We're All Somebody From Somewhere

Steven Tyler's fleeting crossover hit noticeably disturbed the droning of a country music award show, one night in my living room. It seemed to address American racism (so, some great targeting, there), but the title was confusingly adapted by NBC to its olympic advertising. I think we were supposed to believe that our athletes didn't always enjoy the best social support, which is kind of ridiculous; the message came across more as, even the privileged and self-absorbed can represent human pathos. Like white people can comprehend racism. Okay... I guess I can get behind that.... (?) I was oddly drawn from my midnight Fringe bingeing by the games, so I guess it worked.

I wasn't a very competitive swimmer in high school, but I have one special, olympic insight to offer. When you're completely hammered, such that you're still wobbling at 6 a.m., I know, the pylons in the construction zone do seem to have been placed by incompetents. I've made that "false report." The poison doesn't just affect the person drinking it, unfortunately. Is it right to defend the integrity of a drug-using society by shaming individuals who can't use the drug?

Huh. I guess I'm talking about glycerin again. Didn't even mean to, that time.

The Final Five

With the Rimei disqualified by blood testing, my makeshift Lord Sterling (a Travel Tech with aluminum Yingjili handle) got promoted to the bathroom mirror cabinet. It cranked out an easy BBS ("cotton-picking close," I should say) with nothing but Palmolive Classic. So it's Ruby, Super Speed, Travel Tech, Slant, and Slim that made the team, and I guess the Merkur OC is watching from the stands in the closet, along with my shavettes.

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