And also for for CTV Olympics
Nothing is funnier than when people fall down on ice and snow, especially when they're moving very very quickly. And not funny the way that Dilbert is sometimes funny, nor funny in the way that you're bound to get nose zits the day before meeting up with people who haven't seen you in 35 years or so. Funny in the way that you're laughing so hard you're going to wet 'em for sure this time. An older gentleman once slipped on the ice across the street from our house and I had to slap myself in the face for 30 seconds before I could settle down long enough to go out and make sure he was okay. I hang out at skating rinks to watch the ankles turn, and crane my neck the whole time I'm on a ski lift to see if I can witness a tumble. I purposely ski the beginner run at Norquay because its lift goes right over the snowboard tricks park. There's something about windmilling limbs and gape-mouthed surprise that leaves me helpless. (One of the reasons I loved LA so much was that there are enough roller blading accidents taking place to satisfy anyone. I actually want to retract what I said earlier: there is nothing funnier than watching a tanned Amazon in a bikini, reading Heidegger while on rollerskates, crash into a telephone poll. Take it from me.)
I fell while skiing two winters ago and turned my right knee into butterscotch pudding. I had to lie on the couch for six weeks, have Frankenstein bolts drilled into my leg, and learn how to walk again under the tutelage of an adolescent sadist of a therapist. I feel that I have, therefore, paid my debt in full and am now free to revel openly in the misfortunes of other winter sports enthusiasts. And if there's anything that characterizes Canadian winter athletes, it's misfortune. We fall down. A lot.
So it was with mounting excitement I awaited the Vancouver Olympics. Two solid weeks of falling down. ON TV--I wouldn't even have to get out of my pajamas. Like the drive-in! Whee!
Except that we did well this time. Medal after medal after medal. The best crashes were those performed by the athletes of other nations and it's not polite to laugh at one's guests. Except for figure skaters from Europe dressed as Appalachian yokels. It's totally fine to laugh at them.
Garsh, wurd the ground git to?
When I fell, I was dressed as a Creamsicle. I think, as does the gentleman above, clearly, that if you're doing something during which you might fall spectacularly, you owe it to others to dress like a clown.
Which also starts with a C.
If schadenfreude started with a C, this would be the perfect opportunity to haul it out and end this post with a dramatic flourish.
Too bad for all of us.
Tomorrow: haiku about chlamydia. WHICH STARTS WITH A C. TA-DA!