There was a time when I was always reasonably tuned it to whatever was the cultural preoccupation of the moment. While those days are a ever-foggier memory, I remain curious enough that I can offer decent discourse on the "The Battle of the Davids", I understand why Miley Cyrus might wear a blonde wig for a portion of a concert, and I could probably pick Vanessa Hudgens out of a line-up if necessary. I've never watched a second of Mad Men but I know how it dark it's getting, and I know why the uncaged dreamboat vampire sings.
And yet, as much as I prefer being tuned in, I have no interest whatsoever in the Olympics.
I don't care about Michael Phelps and his quest for medals, I don't care about the U.S. basketball team's attempt to rightfully reclaim the "Dream Team" moniker, and I certainly don't care about scandalous (although admittedly nasty) identity chicanery during the overblown, empty spectacle of the opening ceremonies. I can certainly do without the invasive, dimwitted corporate synergy that has Matt Lauer interviewing the Today medical correspondent about acupuncture (cuz the Olympics are in China...get it?) and the Project Runway designers coming up with outfits that U.S. athletes might wear in some theoretical opening ceremony. (To be fair about that last point, it was one of the better challenges in the season so far, and as bad as some of the designs were, none of them were as boring as the actual outfits created by Ralph Lauren for this year's ceremonies. He may have made a bajillion dollars crafting clothes for people over the years, but the U.S. Olympians look like Danny Noonan on his way to a boat christening.)
I'm not certain why this is the case. I don't think it's a simple as being dissatisfied with the results of my efforts on the "What Olympic Sport Are You?" quiz--
You Are Gymnastics |
 You are agile, expressive, and precise. You have the drive to practice until you get something perfectly right. And you have the confidence to perform difficult moves when under pressure. |
--although it surely didn't help. I'm not a hugely committed sports fan, chief proof of that being that my three decades in Wisconsin didn't give me the requisite Packer fervor. I'm not so immune, however, that big games won't lure me in, especially if they're played in blinding snowstorms. Besides, I'm a confessed baseball geek and that's one the sports actually in the Olympics.
Maybe it's just as simple as having grown up finding my heroes elsewhere, knowing full well that starring on a Wheaties box doesn't automatically protect you from dire days ahead. (Some others might tell you that all necessary heroics took place 2000 years ago, but I don't subscribe to that notion.) Maybe the boycotts of 1980 and 1984 blunted any lingering Cold War competitive feelings I may have had as a burgeoning partly cloudy patriot during my formative years.
The reason isn't important, I guess. I'll just keep sitting her detached, scrolling through the satellite listings for the movies I haven't seen. Wake me when the medal count is complete.
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