The other day in a yoga class the teacher said something about meditation/being present that I have never heard before, even though I live with a meditation teacher. It was something along the lines of “The present moment is the only moment in which we can be happy–if we’re stuck in the past, that’s depression; if we can only think about the future, that’s anxiety.” It made me go WOT.

She attributed it to–well, she couldn’t quite remember, but she thought it was someone along the lines of the Dalai Lama or Ram Dass. When I googled it I found that it’s sometimes erroneously attributed to Lao Tzu. It doesn’t matter who said it, in any case, but I did find it amusing that someone on the internet was much more annoyed about it being falsely attributed to Lao Tzu rather than by the content of the statement.

Let’s skip over the fact that it’s reductive, because of course it is; most single-sentence summations of vast and nuanced topics will be reductive by nature. I’m sure whoever said it is aware of that. It’s also pat, yes, and maybe has a self-satisfied air to it (that’s probably me projecting), but that in itself isn’t such a terrible crime. I don’t particularly like this koan, but I’m not opposed to others, and I even appreciate a good tautology if it hits the right note…

Anyway, my bafflement was primarily focused on: why is the statement reductive in this particular way? Why was it so obvious to whoever said it to associate anxiety with the present and depression with the past? I’m aware of the logic behind it–it’s depressing that you can’t change the past; we aren’t in control of the future and not being in control produces anxiety–but it would be easy enough to justify drawing a parallel between anxiety and the past (worrying about things you’ve done, obsession about guilt for things you’ve done wrong) or depression and the future (bleakness, blankness). Why only anxiety, depression, and happiness, for that matter? Why not anger, excitement, and fear, or some other combination?

When I was depressed the most terrifying thing to me was the actual concept of “a moment” and the present was the most difficult place to inhabit. I could at least look to a past in which I hadn’t been depressed and a future in which I would conceivably not be depressed. So when I heard the yoga teacher repeat the (still unattributed) quote, I wasn’t thinking “platitude,” so much as I was thinking “misalignment.”

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In the wake of the Olympics (sob), I had a weekend of various life-stage parties: a 10-year NYC anniversary (mine)/birthday (my roommate’s)/lease re-signing (my apartment’s) party, a 50th wedding anniversary bash, and a first birthday party.

At our small house party someone arrived bearing (ha, ha–I promise that was accidental) vodka-infused gummy bears. I didn’t actually try any, but they did look colorful and intriguing. However, they are now in two jars in our kitchen and have taken the form of solid-block-of-fused-together-candy. What’s the group name for bears? Apparently, it’s a “sloth” or a “sleuth.” The group name for candy? Let’s go with a “handful.” So we have great handfuls of gummies sleuthing around on our counter; they are, I hope, trying to figure out what to do with themselves.

At the 50th anniversary, I danced to Russian pop songs, did shots of wine and then water, and tried to catch what everyone around me was saying. After leaving for a walk to the (Brighton) beach, I returned to find that the house band had changed out of its formalwear and every member was now wearing a striped shirt and sailor hat. (Group name for sailors: crew.)

At the first birthday, which took place the day after the anniversary party and two days after my house received large stores of spiked gummy bears (the group name for anything gelatinous should probably fall in line with the group name for jellyfish: a SMACK), I was tired. So I sat down on the floor and just watched as a dozen babies/toddlers between 7 months and 18 months maneuvered around me and occasionally over/on me. The group name options are many, but let’s go with crawl. A crawl of babies to close out the weekend.

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Track and Field

• I don’t fully understand why track and field is only appealing to me as an Olympic sport, why I would never watch the track and field world championships or any other major competitions. I guess it mostly hinges on how Olympic track and field fits into the greater Olympic narrative…for some reason all of the analogies coming to mind have to do with foods that I would eat in combination with other foods, but not on their own, so I’ll spare you those thoughts. BANANAS.
• Part of it is also the fact that the stadium is open-air, while I believe most of the major track and field competitions are indoors (don’t cite me on that). Not that they ever really show the sky above the Olympic stadium, so it’s not technically in the frame, but it’s in the diagesis. You know it’s there, exposed, even when you aren’t seeing it.
• At first I was flummoxed trying to figure out why high jumpers got three misses per height rather than three overall. It didn’t seem fair that one jumper could go through the first rounds with no misses at the lower heights, then have three misses at, say, 1.94, and lose to someone who had two misses on all of the lower heights, barely squeaked by on the final attempt at each, and then barely squeaked by at 1.94. Even though it technically makes sense because the person who cleared 1.94 literally jumped higher, it felt a little hinky. Like the person who had three misses at 1.94 but none before that should get a few extra tries at 1.94 or something.
• Oh!–I realized toward the end of the competition– the number of misses is how they determine the medals if multiple people end up with the same final height! It doesn’t completely address my initial question, but it does go a long way, and explains how ties are addressed (in doing some very nominal googling, I also learned that if two jumpers clear the same final height, have the same number of misses at that height, and have the same number of misses overall, they have a jump off.)
• I further enjoy the high jump because the women’s outfits make them look like superheroes, especially the red and yellow outfit worn by the eventual winner, Ruth Beitia: Also, she’s 37, and it’s always somehow comforting to know that there are still Olympic champions older than you are.
• I loved seeing high jumper Inika McPherson, who is only 5’4″, competing against the rest of the high jumpers (the majority of whom were around 6 feet tall). I did wonder why there are weight classes for wrestling but not height classes for high jump or long jump.
• Why are some races tactical (the longer ones) and others not? If I’m remember right the 100, 200, and 400 are strictly separated into lanes and the 800 and up are slightly more free-for-all. I understand that that has to do with the staggering of the track, since the staggering can’t even things out when the runners are doing more than one lap…but it does make the middle and long distance races completely different in character (which, to be fair, I suppose they already are in terms of power versus pacing, typical runner body type, et cetera). But how is it fair if there are two runners from a particular country in the final who can team up against a lone runner from another (like the two Ethiopian runners and Mo Farah in, I believe, the 1500m?) I get irate enough when people are fanned out abreast on the sidewalk, slow-walking. I cannot imagine the frustration here.

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Gymnastics

• The event finals were the first time that the gymnastics crowd seemed anything other than supportive of all of the athletes. It was amazing to see two Brazilian men medal in the Floor event final, but when they were in second and third positions with one competitor left to go, the crowd actually booed during Sam Mikulak’s floor routine. Okay: if you boo at a hockey game you might get angry looks, but if you boo as someone is about to run and do several flips that require perfect timing, you might cause that person to break his neck. Not a good scene.
• As a corollary to that, Thomas “roll-out” skills (when a gymnast does a double flip (1.75 flips if you want to be technical) with multiple twists, but instead of landing on his feet essentially lands into a forward roll) are no longer allowed in men’s gymnastics as of next year (they’ve been banned in women’s gymnastics for at least 35 years, since Elena Mukhina was paralyzed while training one).
• I’m not at all opposed to the ban on Thomas roll-out saltos; even seeing Max Whitlock land his slightly off–but ultimately with no damage done–and how dazed he looked afterwards was enough to convince me. A skill that has caused multiple neck injuries in the course of the time people have been attempting it seems like too obvious a danger to ignore…
• …but, as one of the non-gymnast commentators (not Al; thank goodness for NBC’s streams that allowed me to enjoy my Olympics Trautwig-free) said, look at all of the other things they’re doing! As in–gymnastics is a dangerous sport, period. We saw French gymnast Samir Ait Said break his leg–gruesomely–vaulting; injuries are common in gymnastics. But there’s a clear distinction to be made between danger that’s inherent to the sport (built into it almost unavoidably like concussions seem to be built into football for some positions), life-threatening, and chronic–the type of danger that should be mitigated against and banned–and danger that is possible but avoidable or extremely rare, and which is not life threatening. Alt Said’s injury was horrific, but was never going to end his life. There’s nothing about the particular vault he was doing that frequently leads to that type of injury, the way that Thomas saltos have historically led to neck injuries. I wouldn’t advocate for a bubble-wrapped world in which no one took physical risks, but allowing that Olympic gymnasts may end up with chronic–but not life-threatening–arthritis, or several serious broken bones/torn ligaments over the course of their careers, is quite different from accepting an inherent risk of brain damage or paralysis.

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I’ve lived in my current apartment for more than six years, and for five of those years I’ve lived in the room that has roof access. This has translated to: various handymen, roofers, and landlords crawling in and out of my window when there’s a hole or a leak or an air conditioner problem (not that we have central air conditioning…the store downstairs holds that honor).

For a while there was a roofer named Willy who consistently called me before he was scheduled to come over, so that he could ask me if it was going to rain. I tried a few different approaches to this once I realized that “I don’t know” or “I don’t think so” weren’t working. Finally I told him that it wasn’t currently raining and that the forecast said it wasn’t going to rain until four (this was true). He called back an hour later and said it was going to rain so he would come next week.

(it didn’t rain)

Given all of this I was thrilled when my landlord decided to cut a hatch in the roof so that he would be able to access it directly from the store and bypass navigating through my window. Someone came, crawled through my window a penultimate time, cut a square in the blacktop, and then crawled back in and shut the gate for good, I hope.

My roommate, during the time this was occurring, was out of town at a bachelor party. He got back a few days later after little sleep and multiple flight delays. When he finally reached home he settled in to take a nap, only to wake up twenty minutes later to the sight of a shirtless, mustachioed man’s torso sticking out of his roof (where, as far as he knew, there was no hole), as the man swung a hammer loudly and randomly around.

(nap time over)

He captured some of this on video and it’s one of the greatest things I’ve seen. For reasons of decency and privacy I won’t post it but will instead share the three other things that have made me laugh that hard in the past five years:

1. http://www.27bslash6.com/missy.html

2. http://thebloggess.com/2011/06/21/and-thats-why-you-should-learn-to-pick-your-battles/

3. (make sure you click through the images)

Oh the humanity.

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American Elsewhere by Robert Jackson Bennett made me want to go to the American Southwest, New Mexico in particular. The novel is classified as literature, horror, fantasy, and science fiction depending on where you look…so it’s none or all, basically. Reading it made me realize that as far as science fiction or literary fiction with a science fiction bent (but not wanting this to be a post about genres, categorization, or what’s “literary”…) goes, I prefer to read about very old things, rather than very new things–that is, otherworldly creatures rather than outer space and androids. Granted, that’s probably why many booksellers don’t classify it as science fiction, but there’s enough technology in it that I think it passes.

The book takes place in a town called Wink underneath a pink moon, and I would like to go see something like it.

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…no, not that kind. I haven’t had those since I was maybe seven and realized I was never going to be an elite gymnast (yes, it was that obvious even then). I mean LITERAL dreams. Three, at this point, which means…enough for a LIST:

1. Several weeks ago I had a dream that Simone Biles was up on vault–it was hazy as to whether this was team or all-around finals–and that when she ran down the vaulting runway her steps were off and she ran past the springboard. Now–you are allowed to do that, as long as you run PAST the board. You can start over. But the second time, she ran onto the springboard, which would mean she got a zero.
2. About a week ago, I had another Simone vault dream. This time it was qualifications and she did her Amanar as usual, with just a step on the landing, but then she tripped on that step and stumbled farther forward, and farther, eventually falling all of the way off the podium. When I woke up I was waiting to see if she had missed making the all-around final because of this mistake, although it seemed that the entire field of gymnasts had had disastrous qualification rounds, to the degree that the commentators were struggling to pronounce the names of the gymnasts in the lead because they had never heard of them.
3. The other night I dreamed that on every elevated subway in NYC, though the subway cars still looked pretty normal, ran on water instead of tracks–like giant log flumes. Every time one of them pulled into a station, Michael Phelps jumped out of the train, swam to the edge of the tunnel and back, and then the train pulled away.

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Gymnastics:

• What’s more exciting–utter domination or the slimmest of margins among competitors? BOTH, of course. Unsurprisingly, Simone Biles utterly dominated the women’s all-around final, but her male counterpart, Kohei, was part of a men’s all-around that managed simultaneous total domination–from 1. Kohei, winning his second Olympic all-around gold (he also won silver AA when he was 19 in Beijing) and capping off eight years of beating everyone all of the time, to 2. Oleg Vernaiev absolutely catching up to him in ability, difficulty, and execution, and finishing in silver only .1 behind King Kohei. The competition came down to the final two high bar routines and was determined only by Oleg’s large hop on the landing of his dismount. Otherwise, he would have dethroned Kohei.
• Vernaiev has event final chances, especially on parallel bars, and I hope he wins gold there. Kohei has team and AA gold and now it’s time for other gymnasts’ brilliance. On the women’s side, though, I can’t help but continue to want 5 golds in total for Simone, which would mean she would win the beam, vault, and floor event finals–because it’s hard to choose between slim margins and HISTORIC ACHIEVEMENTS.
• The battle for bronze among the men was also fantastic, with at least six guys having amazing competitions. For the women it was a little disappointing, with the 3rd and 4th place finishers having some significant flaws, and gold and silver were so far ahead they were foregone conclusions (but SIMONE!) Event finals should be more exciting, though in a few of them, the bronze medal will really be the only one most of the contending women have a shot at.

Track and Field:

• I really enjoy the contrast between the extreme sensitivity and technology of the touch pads that determine the winners of the swimming races vs. the low technology and seeming imprecision of the high jump bar.
• I like how the end of the high jump portion of the heptathlon is sort of reminiscent of the end of a spelling bee, when there are only two contestants left and they go back and forth. Not completely akin, because they don’t keep going if both jumpers miss (3x), but they do keep going as long as they’re both making it. High jump is also mesmerizing from a physics standpoint and also from a breaking-of-convention standpoint…I wish that I would one day see an Olympics in which someone defies the conventions of form the way Fosbury first did in high jump (perhaps in high jump we could see someone run straight at the bar instead of in a loping circle–or is that what they did before the Flop became standard?). Maybe Usain Bolt already does that with his running form.

In general:

• The Olympics: when you get to learn the adjectival endings used to describe people from every country of the world. The usual suspects like -ese, -an and -ian, -ish; the slightly less common -ine and -i; the handful of -ch/-nch/-tch; and the outliers like Greek, Lao, Malagasy.
• Commentators across the sports saying things like “the more better smoothness” and “the best highest dismount” and it not even necessarily sounding wrong because the Olympics are so impressive they require double comparatives and superlatives.

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Swimming

• I love watching track because you can see the athletes’ faces and they look, well, much more visibly human than the swimmers, who resemble graceful aquatic mammals until they win, take off their caps, and suddenly it’s not a manatee or Aquaman but instead a large British child.
• That said, I fully love these swimming commentators. They sound like they’re having the GREATEST time and their pitch and speed increases so dramatically at the end of every race. And they crack each other up. It’s like having Frick and Frack from Car Talk do the commentary.
• Right now, they’re laughing hysterically at the antics of Chad Le Clos in the ready room, where Le Clos is air boxing and growling like a bear directly in front of Michael Phelps, who is about 50% doing the thing that little kids do “if I can’t see you you can’t see me,” 50% slouching in his folding chair as if he can make himself look small, and 50% giving Le Clos an old-man “get off my lawn” scowl. Yes, that’s 150%; he’s clearly more than one full person.

Gymnastics

• 41-year-old Oksana Chusovitina, who has been competing in Olympic gymnastics longer than I have been watching Olympic gymnastics (I didn’t really follow until 1996, her second Olympics), will be in the vault event final this weekend. I’m guessing she’ll go all out and do her handspring double front, which is probably not a vault any women other than its originator, Elena Produnova, should be attempting, but you know what–it’s Chuso. She can do what she wants. (Dipa Karmakar from India may well do the double front also. Don’t get me started on Igor Radivilov and his decision to skip adding twists to things and instead try to turn himself into a human pinball and do a TRIPLE front vault.)
• Men’s gymnastics: I guess the Japanese men’s team finally winning gold has definitively proven, then, that medals are to Kohei Uchimura what Pokemon are to Kohei and he’s going to catch them all. And if he wins enough, he can pay off his Pokemon Go inflicted $5000 phone bill.

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Gymnastics

• Rebecca Andrade’s floor music seems to be a Beyonce medley. Well, not seems: is.
• The availability of live streams for qualifying rounds is <choose one of the following cliches> an embarrassment of riches, a mixed blessing, likely to reduce both my socialization and my iPhone step count for the next few days.
• Yesterday I watched men flip for about 5 hours, mostly while I was soaking my foot in a tub of water because I inexplicably ground some glass into it while walking to my living room. (Glass was surgically removed with the assistance of two pairs of tweezers, needle, knife, my bedside lamp, and kind temporary surgeon.)
• I started to really worry during the men’s qualifications that there was something wrong with the vault. More crashes than would reasonably be expected and one horrific injury (which made my glass-in-foot seem even slighter), which I’m going to hope they didn’t replay in primetime coverage (the vaulter is okay, but has broken tibia and fibula both).
• This wouldn’t be totally unheard of, given that the vault was set too low for the women’s competition in Sydney in 2000…but so far the women have been looking normal on vault, so it could just be a normal-ish difference in equipment (specifically that this vaulting table is not as hard/has more give than the vaulting tables most of the athletes practice on, causing some to get less push off the horse and thus crash).
• I am not particularly interesting in my choice of favorites in my chosen sports. I like Federer and Serena. Uchimura and Biles. You know, four of the greatest of all time. And that’s part of it; the greatest-of-all-time story is one of my favorites, and it leads to sidebar conversations about goats, which is never unappreciated.
• It’s probably as much the narrative that gets me as it is the individual–though maybe not; Roger and Serena and Kohei and Simone are all pretty fantastic personalities–and another narrative that I (everyone? Like I said, not very left-field in this) favor is that of the newcomer underdog.
• On that note…my other favorite in men’s gymnastics is Manrique Larduet of Cuba, fondly known as “Mandrake” by the gymnastics world after one of the commentators at the Glasgow world championships pronounced his name like he came from Harry Potter. Larduet was second all around in 2015, but he had one of those vault crashes…no injury, but whatever happened caused him to get so confused in the air that he didn’t even get credited for the vault he normally does, since he just sort of flung himself through the air. Fortunately, he still made the all around final.
• There are still no lyrics permitted in women’s floor music, but since 2008 or 2010 they’ve allowed “vocalizations,” the result being that at least one gymnast has a piece of floor music during which some guy sings “Dah dah dah dah dah” the entire time.

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