Two young men

The 2010 Vancouver Olympics have, at this point, left two deep impressions on my soul: The startlingly dangerous nature of many of the sports, and the lyrical beauty of the human body when it has been encouraged to express itself physically.

When I watched the opening ceremonies, I was really amazed by all of it; as creepy as I found Beijing's multitudes of simultaneous posings, I was enthralled by the use of technology and props used in 2010 to transport the viewer to the grandeur of Canada, to the mountains, to Vancouver itself, back in time and forward again. Above it all, both literally and in my opinion as well, there was an aerialist suspended by barely visible lines; he ran, and danced, and soared over blowing grasses to the perfect accompaniment of Joni Mitchell. I was absolutely transfixed by the grace and glory of that young fellow who "flew." I've looked for more information about the guy (Thomas Saulgrain,) have searched for a clip online, trying in vain to find the full segment; sadly, I've uncovered only bits and pieces amidst collections of musical highlights from that opening ceremony. I'll keep looking, because I really long to see him fly again. I want to hold onto that feeling that it's possible. I want to see his natural, fluid movements and see the wonder on his face. He was a spectacular performer; I wish I had that sort of presence in any area of my life. Sheer beauty.

And then. In stark, horrible contrast, there is that poor Georgian son who also flew, on an icy track, too icy most think, and he flew too fast. As much as the aerialist defied the limitations of the human body (albeit with fine, thin wires,) the memory of Nodar and that speeding sled hold us all firmly on this rough, terrestrial ball by reminding us of the fragility of life. His loss, his awful death, reminds us all of the delicate nature of even the most tuned, practiced, prepared body. A young man, practically a boy, he had family at home that he'd talked to the day before his passing. He began the last moments of his life looking down the length of his own prone form just before it betrayed him. Someone's child, someone's friend, someone's neighbor. Snatched away instantly. He, unlike that other boy, was not permitted to fly.

There they both are, stuck in my mind; one offers a respite from the horror of the other, yet the horror cannot be denied; it keeps me where I need to spend most of my days—planted on the ground, taking precautions, being careful. Perhaps it's because I spend so many of my days firmly grounded in reality that I cling with such steadfastness to that other young man, suspended over the golden grass, touching down only when he chooses.

Did I mention how much I liked the opening ceremony, at least what I was able to stay awake to see? Did I mention how bummed I was that my little boy couldn't even make it through the parade of nations and missed all the best parts? Even the big boy at my house missed the best parts for sleeping. A shame.

Stay warm, dream of soaring, and measure your risks with care.

Uneasy thoughts

So, did you catch any of the opening ceremonies at the Olympics? Yes, it was grand, and impressive, and amazing. And holy cow, did it give me the creeps.

Has anyone else read the children’s novel A Wrinkle in Time? And if so, do you remember the part about the planet where all the kids bounced the ball in perfect unison, except for the one boy who couldn’t keep the rhythm and was hidden inside his house? Does that seem a tad familiar? Honestly, how many people running around in light-up green suits are really necessary to impress? How many Tai Chi masters do we need to see performing in unison? How many beautiful, swaying, charming women in identical skirts? How many cute children singing together? Can you imagine the rehearsals for such a show? The mere thought of that choreography's preparations makes my head spin.

And speaking of cute children, the story about the pretty little girl who lip-synced a song in place of a less beautiful child is heating up the online world (http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,402093,00.html), as it should. I’m irritated that such a thing would happen, outraged for the sake of the girls involved in the cover-up. (I’m also a tad uneasy because I’m not certain the same thing wouldn’t happen if the games were hosted here…)

Some weird “sports” are surfacing, too: we tuned in a couple of nights ago hoping to see some diving (Marcus is fascinated by diving in general, even at the local public pool), and boy did we get diving—synchronized diving. Huh?! What the—? Is this real? Apparently, yes. Two divers perform the same dive in perfect unison. I wouldn’t have believed it if someone told me. As if the amazing and difficult dives are no longer impressive enough, now they must be completed simultaneously with another diver. It was absolutely absurd. And need I say that the Chinese divers were impeccable? I joked to Todd that they had to be the best or they’d be quietly murdered in the showers and replaced with more master divers—and a part of me wondered, honestly, what some of those athletes have been put through to achieve these physical milestones. I know they're often culled from small childhood to be intensively trained. Makes you wonder.

When a leadership is so bent on perfection, just what is it capable of doing to achieve it? They can whitewash Tiananmen Square as many times as they like, they can cover up the protests going on outside the stadium, they can try to bury the inhumanities that occur to their own citizens, but this is a country with some serious competitive and control issues—and enough physical bodies to do some serious damage, to their own people (since everyone is replaceable) and to others beyond their borders (because there are so darned many of them inside those borders).

The good thing about all this nonsense is that it takes the focus off of stories about how the makeup of our country is changing dramatically, and much faster than expected (http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,403441,00.htmlhttp://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,403441,00.html). That kind of worries me, not because the face of America is changing (as the majority, I’ve been kind of spoiled, I suspect), but because most stories attribute the changing face to immigration and births among immigrants…and most of those immigrants are willing to work for a lot less money than the typical American. That’s not good news for our job market.

Unless, of course, you’re really pretty; then maybe you can get paid to look like you’re working—while some less attractive mug shoulders the actual responsibility and breaks a sweat.