I have returned from the Midwest full of awkward stories that, for some reason, don't seem very interesting at the moment. The drive there was 12 hours, and I was stuck in a car with two strangers I quickly learned I could not stand. The rest of the trip was much, much better.
At the very least, though, I can say I am more positive than ever that I am a big city girl through and through.
Southwestern Illinois was absolutely gorgeous, and I saw the rolling hills of the Shawnee National Forest as a stunning backdrop on our day trip along the wine trail. I strongly regretted not having a working camera, as some of the sights are ones I would've liked to capture to share with anyone who might not be lucky enough to ever see them.
I haven't even told a specific story and I'm already bored with this portion of the post. That said - moving on.
No one's really talking much about it, so I figured I'd go out on a limb and talk about the Olympics (mmm, how facetious of me!).
In all seriousness, though, I'd like to briefly discuss (with myself?) something other than a specific sport or event, or even one or two specific athletes. Granted, like every other warm-blooded human, I do have my own collection of crushes on athletes based solely on their skills/accomplishments and/or their looks. For example: though she is completely illegal for me to even look at like that, and when she talks she sounds like she is perhaps not only illiterate but also a complete ditz, I have an entirely inappropriate crush on Shawn Johnson. I don't understand how she is so little and yet so muscular. I fully believe that if I were driving her somewhere and there was only one spot to park on the street and it was too small, she and her little bag-of-rocks arms could move the car ahead of it to make space for me. And that's hot.
No, I would like to propose a different view of ... well ... how we view the Olympics. I don't know if it's just me, but something about the Olympics - every time, without fail - makes me hyper-nationalistic. And not as in, "And I'm proud to be an Am-err-uh-kiiin, whar at least ah know ah'm freee!" No, no, no. I find myself rabidly proud of my family's heritage.
There, my friends, is where I'd like to make my point. I'm half Czech, half-ish Italian with some southern German thrown in. However, I look Czech, relate more with that side of the family, and have claimed much more of that culture than that of the Italian culture. I was raised much more Czech than Italian, for all intents and purposes.
Every time one of the Olympics...es rolls around, I go into heavy-duty FUCKING PROUD TO BE CZECH mode. Example: did anyone know table tennis was an Olympic sport? Me, neither. But it is! It is, and guess what? There is a super-cute Czech girl competing in the singles event. It seems I have fixated on her as my reason to love being Czech crush.
FUCKING ADORABLE!I have inexplicably run out of juice with which to write this post, so I am cutting it short and leaving you with something to think about yet again. Where is your family from? Are you finding yourself strangely in love with any and every athlete from your family's country(ies) of origin?
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