This entry will be all over the place, just because my writing brain is otherwise engaged, and also I’m waiting on DVDs. We’ll get to this in a moment.

Apparently, this year I’m watching the Olympics? I will alert the me from two weeks ago who had to be told they are on NBC. As usual, I gravitate to the most costume-heavy and subjectively-judged events, to make myself the most unhappy. Why can’t I just like speed skating like a normal person? (Answer: they have sharp blades and go really fast and SOMEONE COULD LOSE A FINGER. I am not watching that.)

I was going to have an essay about ice dancing here, but seriously, I don’t even have the words for ice dancing. It’s so utterly shameless I don’t think there’s much to say. And it’s not the lack of throws or anything – I am one of those people who believes ballroom dance* should be an Olympic sport, so good technique and some musicality is basically all I require, I guess. But man, those ice dancers do not believe in toning it down in the face, ever.

In unrelated news, I wanted to be fair about something (for once – zing!), so before I passed judgment on the show, I rented the DVDs from Netflix instead of relying on memories from my childhood. I’m waiting on the last discs of the third season, but then I will be talking about Beauty and the Beast. Because We Need to Talk.

* You cannot even tell me ballroom dancers are not Olympic-caliber athletes. I have seen them. They train like MACHINES. Why shouldn’t they get the chance to be unfairly judged and embroiled in international sports politics like everyone else?

So, this Olympics I’ve fallen hard for the ice skating. Don’t worry, it’ll be over in a week and change, and then we’ll be back to pictures of horrific advertising as per usual.

The men’s short program was last night, and I have a couple of comments, mostly regarding the commentators and editorializing.

1. The commenting in general was hugely over the top, as with Florent Amodio, whom they treated as if he was a salamander because he had been adopted from Brazil to France, and no adoptee has ever come to anything until this moment, I guess. Not particularly offensive, just…really pushing the bullet points on their notes.

2. Plushenko. Okay, here is the thing about Plushenko. Do I think he’s a jerk? Yes. Do I think his skating lacks artistry? Yes. Am I glad two other skaters have put in performances that will make the long program an honest fight? Yes. Do I think that, if Plushenko gets the gold, Russia will come and get us? No, I do not, because I am a person with a functioning brain stem.

Just – for god’s sake, paint him as a jerk in your fluff piece if you want, it’s not hard; but skip the ominous smash cuts to barbed wire and crumbling statues and imposing architecture, all right, NBC? I mean, BOND movies are ashamed of you, that’s how bad this is.

3. The NBC commentators, including the usually-excellent Scott Hamilton, seemed shocked that Johnny Weir delivered a solid performance, despite a very long list of competitive wins. I understand his program lacked the technical difficulty of some of the other skaters’, so there wasn’t the thrill that a quad brings, but they seemed amazed that he did anything besides mince in a circle. You heard a lot of comments like, “It’s funny because, as controversial as he is, he really is a purist when it comes to technique – his technique is fine.”

This annoys me because it’s disingenuous on the part of the commentators, who have been aware of his career for many years and should maybe be a little less surprised by his technique, and also because a comment like that assumes flamboyant men can’t take something seriously, which, really?

For anyone who doesn’t want to sit through all the awful, endless footage of dudes falling down last night, my three personal-favorite routines, in skate order:

1. Florent Amodio. (If this kid doesn’t have a medal eight years from now, I’d like to know why.)

2. Daisuke Takahashi. (If he doesn’t have a medal 24 hours from now, I’d like to know why.)

3. Johnny Weir. (Caution: showman at work.)

Found on ONTD – there is a new Oscar category for Best Thing in the World, and this person is the ONLY NOMINEE:

“Cinema 2009: 1 Year, 342 Movies, 12 Months of Production, 7 Minutes.”

I don’t know if anyone knows this, but I love movies a lot? Anyway, this is basically what the inside of my head looks like, all the time, awake or asleep. (This also explains why I forget real-life stuff – you notice there is no frame in here that says YOU ARE OUT OF MILK, for example.)

Dear person who made this: you are a genius.

One of my favorite things in the world is watching historical documentaries (generally biographies) that have extras in the background, looking historical and Very Serious. They’re never allowed to talk, of course, but sometimes they get to “Peas and carrots” their way through something as historians explain things in the foreground. It’s all extras, all the time, and it’s awesome!

The best of these I’ve seen was “The Real Jane Austen,” which aired a while ago on PBS, and was amazing because it took the framework of a talking-heads biography with actors as the talking heads. It was narrated by Anna “I always play harridans for some reason” Chancellor, and starred a list of actors I can hardly believe managed to get in the same project just to make my life easier/worse: Gillian “Stuck in a Cookson” Kearney, Jack “Also stuck in a Cookson I haven’t recapped yet” Davenport, Lucy “Becoming Jane” Cohu, Oliver “I had two lines in Lorna Doone” Chris, and Beth “Yes, I’m Kate’s sister” Winslet.

(Oh, Awesome British Actor Camp, you always know just what to say!)

The one I’m watching at the moment is about the youth of Queen Victoria, with a narrator who seems to be reading her lines off cue cards she has never seen before, and the Queen Victoria extra’s job is to look up off-camera and shake her head “No” every time we cut to her, and it’s delightful. Also it’s about history, I guess.

(If I ever have a month to myself, I should start peoplewhohangaroundindocuemtnariesdatabase.com. Best month EVER.)

I’ve been on the lookout for a nice conspiracy theory to get behind, and this is a perfect blending of my interests: namely, actors, and things in museums.

The theory: Keanu Reeves is immortal and/or a vampire.

The proof: HIS FACE. Also, this painting:

Technically, this is actor Paul Mounet, who died in 1922 under mysterious circumstances and didn’t leave a body behind.

…BECAUSE HE’S KEANU REEVES. (Bad actor in the last century, bad actor now. IT’S LIKE MAGIC.)

At last, believing that the moon landing happened and that Elvis is actually dead is no impediment to having something totally irrational I can champion relentlessly! (Hint: This is probably not that irrational. That dude hasn’t aged a day since My Own Private Idaho. Or since 1847, I guess.)