The Olympics are over. I’m going to miss them.
It was something to look forward to every night. Especially the weekends when television programs are notoriously bad.
Television producers should take note of the Olympic events: they had drama, tension, suspense, tears, and happiness, all under fifteen minutes. The gamut of human emotions was on display for the world to see and react to. There were successes and failures. Highs and lows. Every event had its moment. And as a spectator, you lived through them with the athletes.
London did a smashing job as host. Granted it cost them $14.5 billion to pull it off.
I always ask where does a host country get that kind of money when they can’t seem to do a very good job of taking care of their domestic affairs?
And here I thought Europe was in a financial crisis with the euro. Apparently not in London.
Did Queen Elizabeth use some of her stashed cash under her mattress at Balmoral Castle?
Did Prince Phillip sell a few gold bricks?
Maybe the newlyweds the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge sold some of their wedding loot.
The question of where the money came from eludes me completely.
But the bigger question that stumps me is this: what is London going to do now with the new stadiums, race courses, and buildings that were build specifically for the Olympics? Who pays for their upkeep?
Calvin says, “I spotted the Queen in her bloomers warming up for a game of beach volleyball at the Horse Guards Parade.”
The London 2012 Olympics have begun.
Last night most of the world watched the opening ceremonies from pubs, outdoor giant TV screens, or at home.
The stunt James Bond and the Queen pulled off was, well, quite stunning.
Who knew the Queen was such a good sport? She must have been in rehearsals since Beijing.
Give me James. He can parachute into my kitchen for breakfast anytime he wants. Or for lunch. Or tea time. Dinner too. Especially dinner when he wears his tux, requests his martini shaken, not stirred in that snobby way of his, and then says, “James. James Bond” to whomever is inquiring. Even if it’s only to remind himself.
But getting that view of the queen’s bloomers and those dangling white legs as she fell from the night sky was shocking, to say the least. I was relieved it happened quickly because I was embarrassed by that vision in peach chiffon. Sort of like a cream puff with appendages descending from the sky. I think I felt a collective shock all around me.
After that entrance, everything else was a let-down.
Calvin says, “That collective shock came from me. I ran and hid under your skirt.”
If you leave your coffee on the hood of the car, and it drops, somebody else will drink it.
Don’t date Fabio. The most popular guy in school won’t make a good husband.
The Queen has a facebook page, but you can’t poke her.
I used to think God lived in a confessional booth. Now I think he lives on facebook.
Sister Boom-Boom was no sister.
Your brain doesn’t crunch.
The film was super lo-budge.
Calvin says, “I need a facebook page for my fans. And you can poke me anytime.”