fragments of memory

I went tubing down the Salt River with some friends yesterday, and we ended up meeting a couple of guys, which is the last thing I expected on the river. But I was agreeable to the whole thing, especially since I spent two hours floating alongside a pretty passable Rafael Nadal lookalike boy who was sweet and had a cute name, and we talked and talked and talked about our families, his HS football career, my love for the SF Giants, bucket lists, being out on the water, bird dogs—so many things. He was beautiful, and Cali boy was officially in the rearview. When we beached our tubes and got out at the end of the line, he hugged me...and then he left.







...I am so confused.

In other news, I've been watching a lot of Olympic coverage, and while my head's all about it, my heart's not in it. I was so looking forward to watching Rafa; I still haven't quite gotten past that disappointment. And the swimming (which used to be my fave, pre-Beijing) is so Phelps/Lochte focused (and I have little patience for either of them) that I can barely stand to watch. I miss the days of Ian Thorpe dominating the 400m free, and narrowly winning the 200m free with Pieter van den Hoogenband unzipping his suit for him at the end of the race, and Michael Phelps the gawky upstart who posed no real threat, only served as idle amusement and occasional partner in fic.

I'm trying to avoid a complete "damn kids, get off my lawn" attitude, but, you know, I think the Olympics were better with Ian and Rafa involved.

( A brief trip down memory lane, mostly Athens with a quick stopover in Beijing. )