As the song goes, it's 5 o'clock somewhere. Maybe just not where you are.
In any event, who cares, really? At a time when a lot of people get their news from The Daily Show or The Colbert Report, we're pretty well conditioned to accept the ersatz as a more entertaining version of reality, to take the truthiness over the less amusing truth. NBC's ratings are way up compared to the last couple of Olympics, particularly here in Baltimore, the city most glued to its TVs as it totally Phelpses out.
I'm loving this Olympics, buffed-up staging and all. I love the Gumby-bodied swimmers, the girls with their wacky-color manicures, the frat-boy relay celebrations - when will one of them smash a Gatorade bottle on his forehead? - the goofy faces they make trying to air-seal their goggles. (Hey, Speedo: can you please fix Michael's leaking ones already?) I love the blue eye-shadowed gymnasts, whatever age they are - although I must say I worry about that little one who pulls her hair into such a tight bun, I think her hairline has started receding.
