I Don't Love the Olympics.

I told my friend that I haven't been watching the Olympics because I'm not really interested. His response was:

"I'm not sure if we can be friends anymore. You hate the olympics? Are you a communist? Why don't you just move to China?!? This is one of the greatest Olympics you'll ever see with what Phelps is doing, and you're missing it..."

So, I wrote an email to him detailing my general apathy, and I kind of cracked myself up. And then I thought I'd post it.

"haha - did you just tell me to move to china because i hate the olympics? were you striving for irony? if so, nicely played. if not, i am laughing at you, rather than with you. i just think the olympics are boring. sorry. when it's on, i tolerate it, and i listen to people talk about michael phelps on the news, but i just don't feel like i'm missing out.

"'but biz!' people argue, 'he can swim! like... really... good!'

"wow.

"i used to hate tiger woods too. it was like, he would walk out on the golf course and everyone would say, 'i wonder who will come in second in this tournament.' it wasn't even fun anymore. then he lost some and i got over it.

"and i guess i'm just more concerned with the us response to russia invading georgia than how many calories michael phelps eats in one day. although 12,000 is pretty impressive, i must admit.

"so i watch the news. and i read harry potter, because seriously - that crap never gets old! and i write emails so i can procrastinate the massive packing job i have to do tonight. so you can have my ticket to china. i'm going to the beach."

I have never been good at transitions. When I don't edit my writing, pretty much every paragraph starts with "so." And usually not used properly. But seriously, that's not even what I'm talking about.

I'm talking about life. I was totally crummy after college. When I started college too. And the last time I changed roommates. And now.

I just got back from a one-week-turned-three-week stretch at Krislund. It was amazing. And occassionally difficult. And, you know, that's what I expect.

But the really hard part is not any of the problems I had to solve or the relationally difficult things... the really hard part was coming home. It is the weirdest thing - going from living in 24/7 community (or 24/6, whatever) to living at my apartment alone while my roommate is out of town. And it is making me a little grumpy.

Okay, I'm doing a horrible job writing about it. How bout a picture?

This is me and my cocounselor, Phil. As each other. We have the same haircut. But... I don't flex in pictures?

Also horrible: this video. Seriously, don't even watch it.

FBI Agent in the Making

I'm pretty sure the mob is somewhere around here.

I can see how that might not be believable. Del Ray is pretty much the cutest and safest neighborhood in Northern Virginia (NoVa, to those in the know.)

But that's exactly my point, you know? Wouldn't you want to be in a clean, safe neighborhood if you were a mobster? You would, because who would look for you there?

I would.

And I do. It's one of my all-time favorite games. Which one of these shops could be a mob front? Is it the big green massage parlor with no windows on the side walls? It's right next to another massage parlor, and neither one seems to struggle for business. Is it the psychadelic clothes store that I've never seen open? Is it the free health clinic that appears through the front window to be nothing more than a desk, a file cabinet, and a folding chair.

As I type, I become less convinced that I live near the mob... and less convinced that my neighborhood is clean and safe.

But I like it anyway. And if I turn up at the bottom of the Potomac with cement shoes on, at least you'll know why.