-Thank God the Summer Games are over.  For the past two weeks I have become a raging Olympics-whore.  I couldn’t go to bed without the soothing voice of Bob Costas lulling me to sleep.  When I was up late, I was watching skeet-shooting qualifying on Telemundo.  And you know you’re getting too into the Olympics when you can no longer become aroused without the sight of scantily-clad women’s beach volleyball players embracing in the sand.

-Memo to American medal-winners: perhaps learning the words to the National Anthem should have been part of your training regiment.  You guys lip-sync worse than Milli Vanilli with a speech impediment.

-Memo to all Americans: should we be concerned that there were at least a dozen countries competing that none of us had ever even HEARD of?

-When I wasn’t watching the Olympics, I was closely following my beloved Yankees.  Since I was forcing my girlfriend to watch hours of baseball against her will, I figured it would be worthwhile to teach her a little about my team and its players.  I’ve discovered that Girlfriend is learning about baseball at almost exactly the same rate as my three year-old cousin Daniel.  My conversations with the two of them are remarkably similar: “OK, who’s up at bat now?  No, not A-Rod, but close…  Hi… Hid… Hidek… That’s right – Hideki Matsui!  Good job!  And what’s his nickname?  Come on, I know you know this… Godzilla, right again!  Good girl!  Now let’s get you some ice cream.”