Opening Ceremony in Warp Speed

We have now discovered the only way to watch the Olympic Opening Ceremony - fast forward. We Tivo-ed the shindig (all 4.5 hours of it) and watched it a couple of days later. Wow, that was actually fun, as opposed to the usual pain and misery.

First off, we skipped the hour and a half of preliminary babbling that Bob Costas and Co. would have otherwise forced upon us. Calling that part of the Opening Ceremony would be like calling the 47 hours of "Pre-Game Coverage" part of the Super Bowl. At least the networks have the decency to label that a separate program. But not so with NBC and the Olympics.

Second, we skipped the endlessly repeated commercials. 'Nuff said.

Third, we could leap through the inevitable "high-art" concept pieces involving dancing men with mohawks and inordinantly tight body suits, women with bizarre, French Royal Court inspired wigs and huge skirts, occasionally containing other women, and whatever other rubbish some fashion designer created during an opium fever dream. I don't know why every single Olympic Game thinks this sort of drivel is required, but the last 5 or so I can think of have featured some variation.

Fourth, we could watch the countries marching in to at least double-time. Nothing against all that, but it's usually a wee bit boring.

This may lead you to ask the question, "Why, exactly, did you bother watching the Opening Ceremony if you didn't like any of it?" Well, Signor Cynic, we actually did like a decent chunk. The ski jumper made of humans was incredibly cool, as were the spider people, and, of course, Luciano Pavarotti, who, unlike everyone else involved with singing, was clearly not lip-syncing.

I miss the good old days, when we watched the Olympics on German TV, which would show every single competitor, regardless of their likelihood of winning or being part of the home team. Americans are vain and plagued with short-attention spans, but I still think NBC does a pretty pathetic job with the Olympics.

A Dog in Cat's Clothing

No, this isn't some sort of allegorical children's tale of trans-gender tolerance. The fact that I just included that in my blog makes me a bit queasy. Fortunately, no one reads this, so it's doubtful I'll suddenly be slashdotted by pre/post-op activists or their opposing numbers. With that all out of the way...

I've come to the conclusion that one of my cats is actually a dog masquerading as a cat. Stormy seems to exhibit a great number of the traits I've observed in dogs, over the years. Stormy will usually hop onto your lap about 10 seconds after you sit down. This is not, in and of itself, odd. If Stormy hasn't taken over your lap, Cloudy will certainly make an attempt. The big difference is that Stormy will then demand that you pet him. He knows how many hands you have and expects at least 50% of them to be active at any given time.

I know, I know, you're thinking that many cats like to be petted. Ok, smart guy, how many cats like their bellies rubbed? On top of that, how many cats will demand that their bellies be rubbed? Not so many, I think. Cloudy considers his belly to be verboten, off-limit, parts-de-privatude. I have the teeth marks to prove it. (Not really, he's backed off the force when he nips you - but he still nips when your hands migrate south of the armpits) Anyways, Stormy LOVES having his belly rubbed. He'll flop out on the floor and meow at you if he's feeling in the mood for some good tummy petting. This is not cat behavior!

Most dogs that I know love having their bellies rubbed. Then again, most dogs have no shame in displaying their private parts for all the world to see, while cats have specifically evolved a way of hiding theirs. I'm not sure where, exactly, a male cat's important bits are stored. Maybe they're kept in a Swiss safe deposit box. While Stormy's anatomy seems to conform to the feline standard, he still likes petting on the tummy.

Come to think of it, that may be Stormy's only canine trait. I still think he's a dog wearing a cat suit, though, and forgets himself when the overwhelming urge to get the gut scratched hits him. I intend to continue my surveillance and will share the elusive audio of Stormy going "meoof" when I finally capture it.