Pre-Fluoride

About 30 years ago my firebrand, highly opinionated cousin, who still self-publishes his mountain rag, was on one of his many crusades, this one to eliminate fluoride from our God-given natural, pure H2O. This child of the John Birch era was convinced that not only was fluoridation slowly killing and maiming us….for he had a lot of examples and illustrations... it was also a wicked conspiracy. His tirades were, & still are, most entertaining, but I knew on this issue he was dead-wrong.  Since the anti-fluoridation issue has reared its ugly head recently, in the wake of a recent uptick of extreme conservatism, I wanted ascertain my “pro-fluoride” position. I asked a personal living expert, my father, only 95, an illustrious graduate of the Baylor Dental Class of ’49, a.k.a, the Forty-Niners. He still has all his marbles, but his sight and hearing are about 50%. When he speaks he orates.

‘Yes, I know all about fluoridation! I know because Baylor did studies during my time. And, besides all the many requirements, everyone had to participate in those studies collecting data. There was no doubt that fluoride hardened tooth enamel and made teeth less susceptible to caries. Fluoride only came to Shreveport in the 50’s. Anyone, with a few lucky exceptions, born “pre-fluoride” was a dental catastrophe & my early practice reflected that. By middle age most people wore dentures or partials. The lucky ones had mouths full of metallic bridges and crowns. No one thought anything of a gilded front tooth or an apparent silver clasp on a cuspid. But once fluoridation took effect, kids just did not have the same ole rotten teeth. They hardly ever lost their molars, & they never lost visible teeth. Those born after fluoridation have never known the routine pain and disappointment of drill-’em-fill-’em-or-pull-’em. Or worse, a snaggle-toothed smile.” Fluoridation was the next best civic improvement after Social Security.’ 

As a child I grew up with kids who had bad teeth and a lot of tooth aches. My close relatives had lost most of their teeth and wore prostheses. As “war babies” my husband and I are categorized as “pre-fluoride” by the four dentists in my family. But, if seeing is believing, or if you ever doubt what humans looked like before fluoridated water, just take in a Sunday night silent movie on TMC. Be ready for a shock. At the very least your classic movie idols may need  major orthodontia, but the lesser cast members frequently have gaps in their smile. I always heard that poor old Clark Gable wore plates & that Vivian Leigh couldn’t stand his denture breath. If so, he probably wasn’t the only star sporting a “fake,” pristine, Hollywood smile. These days I’m sure glad when anyone can be fitted with good dentures. Although, I don’t know about you, but I believe it would be ashamed to regress & become “post-fluoride.” 

Luncheon in Le Vesinet

Old & Elegant

The last play we attended was at Theâtre du L’Oeuvre, which seems to specialize in  classics. JJ bought the tickets as an afterthought when he saw that Molière’s Le Misanthrope was running. If memory serves me well, I think that on this day we went to Le Vesinet for déjeuner with some relations we've known dating back to our early marriage....even before we had kids. Our hostess, Marthe, lost her erudite wheel-chair bound husband a few years back, and she resides in their elegant house. At age 88 she presides over their thriving progeny. Lunch was arranged by her two adult daughters, Claudine and Nadine, both accomplished professionals with 9 university-aged children between them. 

Deux Soeurs Claudine et Nadine

The meal included every traditional course; entrée, plat de resistance, and dessert were prepared by the three women. Claudine’s husband, an M.D., is mayor of Le Vesinet, dealing presently with a flaw in procedure which might turn him out of office and push him back into (Quelle horreur!) medical practice;  he could not be among us. But, Nadine’s husband, a high level photographic editor for a big news service, was there. We were able to learn from him about the way photos are chosen and processed for big publications. Actually, the paparazzi & photographers on the beat approach him with their photos. As usual, it’s never a simple thing in France, as droit d’image has become quite an issue since the new century began. Permissions must be granted from a string of people, the first being the person in the photograph, before an “image” may be published.

Nadine's husband, always at work

The reason I go into this is that to participate in a luncheon of this kind, it occurred to me that I really need to know my French. These relations of a certain standing cherish their language and culture. I count myself as fortunate to be included in so many discussions and debates in their home. I can’t say that I am a major participator, but it is a "play" to take in while a delicious meal is consumed in grand style. I never recall a meal when Robert would not say, “Marthe, ma cherie, fetch the dictionary so that we can find out the complete meaning of this term!” She dutifully brought to table a very heavy, used Robert (yes, his very name!), a dictionary which will give all the possible meanings for expressions & word usage. 

Robert before his ordeal

There would then ensue a discussion. This was especially for my benefit when I was learning French, as I dug out English & Spanish words to concoct my sentences. Moreover, I was always invited to defend myself. (Gulp!) Learn, I did! 

Exciting beverages with something salty, nuts or crackers with sweet wines like Porto, Banyuls, Dubonnet. I notice that Ricard, an anise drink is very popular at this gathering. With cool water it turns pale, milky yellow. Marthe is to the left in this photo. 

My lessons are still a work in progress & even more rigorous than understanding a play or movie. At least for a classic play one can read it beforehand, or for a movie there are usually subtitles when comprehension fails. But right here at this family table, la langue de Molière is de rigeur. Debate requires a slow, ponderous rhythm, with every last “e” (uh) pronounced for emphasis.  Presto is the tempo for “The Women Discuss Practical Matters.”  The only difference between a proper stage production and this one is that this one isn’t scripted.

Sisters make a last minute check

There are an abundance of characters, entrances and exits, off-stage characters, tales and news bulletins, subjects of conversation great and small, surprise theatrical effects… which are mostly in the form of wonderful dishes and exciting beverages. I'll say it again: a meal is just as much as performance as the performance.

These stuffed eggs and green salad are the way we begin.

Having enjoyed a full meal, the excellent company of our hostesses & their guests, with my wits sharpened, I’m now ready to take in Le Misanthrope….without ever having to re-read the play. Allons-y!

Dinner & The Double Bass

Photos of this entire event leave to desire. This one isn't great of JJ and our niece, but look at the blackboard menu. It's huge and complicated. Also, you can see a reflection of the restaurant, small but elegant, too. 

On the evening of Le St. Valentin we met our niece and nephew in the theatre district --a scroungy part of northwest Paris close to Pigalle--to dine and then attend a much talked-about one-man play, La Contrabasse (The Double Bass) afterward. As you might guess dinner on the town is just as important as any play and although the neighborhood was iffy the restaurants were quite nice. Obviously, the numerous theaters in the area, including the pitiful Theatre du Nord Ouest, provide nightly patrons.

Chefs usually limit the number of "places," as they do the number of servings for each dish. One will hear from the establishment's one-and-only waiter/waitress, "Je regrette, Madame/Monsieur, we are out of that." Or, "We have only one piece of Tarte aux Prunes left." Maybe, "We only have 2 servings of the duck remaining." This is a good thing because it means that this restaurant doesn't prepare industrial quantities, that it serves as if for a large family, and that the chef is demanding. 

It occurred to me during our stay this last time that most chefs of small restaurants generally work two long shifts a day, lunch and dinner. They buy provisions at the open market, not a supermarket. The menus reflect the seasonal produce and availability of specialty items. It's still much the same as it always has been with the added advantage of kitchens full of marvelous gadgets--many of which are French inventions, to make cooking easier and to improve textures & quality.  We diners converse with the waiter for our order, and he mediates with Le Chef. In this way we dine our way through about 1500 to 2000 calories of wines, breads, hors d'oevres, entrées, cheeses, and desserts. Most of us take an expresso so that we won't sleep during the show.

La Contrabasse was a suggestion from our Sister-in-Law who lives in Blois, sizable town in the Loire Valley. She listens to France Musique classical radio quite a lot, had heard talk of the play, & read some good reviews. The raves were not only about its unique content - the life and times of an orchestral contrabasse player, but also an outstanding performance by the solo actor, Clovis Cornillac. The thing that makes this play attract notice is that it is comic, requiring a good comic actor, but it also is the rather sad tale of his limited existence. As the actor yanked us between laughter and pity, we learned a lot. Aristotle would have been proud! Kudos to Patrick Suskine of Parfum fame, known to English readers as The Nose. This writer, described as having the nature of a hermit crab, came out just long enough to communicate with the Parisian producers. This strange play is a success, but I'm not sure how long it will run or if the house receipts will keep it going for long. After all, the subject is recondite. 

Getting into the hall with everyone else was an ordeal. While the Le Theâtre de Paris was more standard than Le Theâtre du Nord Ouest, it was nevertheless, close & stuffy with steep stairwells from street to vestibule, and from the vestibule into the hall. Patrons were allowed to check their heavy wraps, but alas there was only a lone front-of-house guy to take care of everything. We kept our coats and stuffed them in our narrow seats. The orchestra section was poorly raked & seats placed just so the heads lined up to obstruct view. My niece and I had giant nobs right in front of us, so that we spent the entire play dodging from left to right, yet still we managed to enjoy the play. 

Without ado, no music, no announcement (turn off your cell phones and don't take photos), the houselights barely subdued, & not even the traditional three loud knocks from backstage, the curtain opens on this slouchy guy ironing a white shirt stage left, and his large instrument propped on a chair downstage right. The set is a bare necessities man-cave with a closet containing only his black & whites for work, nothing anywhere attractive or nice.  I honestly wasn't sure the play had begun because the actor simply began addressing the audience in the most casual sort of way. I guess one should never forget that all the same this character is a fiddler! One wondered if the unique usher was also the stage manager, "Psst! Clovis! Let's get started. The crowd is a bit noisy tonight, but if you just get it rolling they'll shut up."

And shut up we did. Except for laughing, we were a rapt audience. For and hour and three quarters with no intermission, we listened as we learned some history of the instrument, its importance in ensemble playing, and at the same time its "lower status," when compared to some other instruments. We were privy to the life of a frustrated, low-paid at €1500 per month, kind of fonctionnaire (government servant). From the outset he showed us his fridge which was filled with only cold beer in pop-top cans. Beer obviously dulls his unhappiness. Our actor opened and swilled about 10 of these before the final curtain. 

This bass fiddler is not a happy man. Overworked & grossly underpaid, he can only pine away after the cute little first flutist who, of course, doesn't know he's alive. He must live in Paris close enough to the rehearsal and performance halls where rents are high. He had to have his apartment expensively soundproofed. Caught between all the requirements of présence et perfection, he doesn't even have time to practice. His routine, suffocating existence is that of a person who really never loved playing bass fiddle in the first place. He only just fell into this professional slot because of circumstances that he never controlled. 

You'll be saying, "This wasn't funny at all." But, you'd be wrong because comedy is, in fact, sadness masked with humor. It is funny to watch this ungraceful, sloppy, self-indulgent, moderately thick-set bass player, pouring out his heart to us, playing only one long,  tenuous, demonstrative note on his ominously present jumbo instrument. 

This single thin-toned, long note has no art, no movement, no enthusiasm, or expectations. Musical notes should never be static, they should "go" somewhere; and when this doesn't happen there is no art and no music. Should we come to understand that our bass fiddler is a representative of our monotone lives? Close to the play's end we are sure that he's not going to "work" tonight. He's quitting because he's so fed up. Yeah, right. He'll be right there onstage the next night basking in 20 minutes of unabated applause. 

Corneille Up Close & Personal

From the grandest of Paris’ theaters we attended Pierre Corneille's Le Cid in surely one of the humblest. From gilded and cushy red velvet seats we were surrounded by raw gray stone and worn, faded blue velvet, straight-back seats on a single backboard, cast-offs for sure. This make-do theatre was once a rather vast basement of a larger structure. 

Here Ol' JJ is reciting verses of Le Cid that he learned in Lycée. Note the "throne" and the cross that I mentioned. But, the audience walked down those stairs under the arch, mostly in the dark. That was far upstage. Okay, so there were some levels for the actors to move around on. 

From the busy street we entered a small inner courtyard, always a calming surprise. At the very back was a small sign with an arrow indicating the entry to Théâtre du Nord Ouest (Theatre of the Northwest) Surely its name didn’t inspire anticipation.  We timidly pushed some double glass doors and entered a run-down vestibule. There was a skinny, hirsute, old man behind a high desk who was obviously taking care of ticketing. There was no one else to usher or give programs. He routinely pointed toward an open archway as if he thought all spectators should know where to go. The hallway was poorly lit and on a flight of stairs going down, so we proceeded with caution for a short distance. Suddenly there was some dim light and we discovered that we had, in fact, made an upstage entrance. But, just as soon we perceived where the audience would be seated facing center stage, on five well-defined tiers about 20 seats across in a stark, straight line. The first row was only about six feet from the first and only step-up of a thrust, semi-circular stage-of-sorts.

The proud Spanish King in street clothes. Notice the spot light.

The play began about twenty minutes later than announced, but, that was fine because it obviously takes about that long for spectators to settle in. Also, I was beginning to realize that curtain time is never punctual in France.  The first 3 rows were filled by mature spectators while the remaining rows were filled with high school students. On the stage was an oversized unpainted, wooden arm chair with a high back, just behind it a crude cross, & down stage left, a wooden park bench. There were some ancient spot-lights off-stage right and left, & a short string of overhead lights. That was it. We were about to take in the most controversial play of the 17th century in an atmosphere of utter meagerness and austerity. 

Corneille’s Le Cid was called a tragi-comédie. I suppose it’s tragic because there is a death, and the conflict would indicate certain death of the protagonist at the end. It’s a comedy because this doesn’t happen and the ending is very satisfying. Corneille’s play was wildly popular when it came out in 1637. It stirred up a huge controversy with the purists of  L’Académie Française because it violated  the rules of classical play writing: unity of time, place, and action. And there was no such thing as a tragi-comédie. It was either or, never both. At a time when the French intellectual elites were working hard to codify the language and set literary standards this pipsqueak playwright dared to write a play that defied the new protocol. 

Despite the less than stellar environment the play began with a bombastically, ecstatic  Chiméne darting around the stage in diaphanous  bright orange; she was going to marry Don Rodrigue, a great & famous warrior. Her next entry about 20 minutes later was in a severe, opaque, black gown. Her high spirits morphed into loud wails of unabated grief after she received the news (offstage!) that her father had been killed in an honor duel by the same Don Rodrigue.  The remainder of the play was devoted to the need for Chimène to avenge her father’s death by obtaining retribution from the King who should order Rodrigue’s death. There was no entr’acte & the play lasted over 2 hours. The actors, a bare minimum cast of about 7, who were all costumed from the second-hand shop, gave their all. In a subplot the Infante (King’s daughter) wanted Don Rodrigue for herself & was making the most of Chimène’s great chagrin. Don Rodrigue was prostrate with apologetic grief which Chimène refused to accept, even though he had no other choice but to duel for his father’s honor. Chimène’s aging nurse tried to talk sense into her charge who spewed venom for 2 hours. 

....No seriously, We noticed that all the actors who were interacting with Chimène stood at least 6 feet away from her to keep from being sprayed. We even wondered if the front row spectators got hit every now and then. The high-schoolers dared to snicker from their comfortable distance. Someone from a front row hissed at them, “Silence!” Chimène remained undaunted & continued her triple forte declamation throughout, not seeming to care about the spittle that she produced or where it landed. This young 20-ish actress was a striking, statuesque, Grecian brunette, but she obviously needed some serious vocal coaching. Plus her acting could have used a strong dose of reticence.   

Le Cid is a play that is universally studied in French lycée and many students must memorize a long speech of alexandrins, French classical verse. With only a little primitive lighting & staging, no ambient music, few sound effects,  the play (despite an over emotive Chimène) held together, each scene well-played and leading to a rational dénouement (conclusion). Don Rodrigue did not marry the Infante who was way too noble for him. The King did not claim Le Cid's head just to please the unreasonable Chimène. Besides Don Rodrigue a.k.a. Le Cid, was already a great war hero & Spain still needed him to fight more battles. 

Not a great photo. This is Chimène's "father" (also in street dress after the show) who does a bang-up job of insulting Le Cid's father....with several slaps of the glove and long vituperations. You will glimpse the rows of seats to the left under the spot light & the stair stage exit just to the left. Note that pitiful stage light still glowing upper right. 

Molière's Dom Juan at La Comédie Française

Guess who.

On a recent stay in Paris JJ & I were able to attend 3 plays. The first was Molière’s Dom Juan at La Comédie Française. This is not my favorite of the Molière canon, but JJ contends that it is probably Molière’s most profound work.  Sadly, there were very few presentations & then the play fell into obscurity, much the same as a modern Broadway flop. Even these days French theatre producers know that Dom Juan is a hard sell when compared to Molière's raucous comedies.

Hallway: Marble busts EVERYWHERE!

Let’s put this in perspective. My choice would have been one of the comic plays, but when reserving from overseas, one gets what La Comédie is running. There is no doubt that just attending a play at La Comédie it's half the experience: old, roomy and historical, plush deep-red velvet seats and gilded extended balconies: an awesome facility. Whatever Molière was playing was a secondary consideration...pour moi!**

Would I lie?

But, maybe it wasn’t for the French audience who paid a pretty euro to hear Molière’s sublime alexandrines* so artfully delivered by brilliant, seasoned actors, whose voices ring out with no microphones. As the play got underway I was surprised at the reigning silence. In contrast to American etiquette, these Frenchies hardly tittered at jokes or stage business, & they never applauded until the curtain came down before an entr’acte, of which there were two. For Frenchies, I thought they were surprisingly reserved. Think about it. Americans think is nice to applaud at the close of a scene and to laugh appropriately to communicate their pleasure to the actors. (Oh well!) However, at the final curtain, the applause broke out and I didn’t think it would ever stop. The curtain opened about 10 times (yes, it did!) for elaborate bows, and then the audience began to clap in cadence for about 10 more curtains and bows. It was like they had kept it all pent up & then they just exploded. I began to feel sorry for the cast who must have been exhausted. 

All these empty seats will be filled by curtain.

But, Ole JJ was livid. The “enlightened” director decided to change the ending, though he did not change the text, which would have truly been a scandal. However, he changed it with stage “business.” Dom Juan did not go to hell, as he should have. When stage-hell opened up the Dom just ran off the stage with his trusty servant Sganarelle, free to perpetuate his evil deeds on more unsuspecting women. JJ and #7 agreed that the play was pointless if there was no justice rendered against the Dom. 

Pour moi, a simpleton, Molière’s great art with words and humor was to be found in the various scenes where the Don was trying to seduce women, noble or otherwise. The moral lectures of Sganarelle given to his wayward master are maximally philosophical and entertaining.  Molière’s brilliant word-play is easily enhanced by traditional 17th century stage business. & though the acting is mildly suggestive, it never becomes vulgar. In the world of Louis XIV all that is vile, bloody, or crude takes place off-stage, hence, the emphasis on beautiful, witty, or descriptive language. 

Imagine! This is THE very ARMCHAIR in which Molière had "une attaque" while playing the Imaginary Invalid (a tirade against M.D.'s of his times. He was carried off-stage to his apartment close-by where he died. Art imitating life? 

Call me shallow. It was all grand to me. The actors were scintillating. The sets and costumes a delight.  Even if I’ve never understood the attraction of this Spanish myth there was still a lot to enjoy.  

*French version of iambic pentameter
**La Troupe de La Comédie Française is an institution which was formed soon after Moliére's death. The actual hall which bears the name in these photos is a much later, lavish construction than Moliére ever knew. 

Class Three: Obit for our Bulldog

I have no idea when I wrote this. I even wondered if I was the author.  Other writers in the family loved Winston as much as I. Alas! This is now an obit for a wonderful family pet. May he rest in peace.

Class Three

We own a dog of pure breed. His appearance inspires fear. With his head larger than the rest of his body, his great mouth and jowls, and mighty folds around his piercing black eyes, little children shriek when they see him as they hold their mother’s skirts. His bark is deep and loud. He slobbers! Anyone imagines that his attack would be brutal. 

But the truth is that our dog wouldn’t hurt a flea. He is a perfect companion for children, although he might not protect them. Think not that he is stupid. He knows his mind.  He does exactly what pleases him. He will brave hisses and claws to raid the cats’ bowls. His show of affection to his masters is wet, powerful and long! If he doesn’t want to go out he hides and when found refuses to budge. Is it any wonder that he’s an English Bulldog and his name is Winston.

We were not original in our choice of name. The English Bulldog is emblematic of the famous British statesman of WWII. The stereotype has stuck and who would daresay that it is a bad one? Here’s the rub. How many normal individuals want to be compared to a dog?  

I’m not sure if Winston Churchill had a class three occlusion*, but this dog always does. Most people don’t particularly find this bite attractive. Men might accept it because it was once a symbol of strength and courage. Women consider it an affliction. It makes their appearance homely and witch-like. While the Hollywood camera typically prefers a prognathic jawline, the Class Three is overkill. 

It is now possible with advances in oral surgery and orthodontics to correct what is commonly known as an under-bite. A surgical procedure comes first and will shorten the mandible or lower jawbone.  Some extractions might be necessary in order to fit the smaller lower arch of teeth under the upper larger arch. After surgery, orthodontic treatment ensues. The results are spectacular. Et voila! A Hollywood smile. 

But back to the one for whom a class three is always à la mode...Winston. Hollywood be damned! He’ll stick with his Class Three.

*There are also Class 1 and Class 2 occlusions.   

Sochi Swizzles - A Broad Conversation

On Feb 17, 2014, at 8:51 PM #6 Opened a discussion while Sochi was in full progress:

It appears that there are more athletes than ever falling and injuring themselves on the outdoor courses at the Sochi Olympics Games. In response, the athletes complain that the the snow is too soft, jumps are too big, course is too steep, ice is too thin, etc. As a spectator, it seems to me that these conditions should normally be easy to overcome for the professionals competing at the Olympics who can make necessary adjustments. In other sports, players often encounter challenging conditions including intense heat, rain, and wind. Even at Wimbledon, the grass on the court doesn't stay too long after the first couple of rounds. For the skiers in the family, do their arguments hold water or is it just whining on the part of the athletes? 

On Monday, February 17, 2014 6:07 Ole JJ replied to #6: (I refuse to translate!)

il y a plusieurs raisons a la multiplication des plaintes de concurrents malheureux aux Jeux de Sochi:
- les journalistes,en majorite de gauche,n'aiment pas Putin et font tout leur possible pour deconsiderer ses jeux olympiques. Ils amplifient donc plus que d'habitude les recriminations contre la preparation des hotels, la nourriture, l'etat des pistes et le manqué de spectateurs.
- les vieux routiers des pistes, habitués aux difficulties des Alpes ou des Rocheuses,ont ete desarconnes par le Caucase. Plutot que de blamer leur manque de preparation, ils ont critique
Le pays organisateur.
- Nous avons suivi les jeux a la tele francaise et, franchement, nous les avons trouves tres plains ants et bien organises. Vu d'ici, ils se sont deroules dans la bonne humeur et l'esprit sportif le plus pur.
Ne vous fiez donc pas aux journaux Americanism qui sont tous pourris.!

Bisous a tous,
Papa

Sent from my iPad 

On Monday, February 17, 2014 7:31 PM, #7 joined the debate:

 I think the athletes have been making excuses. 

For the outdoor courses, they're allowed to give their input, and adjustments are made accordingly before they start the actual competition. Reina and I have watched the games on the Canadian website, so we haven't had much of the American perspective. As you can imagine, the Canadian commentators are rather boring and pretty neutral. They made a comment here and there that a course has a few tricky parts, but they'll usually lay an athlete's failure upon the athlete, plain and simple. I agree with Enguerrand, the flying tomato, and all his slacker followers, under-performed; I personally think he's just gone corporate and the world's caught on to half-pipe snowboarding and the other newer events. As for the other sports, I haven't really taken much of an interest since I think most of the downhill stuff is contingent on many chance factors that make it hard to judge a skiers true merits. However, we have looked at the figure skating competition, and there certainly are a great deal of falls there. Due to the way the scoring works, so many of these skaters have impossible routines that still allow them to win despite falling on half their jumps. The gold and silver for the men, some Japanese dandy and Patrick Chan (a Canadian mega-star) attempted numerous quadruple spins--something unheard of only a few Olympics ago--fell on half of them, and scored a cool 20 points higher than all the other skaters. This bizarre way of assessing coupled with the dull obvious commentary of the Canadian hosts has turned me off from an event I used to really like to watch. It even made me nostalgic about French skater, Philipe Candolero, ripping off his shirt and throwing his shirt to a group of hooting old woman at the end of his program. Reina and I have now turned to the X-game sports to see creativity in athletics properly awarded.

As for the arguments against Putin and Russian desolation, I guess I don't disagree with the criticism, but it certainly isn't anything new, and it hasn't negatively impacted the Sochi. Frankly, there was way more to criticize in the way of human rights abuses in the Beijing Olympics, but most people seemed to overlook that, So far as progressive empowerment goes, this Olympics takes the cake introducing a female counterpart to every event--even women's hockey.I haven't heard much about the gay thing, but maybe the American pundits are still cackling about it.

Overall, the Americans have sucked it up this Olympics, and they're resorting to every little excuse they can. Then again, it's only the Winter Olympics and over half the events are somewhat ridiculous--seriously, luge relay, and women's curling?--so I'm not sure why they see the need to save face. Let the Scandinavians and Canadians have their day in the winter sun. 

On Mon, Feb 17, 2014 at 11:02 PM, #5 opined: 

why high expectations for americans? most disappointments were over the hill and over hyped. and yes the world can do x-sports too. alpine events are cool to watch but the results are erratic and subject to change by the temperature of the snow. i like it when the champions excel in the olympics  in sports like biathlon, cross-country, skating, and sleding. but i agree, champions usually can adjust accordingly. martin fourcade took 6th in the first race of biathlon, then took two golds after adjusting his skills to the softer snow. 

Sent: Tuesday, February 18, 2014 10:55 AM #6 responded: 

     You took the words right out of my mouth. I was just remarking to Roxanne that I really like watching cross country and biathlon these days. There is something so admirable about watching the guys and women slug it out on the snow and then collapsing from exhaustion at the finish line. I also like the events because it seems like older competitors (25+) have a competitive chance like the Norwegian winning at the age of 42. In addition, I was particularly impressed to see the Swedish woman Khala come back from way behind to win it. 

     For me, speed skating might as well be the equivalent of swimming in the summer olympics: too many distances and boring to watch after a while. Unlike #7, I like figure skating. I don't think I am alone in taking pleasure in watching the skaters either land difficult jump combos or falling on their butts. For those like Auguste that appreciate the more graceful side of skating, there is always ice dancing where the competitors don't jump but offer twizzles in unison instead. 

     I agree with #5 & #7. The X-factor events are no longer the exclusive domain of Americans. Although, I do like the snowboard cross event. It's a bit like short-track in that competitors will inevitably fall. You really have to feel for Lindsey Jacobelliis who's been close to winning the gold medal for the last three Olympics only to experience a wipe-out near the end of the course.     

 On February 18, #1 who lives in Moscow added: 

Dear All,

To whom cares to read this. I also viewed some events, albeit after fitness training at a swimming pool overloaded with chlorine and other chemicals, which eventually caused mild skin irritation on my face and hands.

I was quite disappointed the French couple didn’t win at least bronze for their stellar performance in artistic skating but agree with Gabriel, the biathlon is more exciting to watch than latent sports such as curling.

The problem with watching the games on Russian TV is that the commentators are extremely biased and almost cruel when it comes time to recognise that other some foreign athletes can do better in some events than they can such as speed skating or biathlon. For this reason, I usually watch the games, when I have time, in mute mode.

The most discussed events in Russia of late has been a lady falling on her back and then undergoing a six-hour long spinal cord surgery in the local hospital, (the local medics should haves sent an SOS to Richard to fly over with a scalpel or two) as well as the contested defeat of the Russian hockey team against  the USA. I just nod away and smile when asked my view by disgruntled locals about the questionable objectivity of the American referee at this hockey match. Of course the first goal should have been awarded to the Russians, of course they, the Russians, should have won, etc. So I nod away and hope that the best team will eventually win. The Russians have another chance to battle their way to the hockey finals but will have to confront tougher teams to get there rather than Slovenia. As an aside, I remember Bishop Ott’s commentary, repeated at least four or five times during homilies for teens back in 1986, whilst in Baton Rouge, “Adversity made LSU a better team”, referring to coach Dale Brown’s complete revamp of the LSU tigers, a truly puny team and enabling them to reach the final four of the SEC conference that year (sport trivia for Julien). So the Russians, if they are really the best hockey players, will have to brush aside their initial disappointment and prove that they are indeed the ‘better’ team by defeating all others in the league.

I don’t really like the integration of professionals into the Olympics as it was intended for amateur athletes. Regretfully, this seems to be the preferred trend these days. Figure skating has become excessively geared on acrobatics than any real artistic quality. I can still remember being very impressed with Katerina Witt, an East German figure skater, who ‘stole’ the gold medal from the US favourite, Rosalynn Summers at the Sarajevo Winter Olympics in 1984 because of incredible artistic interpretation on music themes of Bizet’s Carmen. She went on to ‘steal’ the gold again from Rosalynn Summers at the World’s skating competitions a few months later.

Unfortunately it seems that quadruple- -and maybe in a few years quintuple—jumps are required to obtain the better score.  The athletes are also getting younger. At fifteen, an adolescent girl enjoys much more body flexibility than an older girl of 18 or above. The trend seems to mirror the preference for gymnasts who are 11 or 12 rather than fully grown adults…shouldn’t there be a threshold to make this a genuinely adult event?

Besides a few accidents and the soft snow issue, there does not seem to be many scandals yet. The gay protesters are keeping quiet for the time being but maybe preparing a surprise before the games are officially over. Wait and see.

In fact, the question that I care to dwell on most about is to figure out if Sochi will remain a sustainable and affordable ski destination once the Olympics are over. Will the real estate bubble burst?  If so, what impact will the Sochi demise have on investment confidence and tourism and hotel development in other regions in this vast, forsaken land? The risk is dire and imminent like Damocles sword swooping over the heads of the investment and banking community. A cliff hanger of sorts. If the resort topples over like a card castle under the weight of sheer greed and unrealistic speculation, then I may have to pack my bags for another emerging market to continue developing hotel projects.

Continue enjoying viewing the canned Sochi games from wherever you are, be it in Dallas, the Colony, Rockwall or San Antonio. As an alternative, it may be more refreshing to view the games from a Hispanic point of view on Univision or Telemundo. I doubt that there are many Mexican or South American athletes at the Winter games, except maybe a bob-sled team or two.

Warm greetings from Moscow where it is really hot this winter: +1-3°C

sent from my iPad

Subject: RE: Is it the snow or unprepared athletes at the Olympics? #4 Joins the Conversation on Feb. 19----

All:

I thought I would join in on the conversation. I'm glad to see we're all big fans of the Winter Olympics, and I usually I'm trying to catch as much of it when not busy with work and running a household.  Claire and Lou Henry seem to be paying close attention, and already have taught themselves to cheer for their fellow countrymen, even to the point of cutting out little American flags and taping them on sticks!

So far I think the Sochi games have been going pretty well, and having watched many an Olympics in my lifetime, the criticisms in the press about this or that are nothing new.  American media is always looking for something to talk about, the less newsworthy the better.  Russia is fortunate to have such a deep reservoir of culture to draw from that it was a pleasure watching the opening ceremonies and listening to classic Russian tunes while enjoying the figure skating.  I thought the Opening Ceremonies was tasteful and expertly choreographed, and was happy to see references to Russian deconstructivist art and traditional craft patterns found on the matrioshka dolls.   These spectacles have come along way, especially since their lowpoint during the '96 summer games in Atlanta, when it was thought to be great idea to have an army of pick-up trucks running around the stadium (ugh).

Since I receive the standard roster of cable channels at home, I've been unfortunately subjected to the silly coverage from NBC and its affiliated cable channels. Scary pink-eyed Bob Costas is annoying, always trying to assert some dopey opinion about this or that (which made me strangely appreciate his replacement Matt Lauer, whose inherent lack of depth is a plus here), and naturally the focus on American athletes is overwhelming, with countless sob-stories to complement the heavily edited footage of the actual competition (a 9-hour time difference only encourages broadcasters to play up the drama as much as they can get away with). After all, for NBC it's all about having compelling prime-time entertainment to get the highest ratings possible, not an honest account of the events and the competitors. Of course they had to make some time for the Jamaican Bobsled team, as they barreled down the course bumping the sides like bumper cars--it's moving story, and don't we all remember the cute movie "Cool Runnings"!  It's a bit better on the NBC Sports Network, since they handle live coverage in the wee-hours of the night and morning, and their announcers seem to consist of actual experts on the event, such as Dan Jansen for speedskating and Johnny Weir (he's a hoot, but he's been there) for figure skating.  I do notice that the commentators for cross country and biathlon are among the most animated of all the events.

Yet any smart follower of the Olympics knows that it's best to go on-line to find out who actually won. There's also some more interesting detail to uncover about the things going behind the scenes, such as this particularly story of how the Russian organizers were able transport an emergency shipment of salt for the alpine events. It reminded me of Papa's commodity deals with the Nigerians back in the day. Riveting reading!

As for the athletes complaining about snow conditions, I can relate to a degree. Having skied a lot, I can understand how weather affects the quality of snow, with warm temperatures turning the bottom of the hill into mashed potatoes and effectively making it impossible to maintain control.  Snow conditions change throughout the day, and part of the strategy among the racers is to use this knowledge to your own advantage.  I remember one of the skiiers complained they didn't finish as well as in their training runs because he didn't get Lasik earlier that year. That makes sense since its difficult to ski under cloudy skies since the dull light makes it impossible to see the terrain in front of you.  You would think that a premier skiing competition would try to guarantee optimal conditions, but there's only so much organizers can do.  Competitors should know better than everyone how weather changes the snow, and how to deal with it. Sounds like a lot of whining to me, and the results have been pretty consistent regardless.  The same usual suspects from Austria, Norway, Italy and Slovenia seem to dominate on the slopes near Sochi.  In spite of the failures of the geriatric American star athletes, the US is faring pretty well in the medal count for a Winter Olympics.  American TV needs a tantalizing narrative for compelling primetime viewing, so they hang onto whoever fits the bill, whether its the bruised and past-his-prime Shaun White, the aging  Bode Miller (!?) crying fo to a reporter, or the emotionless but ethnically correct Shani Davis.  Luckily, there are new stars to briefly take the helm, such as all the freestyle snowboarders and skiers, and the Ice-dancing gold medalists (now that's an event that mystifies me when it comes to how it's judged; I enjoyed the routine of the French ice dancing couple more; their twizzles were more exciting to me).

Stephane, I love that reference to Bishop Ott in Baton Rouge. Every time somebody mentions the word 'adversity' I instantly think of that homily. God bless him.