I usually never address current events in my bjournal, but I thought I had to mention something about the Michael Phelps situation.

Remember how awesome last summer was?  He won a million gold medals and we high-fived everyone that we knew, and awkward small talk at work turned into fun chatter that led to the germ-sharing of Olympics Fever.  I know he’s supposed to be a role model, but I think being the best swimmer ever offsets any young duderey.  Michael Phelps is America’s boyfriend, and if anyone has boyfriended Americans before they know that they occasionally do things like accidentally have photographs of them taking bong hits published in British tabloids.   It’s not like he got fat* or killed someone (though, with his past DUI, that was likely but he already apologized to Matt Lauer so let him move on) — at least with smoking pot the worst that could happen is that he would try to make us a mix CD.  Give him a break!

All of this seemed more urgent to write out while I was driving home from work tonight.

*I will never, ever respect Jessica Simpson as an artist, I don’t care how much weight she gains/loses.  She can go back to her birth weight and I will still be more shocked that people book her to perform at chili cookoffs.