Experience means being mum

The sweltering temperatures and excited streets tell me that it must already be August and time for the Olympics. Along with everything, I have assumed the ability to disappear and I blame August for that. I have replaced my frequent trips to blog with bus rides and a cow-like six flags uniform, which would turn Angelina Jolie frumpy and designates me as a stupid English speaker who gives away her time and skills for free.

Hopefully people don’t get too used to that, because when I finally reach the U.S. again I intend on spending buckets of money on food. Edible food. I might miss the eloquent green glow that Beijing rice and mystery meat so uniquely evoke upon me, but I would intensely love some of my mom’s cooking right about now. Hell I wouldn’t mind some of my sister’s cooking!

My regimented meal of crackers, bread and peanut butter has gone relatively unchanged (except for last week when I slipped and bought corn bread. No, no, think literally), but just about everything else in my leisurely tourist lifestyle has gone awry in exchange for Olympic zoo-ery.

Unfortunately, I have exchanged my nonchalant comments and writings for “mum” and I am limited in both time and what I’m actually allowed to say. Censorship is a dirty word, but NBC owns the Olympics and Al Gore owns the Internet, so I best keep my mouth, or fingers, quiet on many fronts.

What can I tell you? Hmm…well I have met athletes. I have met very cute athletes. I have met very ugly athletes. I have interviewed several athletes. Let’s be honest though, how many of you have your quiver full of arrows and bucket hats in anticipation for archery? That’s what I thought. So you’re probably not concerned with whom I have spoken, and maybe not anticipating their quotes as much as my own. Well bottom line, I have talked to some people, I have watched some people, I have eaten a lot of….rice. I have yet to be arrested, and that suits me just fine! Ask me when I’m once again cradled in the arms of the first amendment about my multitude of experiences that would have rendered that previous statement false, but please not now.

Perhaps it is by some off chance that I matter among the millions of volunteers and workers it takes to nurture the Olympics, but it is more likely just my mad English skills and beating heart that have lead to a transfer to basketball after my love affair with archery. But, remember the yin and yang? Light and dark? Good and bad? Good: I’m covering basketball with a very high possibility of meeting Kobe Bryant and Lebrone James. Bad: I’m only covering the practices. Now I know, I’m a 5’ tall Jewish white girl, why would I want to talk to basketball players, and how are they even going to see me? It is quite simple, the snickers and passive approvals of my archery assignment will soon be replaced with cries of jealousy. Kobe and Lebron are tall, but I’m loud and this white girl can jump.

My diploma is in the mail and barring any dogs or strong gusts of wind, should be designating me as another scumbag journalist in the coming weeks. However despite all of this, I must continue to appease professors and write papers. So I’m off to whip together another masterpiece of the written word, or at least string some coherent sentences together. In the meantime, guys, please don’t be worried if my presence on here wanes even more. With my speech barred and my schedule jammed there is little to say and little time to do it. Know that I haven’t forgotten y’all. Much love.

~Molly