Olympic tears

I can't tell you how sad I am that the Olympics are over. You're probably saying, What? But you don't like sports? Well, I do. I like REAL sports—sports that are over in a matter of seconds. None of this hours-long football or baseball bullshit. I don't have the patience for that. Give me 100 meters and a high dive and I still have time left over to do something else. Like watch TV.

This is what I did, because I have no life: from 5:30-7pm I watched a tape of the Olympics from the night before. From 7-9:30ish I watched the live broadcast. Then I taped the rest and went to bed. Repeat for ten days. Now I don't know what to do. No more Bird's Nest, no more Water Cube. No more Mary Carillo—who IS that? I assumed Sigourney Weaver's manlier sister. No more Dara Torres, who taught me not to put an age limit on my dreams, which is why I'm now fulfilling my dream of being pushed around in a stroller everywhere.

Staples was the office furniture sponsor of the Olympics, so they get to keep one of the Olympic torches for some amount of time. And since Quill is owned by Staples, the torch came to Quill one day last week. We could hold it and get our pictures taken with it. I don't know what part of the tour the torch was from, or who carried it, or why I look so scary in my picture, but I do know that was the most excited I've ever been at my job.