First: let’s dispense with the obvious.  Menstruation.  That’s it, that’s all we’ll say of that.  The word itself is arduous enough.

Second: the apparel.  Have you looked at what these women have to wear?  Gymnasts, beach volleyballers, water polo players (and for that matter, participants of any water-based event)?  These athletes can’t be loving their attire.  The only real respite is judo, where everyone basically looks like they’ve donned their robe to get the Sunday morning paper from the end of the driveway.  But the rest of these outfits…they’re tight.  TIGHT.  And they look uncomfortable.  I understand the concept of form-fitting attire, but these things are literally grafted to their skin.

I hear you, it’s just the way the Olympic uniforms are, right?  FALSE.  Have you seen what the men are wearing for these same events?  Take gymnastics.  Yup, the male gymnasts have on tight tank tops, but they toooootally get a pass with their breezy, MC Hammer-esque pants.  Why not have them wearing speedo bottoms, wouldn’t those be optimal for terrestrial and airborne acrobatics alike?  And volleyball? While the women wear skimpy swimsuits, the men get away with board shorts and shirts.  Oh, and of course their backwards baseball hats.  I’m serious – seriously serious – they’re part of the uniforms.  Each player has an identical USA hat, customized with their number.  Really?  Really really?  Why not wear a fashionable headband, or a barrette, just like your female complements?

Third (and this is the kill shot): Makeup.  Seriously, have you thought about it?  All these male and female athletes are performing these incredibly challenging feats of strength and agility.  They are pushing themselves to the limits of their physical prowess, not to mention brazenly taunting Sir Isaac Newton himself (who needs to revere the laws of gravity, motion, etc. anyway, right? – see links below).  But the men have it easy.  They don’t have to worry about anything but the physical task at hand.  The women, on the other hand, have to do all of those things PLUS not smear any of their foundation, rouge, or eyeliner.  Have you seen the female gymnasts, right before or after they compete in an event?  Not a smudge.  And their hair – perfectly in place, even with all the G-forces of a triple-sideways-over-around-flip-tuck-spin thing.  And the swimmers?  Some of them wear earrings in the pool!  And they have all that hair to tuck under their caps.  All of this can’t be ideal of drag reduction, can it?  C’mon guys, do you have anything that can rival these aesthetic handcuffs?  Oh, what was that?  Your legs?  You shave them?  And your armpits too?  Right, well, welcome to the two most banal, boring, everyday events in a woman’s life.

In the end, none of this really matters of course.  The men and women of the Olympics are incredible human machines and are awe-inspiring to watch.  Everyone who tries to make their national team, and those talented and fortunate enough to make it to the Olympics – you are incredible.  You raise us all up from our humdrum everydays and show us what it means to dream.  To hope.  To strive, to grind, to fall, and to get up again.  To believe, and not stop believing.  Through your physical elegance, you show us how beautiful it is to be human.  But moreover, you remind us how astonishingly lovely it is to be alive…

(…alls I’m saying is, the women do all of this with that extra touch of pizazz.)

—–

LINKS:

Newton’s law of universal gravitation:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Newton%27s_law_of_universal_gravitation

Newton’s third law of motion:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Newton’s_laws_of_motion#Newton.27s_third_law

i’m writing to tell you i won’t be able to make the exclusive event slated for this weekend.  i apologize, and i know the guest list was very tightly coordinated, but something’s come up and i have a conflicting engagement.  oh, and that super-secret rooftop party on tuesday afternoon, and the private breakfast bash on friday morning – i won’t be able to attend those either.

it’s not you, new york, it’s me.  i’ve changed.  you see, i’ve retired from the clandestine events game.  i am out in the public now, attending openly advertised and attended soirees.  it’s a different life, granted, but it’s much gentler on one’s social calendar.  and with mine getting up there in years, it’s nice to feel an increase in flexibility, rather than the decrease i’d been feeling for the last few years.

now i just go with the flow.  people actually invite other people to things here.  there’s no guest list, no secret password or social media badge, no elusive friend of a friend to find and win over.  people here are actually happier to have you come along and join in on the fun.

i know, new york, i know, these are very different social economies we’re talking about.  where you are, there’s a finite amount of fun and an infinitely large (and growing) pool of people who want to participate.  the fun has to be moderated, brokered, divvied up and regulated.  if you just let it flow freely, there’d be no demand.  it might dry up.  the entire system would collapse, and then everyone loses.  i know, i know, you’ve told me so many times over late night scotch in my apartment.  I get it, new york, i get it.

but things are different here.  i can’t quite put my finger on it, because there are a lot of people here too.  and there’s a lot of fun.  but it seems like two don’t negatively affect each other.  it just seems to work out.

it’s like the math is different here.  instead of a problem of division and subtraction, it’s one of addition and multiplication.  i don’t fully understand it, to be honest.  it’s the same order of operations, but perhaps one of us is dealing with some negative variables?

or, actually, you know what?  maybe it’s a size issue.  now now, i’m not saying bigger is better, you know me better than that.  i’m just saying, the places here..maybe they can just hold more people?  yeah, maybe that’s it.  the reason more people can get in on the fun must be because the buildings are larger.  sooo much larger, right?

but, well, i’m not sure that’s it either, new york.  i mean, you’re the one who’s always telling me how tall your skyscrapers are.  the tallest, you’ve said.  ’with so many feet, no one’s ever gonna retreat.’  that’s how you and your family are always joking around.

which brings me to your cousins.  i mean, don’t get me wrong, queens and the bronx are very nice.  and staten island, well, we all know he got a bum deal, with that youth head trauma and all.  but brooklyn?  i think brooklyn’s been spending time with the wrong crowd.

i remember when brooklyn was just so different.  hard working, family oriented, proud, respectful, so absorbed in history.  but now.  i mean. c’mon, brooklyn.  you can’t don the facade of bohemia while also acting so exclusive.  i understand wanting being illusive, but your closet full of contradiction isn’t surpassingly attractive.

i still love brooklyn, just like i love you and all your relatives.  you will always be like family to me.  i’m just saying, if you and your cohorts don’t get out more, there’s a real chance of inbreeding.  and while you’re still one of the best places in the world, new york, i think you’d do well to pull yourself away from the mirror once in a while and see if anyone else wants to come out and play.

all my love,

your ex.

Stop it.  Stop being here.  Every day.  You can’t just take up residence, occupying a table all day, every day.  You’re starting to bother people, I can see it.  They’re all being polite, but I can see how uncomfortable they are.  The way they quickly acknowledge you, then nosedive back into books and laptops.  How they strap on headphones, and cellphones, and sometimes even sunglasses.  How many other ways can they block you out?

Yes, we heard your socially awkward quip when the barista dropped something.  Did you hear my response?  No, no one’s going to laugh.

There are some simple rules to this space, namely: we are all here to be  anonymous.  Sanitized.  Separate.  Individually wrapped people, freeze dried and kept fresh.  No intermingling, no contamination.

So listen, guy who is always here.  I just want you to know I’m watching you.  Look up.  Loooook up.  Come on, look up.  There!, you saw me.  Yeah, you saw me, and I’m not going to look away.  That’s right, guy.  I’m here, every day, and I’ve got my eyes on you.

And while everyone else in here will most likely keep on pretending they aren’t affected by you and your predation, I won’t.

I’m here, guy, and I don’t plan on leaving.

About how so much of the creative process is about removal. Not destruction, per se, but elimination. A liberation of the core by means of decimation of the peripheral. The unneeded. The superfluous.

I thought about how the physical act of writing is similar to etching into wood, or stone. How each letter, each word carved into the page adds its mark, but also takes away from the pristine base. Of the process of revising, of cutting, and stripping out words that don’t directly add to the piece. Of making each line count. Of working hard to get the words out of their own way so the ideas can simply flow to the reader. I thought about how this process, at its essence, is sculpture.  The carving.  The honing.  The pursuit of purity of form. The elimination of contaminants.  The simple truth of a vision, realized, free from the static of the world.

This, I thought, is writing. The pursuit of the perfect sentence. Where a person doesn’t read words on a page, but instead takes them in, absorbs them, and can suddenly feel them take root and blossom inside, a physical part of their being.

And when that perfect line is found, there are no words, there is no page, just a shared experience. Organic and tactile and spiritual.  And it’s in that ether of creation and connection that humanity truly sits.