Abigail M. Schilling

A guest blog by Heather Nicole

Sometimes, I jump the gun and think that nothing that could possibly happen in the Olympics could top Bob Costas describing a figure skater’s costume as, “A distant cousin of my dining room curtain.”

To my intense delight, the costume in question definitely had some sort of tassel hanging down the skater’s ass crack, and while I try not to judge, I can’t help but wonder how Mr. Costas’s curtains relate to his ass crack. Still, even that did not hold a candle (the distant cousin of the Olympic torch, I daresay) to the breathtaking performance given by American figure skater Johnny Weir.

(I know he looks tough there. Kind of like he’s daring you to laugh at his conglomeration of fishnet, velvet, and midnight mugging in the back alley behind the rink. Either that or he’s in the midst of mouthing something. Something like, “Mom, I TOLD you this outfit would be more believable with bloodstains! Now I just look like a fool! A damn fool!”)

And when I say breathtaking, please know that it is the explosive laughter that is taking away the breath, not the skating. I mean, the skating was good. Tremendous, in fact. The guy is great. The problem is, he’s dressed like a swan. And not just your standard swan. The guy actually named his swan character Camille.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re saying, Wait a minute, Heather, humans don’t have beaks! But Johnny is one step ahead of us laypeople. Oh yes, he dons a red glove on one hand and at pivotal points, like say in the midst of a spin, snakes the glove overhead and arches it forward, rending spectators lungs completely useless as the laughter depletes them of precious oxygen. Ladies and gentlemen: A beak!

Bode’s on, so I’m gonna leave you with that. Actually, I’m gonna leave you with this.

Love,

Heather Nicole