Hurricane Charley whipped everybody into a frenzy late last week and then fizzled (for me, at least) into a day spent indoors without anything to do but pack house and watch Charley coverage on TV. I was one happy camper when the opening ceremonies of the Games of the 28th Olympiad finally came on at 8:15. The funny thing about hurricane preparation, to me, is the way people assume that their house is going to be the one used in the little icon on national news to symoblize the destruction. Perhaps this pessimistic, defeatist attitude is part of the problem? I looked long and hard at the information presented by the National Hurricane Center and decided that a 39% chance of the storm passing with 75 nautical miles of Sarasota wasn't quite enough for me to head to a shelter. That's just me, but I guess that could have bitten me pretty hard if the eye-wall had whipped across Fruitville road and into my apartment.

Then, the rest of the weekend has to be all about the Olympics, for better or worse. The better are the sports where individuals and teams work like crazy for years and years and the measure of their success is Olympic glory. Phelps and Vendt going 1-2 in the 400 IM was a highlight, as was the gritty performance of Sandeno in the 200 fly. The worse are the sports where spoiled brats play like a collection of overpaid, under-appreciative punks and get beaten badly. I'm speaking, of course, of our so-called basketball "dream team" and their brutal loss to Puerto Rico. And, as mad as I am at them for not giving a care, at least they gave enough of a sliver of a care to join the team. To those NBA players who declined spots on the Olympic team I say how can you be too good for your country? You are not doing anything this summer as important as the Olympics. Promise. Lance, this goes for you, too. If you want to spend the summer with your kids you ought to quit Le Tour, too, or maybe fly your kids to Greece for the game with a few thousand of your twenty million dollars. "Too busy for the games" say our athlete-kings. Too selfish for words says me! That millionare whiners on the basketball team could be decorated with the same honor as 25-year old gymnast Mohini Bhardwaj, who showed up at practice for nationals with burns on her arms from the pizza oven, is truly what's wrong with America. Boy am I ever hot over this one! The good news is that I cooked up a solution to the problem - let's send the Pistons instead. Puerto Rico (or Italy, or Argentina, or China for that matter) couldn't score more than 25 against The Show, and Ben Wallace would be infinitely more honored than is Allen Iverson.

The rest of the weekend was Habitat house fascia boards and roofing, A/V duty, ice skating, talking with Jenelle who is back and we're both glad, and talking with the myriad folks who called to be certain I was and am alright.

Whew. I'm out.