The Olympic games have been eating away my oxygen these past few nights like Sylvia’s tulips. I often get annoyed with the announcers mythologizing the American athletes; and I’ve adopted my own system of naming: Paul Hamm has become “the Hammster,” and Michael Phelps has become “the Phelpsinator.” Try to outdo that, Mr. Costas!

You know, it’s been hard for me to feel sympathy for those who don’t place or medal. It’s the fuckin’ Olympics after all! So what if you’re only 5th best in the world at synchronized pole-vaulting. At the very least, you could have a fulfilling career in porn after your nation shuns you for not bringing home the gold. You know, I mean most of them have really hot bodies.

Gymnastics are nice, but I’m still too much a fan of Nadia’s. You remember, perfect score of 10 . . . seven or eight times! Try to outdo that, little Ms. Carly!

Yesterday Lori declared a day for Frank. Thank you! I celebrated by going out for Chinese after spending most of the afternoon driving from south Dallas to north Plano (believe me: a far, far distance; if I would’ve been in Europe, I would’ve traveled through most of Benelux!) in the pissing rain.

It seems I’m set to begin teaching as well as taking courses this Monday. My government classes are all set, and I submitted my syllabi yesterday. After I finally returned home, I even began reading the first essays for my graduate courses. Over the next week, I need to prep my humanities courses, but now that I have all the supplemental material from the publisher, it should be a breeze. The most difficult part will be deciding which sections to cut out of a course over the entire history and cultures of the world.

Now excuse me as I go for the gold….