Thank Heaven for the Olympics. They are my current drug of choice. Loving every minute of it no matter who wins (with the possible exception of that imperious ass Bob Costas). I even like bitchy old Dick Button, trying to keep skating from turning into a sloppy inelegant mess. Johhny Weir is my new skating idol, a smart, attitude-ridden, faggy punk who brings beauty back to the boys. Fast Track Skating is my new favorite sport, with or without Apolo; I love the build-up of speed, the stolen leads, the treacherous turns, pivoting off their fingertips (I also find skeleton mighty thrilling but I haven't seen any yet). I know some people pooh-pooh the whole Olympics thing, but I have been an addict since Jean-Claude Killy stole my heart when I was twelve.

Okay, the surgeons who worked on these women need to have their licenses yanked, if they ever even had one.
MEGA-BOOB OLYMPICS

The time has come for me to tell you about my Dad, John. He died unexpectedly on Monday, but because he was facing a long haul of nursing homes and hospitals, it was a good time to go. Bad for us, but great for him. He died the way we would all like to, having a nap in front of a movie on the TV, his wife puttering in the kitchen.

For about the last 40 or so years of his life, my Dad was an accomplished potter and teacher. He was kind of a Rock Star teacher - people would line up at the doors of the admissions office before it opened so they could get in his classes. Beautiful and at the same time functional, his pots sold like hotcakes to devoted folks who also lined up early to gain entrance to his annual Christmas sales.

When my Mom and Dad were young and newly together, she measured his calves, and compared them to her waist. They were the same. He had amazing strong legs, and was a handsome college football player. His jobs varied from a menswear salesman, to a cooking fat salesman, to a night watchman at Schlitz, until his true calling of teaching took hold. He was in a jewelry class at San Fernando Valley State College when a guy asked if he'd like to be a teacher's assistant in ceramics at USC. A star was born. He became a teacher at USC, where he met my future Mean Old Step-Mother. After they got married, he obtained a much more lucrative position at Mount San Antonio Junior College, where he remained for 35 years, working 10 years past retirement.

How do you sum up a life? He had two wives, a daughter by each, a lovely home, a great career. Loved by innumerable people. He kept expressing his creativity even after his illness rendered him unable to work the clay, making abstract, colorful drawings. He liked to watch TV, and loved football. When all his girls were playing games in the dining room at Christmas, he would occasionally wander out to check on us during commercials or halftime, but rarely wanted to play with us. Most of the football I have watched has been with my Dad, eating peanuts in the shell on the coffee table. He also liked to sing and was in a barbershop quartet in his youth - a lovely tenor. I have memories of singing in the car with him as a kid - "I've Been Working on the Railroad" - he would take the harmony.

I was fortunate to have had a conversation with him several months ago during which he told me how much he loved me and was proud of me, and I did the same. We had a wonderful, perfect Christmas in December. He left no animosity, enemies, or unfinished business.

A martini drinker till the end, I think an obit on the TNSC page is more than fitting.

Here's to my Dad.