After watching the mens' short program...
Feb. 18th, 2010 01:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragojustineDear Yevgeny Plushenko: You jump very high indeed, but... couldn't you have bothered to shave? I mean, it's the Olympics. Do some grooming. (Also, stop phoning it in. The judges apparently can't tell, but we can. It's the Olympics, man, pretend you care)
Dear Daisuke Takahashi: Opinions on the internet regarding your costume include "it looked like he raided the Bedazzler factory" and "Liberace-attacked-by-wolves." C and I didn't catch your name, and referred to you as "doily-clad-Elvis-impersonator" through the next two commercial breaks. Actually, we were so busy making Jailhouse Rock jokes and laughing like maniacs at various freeze-frame shots of your look that we had to rewind when we realized you were for real. I am fairly sure that your routine was the best of the night, but it sure was hard to tell through the sideburns.
Dear Stephane Lambiel: Congratulations on moving past the weird things trying to eat your shoulders and instead just rocking that oddly equestrian-feeling Lone-Ranger-does-awesome-high-kicks program of yours. That was great. Plus, you have just about the cutest grin in the whole world.
Dear Takahiko Kozuka: Dude, the Jimi Hendrix? And the blue jeans? And that fantastic choreography? And that awesome macho-athletic-cool energy? I approve of you, man. Way to rock the rhinestone-free division. Plus, you were totally better than Oda, so don't let him lord it over you.
Dear Jeremy Abbott: You choked big time, but let me take this moment to tell you that you had good music, one of the better costumes, and some great choreography, especially that bit at the beginning. You're still young, you've obviously got the stuff, you've got a lot of besotted girls rooting for you... just try it with the jumps next time?
Dear Brian Joubert: Oh honey, I lit my torch for you way back in 2004, when you danced to the Matrix and threw down those jumps like they were going out of style. You aren't quite as pretty as you were at 20, but I was fully prepared to keep loving you, and you started out with that incredibly promising sexy hip thing, and had some very fun crowd-pleasing footwork choreography... why did you keep falling down? Please stop that.
Dear Evan Lysacek: Okay, man, I was predisposed to dislike you because I think you look a bit like a Ken doll, and this silly costume makes you look like an villainous Ken doll from the House of Usher. Then I heard your music and realized you were supposed to look like an evil villain, and my dislike softened. Of course, then you went on to be spectacularly, effortlessly, breathtakingly athletic, and I thought "screw the plastic hair, this guy is HOT." And then you cried into your quoth-the-raven gloves, and I realized I sort of love you. I hope you win.
Dear Johnny Weir: But you know I still love you best, right? Frankly, if you retire tomorrow and never skate another program I will love you forever just for Poker Face. I'd congratulate you on your costume, except I know you don't need my blessing to wear exactly what you damn well please. Instead I will just say that you are shaped very nicely indeed, and the faux-corset-laces up the back highlight that nicely. I would feel skeevy for the amount of attention I paid your ass, except the internet tells me you're older than I am (contrary to all appearances). Plus, you skate like a magic thing and I am perpetually surprised that someone who thrives on being outrageous as you do actually has the quality to back it up. Also, please keep flirting with the audience. Your charisma could power floodlights, and I like being pandered to like that.
Aside: was the "Shaun White's mother dry-cleans his medal" story not the cutest 45 seconds of footage ever aired on NBC? I had to watch that about five times.
In which I have a new man-on-ice crush (paraphrased)
C: Hey, that's pretty.
Me: The costume or the boy?
C: The costume. Oh, yeah, the boy too.
Me: No kidding. Where's he from?
C: The announcer just said Brazil.
Me: No wonder he's pretty.
C: Except he lives in France.
Me: My god, he's gorgeous.
C: (her best "no, duh" look) He's a French-Brazilian figure skater.
Me: You mean, he's a nineteen year old French-Brazilian figure skater with dimples.
C: I might need to go have a lie-down.
Me: I saw him first!
Congratulations, Florent Amodio, you are the new most gorgeous boy on ice, and I hope your career goes well.
Let us end on gratuitous note.
Dear Daisuke Takahashi: Opinions on the internet regarding your costume include "it looked like he raided the Bedazzler factory" and "Liberace-attacked-by-wolves." C and I didn't catch your name, and referred to you as "doily-clad-Elvis-impersonator" through the next two commercial breaks. Actually, we were so busy making Jailhouse Rock jokes and laughing like maniacs at various freeze-frame shots of your look that we had to rewind when we realized you were for real. I am fairly sure that your routine was the best of the night, but it sure was hard to tell through the sideburns.
Dear Stephane Lambiel: Congratulations on moving past the weird things trying to eat your shoulders and instead just rocking that oddly equestrian-feeling Lone-Ranger-does-awesome-high-kicks program of yours. That was great. Plus, you have just about the cutest grin in the whole world.
Dear Takahiko Kozuka: Dude, the Jimi Hendrix? And the blue jeans? And that fantastic choreography? And that awesome macho-athletic-cool energy? I approve of you, man. Way to rock the rhinestone-free division. Plus, you were totally better than Oda, so don't let him lord it over you.
Dear Jeremy Abbott: You choked big time, but let me take this moment to tell you that you had good music, one of the better costumes, and some great choreography, especially that bit at the beginning. You're still young, you've obviously got the stuff, you've got a lot of besotted girls rooting for you... just try it with the jumps next time?
Dear Brian Joubert: Oh honey, I lit my torch for you way back in 2004, when you danced to the Matrix and threw down those jumps like they were going out of style. You aren't quite as pretty as you were at 20, but I was fully prepared to keep loving you, and you started out with that incredibly promising sexy hip thing, and had some very fun crowd-pleasing footwork choreography... why did you keep falling down? Please stop that.
Dear Evan Lysacek: Okay, man, I was predisposed to dislike you because I think you look a bit like a Ken doll, and this silly costume makes you look like an villainous Ken doll from the House of Usher. Then I heard your music and realized you were supposed to look like an evil villain, and my dislike softened. Of course, then you went on to be spectacularly, effortlessly, breathtakingly athletic, and I thought "screw the plastic hair, this guy is HOT." And then you cried into your quoth-the-raven gloves, and I realized I sort of love you. I hope you win.
Dear Johnny Weir: But you know I still love you best, right? Frankly, if you retire tomorrow and never skate another program I will love you forever just for Poker Face. I'd congratulate you on your costume, except I know you don't need my blessing to wear exactly what you damn well please. Instead I will just say that you are shaped very nicely indeed, and the faux-corset-laces up the back highlight that nicely. I would feel skeevy for the amount of attention I paid your ass, except the internet tells me you're older than I am (contrary to all appearances). Plus, you skate like a magic thing and I am perpetually surprised that someone who thrives on being outrageous as you do actually has the quality to back it up. Also, please keep flirting with the audience. Your charisma could power floodlights, and I like being pandered to like that.
Aside: was the "Shaun White's mother dry-cleans his medal" story not the cutest 45 seconds of footage ever aired on NBC? I had to watch that about five times.
In which I have a new man-on-ice crush (paraphrased)
C: Hey, that's pretty.
Me: The costume or the boy?
C: The costume. Oh, yeah, the boy too.
Me: No kidding. Where's he from?
C: The announcer just said Brazil.
Me: No wonder he's pretty.
C: Except he lives in France.
Me: My god, he's gorgeous.
C: (her best "no, duh" look) He's a French-Brazilian figure skater.
Me: You mean, he's a nineteen year old French-Brazilian figure skater with dimples.
C: I might need to go have a lie-down.
Me: I saw him first!
Congratulations, Florent Amodio, you are the new most gorgeous boy on ice, and I hope your career goes well.
Let us end on gratuitous note.
