design, and c) I’m too cheap to pay for cable.

But that doesn’t mean I won’t watch television. Admittedly, it’s probably amounts to only two hyper-calculated hours per week, but still – I’m not living in a total cultural void. Alan serves as my enabler. HE believes in television, so he records Mad Men shows we both enjoy, and I venture his way once a week to watch them.

And when the shows we watch are off-season, we check out a new series (most recently Breaking Bad) using his Netflix account. Kindly, he has lent me his password so that I can occasionally access something without him. I rarely do it (did I mention: I like to READ), but periodically I do hop in there and make his queue a bit more, um, interesting. I think he appreciates it.

Here is what I added last night:

  • Reach for Me: When his new hospice roommate — 25-year-old Kevin — moves in, the quiet life of senior citizen Alvin turns upside down. (Don’t you think Alan will LOVE that?)
  • Politics of Love: Politics makes strange bedfellows, but never stranger than when a sexy, savvy, African-American Republican reluctantly falls for his counterpart: a beautiful Indian-American Democratic campaign volunteer. (Timely. It IS election season, after all. And before you try to claim this must be sci-fi because there are no African American Republicans, let me remind you: Michael Steele.)
  • Don’t Go Breaking My Heart: Recently widowed mother of two Suzanne catches the eye of her dentist, who secretly hypnotizes her during an appointment to make her fall for him. (Because nothing says SEXY like a medical professional taking advantage of you while you’re in the chair for a procedure. THAT is the stuff dreams – and lawsuits – are made of.)
  • The Human Centipede 2:A disturbed loner is so obsessed with the shocking horror film The Human Centipede that he decides to replicate the movie’s grisly experiment. In this metasequel, the stakes are raised as 12 unlucky souls endure surgical hell. (Actually, I think Alan might have added this one himself. Nevermind.)
  • The Minis: Worried he can’t afford his son’s tuition, Roger — a little person — tries to get his friends to enter a basketball tournament with a big prize. (I would like to meet the screenwriter who thought, “Ah ha! Little person, big prize!” And then punch him in the face.)

The best part of meddling with Alan’s queue isn’t even watching him sift through the items that populate it. It’s seeing the “intelligent” recommendations at populate as a result. The formula I just created with these movies looks something this:

Hospice + racial/political switcheroo + widowed date-rape + human centipedes + Dennis Rodman =

Netflix's "Recommended for Alan" pick.

Actually, that sounds about right. I guess technology IS smarter than we are.

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Squeaking in my Oscar picks – just under the wire.

26 Feb

It’s showtime, so I thought I should go on record with my Oscar picks.

First, I suppose I should confess: I’ve seen fewer than half of the movies nominated for Best Picture. And of those, only one (Hugo!) in the theatre. The other three (Midnight in Paris, The Help, and Moneyball) have all come to me courtesy of RedBox in the last two weeks.

So let me start by telling you why I haven’t seen the others, aside from the fact that RedBox didn’t have them on offer…

The Tree of Life? Hadn’t heard of it until I checked the Oscar page two weeks ago. Brad Pitt stars in it, so I assume it made a big splash when it came out, but since I don’t have a television, I don’t see trailers, so I’m a bit clueless. I did youtube the trailer for it today, and based on those two minutes, I gathered that it’s about Brad Pitt being a father and raising a kid that turns out to be Sean Penn. Meh.

Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close? I read this book and loved it, so I have no interest in seeing the movie. There’s a reason everyone always says the book was better. (Fight Club is the only movie I can think of that runs contrary to this rule. Any others?)

The Artist? Apparently the whole movie is silent? It’s probably great and artistically sound, but I’m guessing all of 100 Americans actually watched it. It seems like the kind of thing that people claim they enjoyed when they want to sound sophisticated, but that – in reality – they abandoned after twenty minutes to sneak into Sherlock Holmes.

War Horse? I know, this one is supposed to be great and – since it has Spielberg’s backing – it’s probably the front-runner for the Oscar. (See what I did there? Used a horse analogy to tee up a horse movie!) Call me un-American, but I don’t like horse movies. I didn’t like Black Beauty or Black Stallion as a kid, and I can’t see myself falling for War Horse. Especially because I also hate war movies. So the idea of watching two hours of horse + war = torture.

The Descendants? No clue what this movie is about, other than George Clooney. And while I love me some Clooney, I find it hard to imagine Dr. Ross on the stage when the Best Picture is awarded.

So of the movies I did see… none struck me as particularly Oscar-worthy, though I enjoyed them all. My favorite – from a sheer entertainment standpoint – was Midnight in Paris, even though it crapped the bed with a less-than-satisfying ending. I suppose if I had to award the Oscar, I’d give the nod to Hugo. It was the right blend of artsy and clever and beautiful and poignant that the Academy often rewards.

The only performance I’m really pulling for tonight is Christopher Plummer in “Beginners.” While the movie was touching, I’ll be honest: I’m voting for him based on his role as Captain von Trapp in The Sound of Music. Georg was one suave hottie who could work a whistle. That deserves some applause, even if it is 35 years after the fact.

All right. Time for the red carpet.

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