GINNY BATES: MAGINOT LINE

Another installment of my Great American Lesbian Novel (in progress), Ginny Bates. If you are new to reading GB, go to the section in the right-hand column labeled Ginny Bates to read background and find out how to catch up.

December 30 and 31, 2012

After an hour, Myra went upstairs to strip the sheets from the bed used by the housekeeper. She saw Ginny still on the upper deck, but they didn't exchange glances. When Myra opened the door and went into what she now thought of as Carly's room, she cried out "Gaaahh!" Ginny appeared beside her in an instant.

"Smell this! That asshole was up here smoking, no wonder she fucking got sick!" yelled Myra. The room reeked of cigarettes. She strode to the bed and began ripping all the bedding from it, even the pillows, piling them into the comforter: It would all have to be washed. Ginny went into the kitchenette and said "There's dirty dishes left in the sink."

"I guess she really planned on us never having her back" said Myra between clenched teeth.


Ginny said, in an altered voice, "Did you open the door to the private deck here, off the kitchen?"

Myra turned and looked. The sliding door was wide open. "No. I bet she did, thinking it would suck out the smell of cigarettes."

Ginny went to the deck and looked out. "You can see this from the alley. Maybe he knew this door was open, that's why he was coming in at the side this time."

Myra sat down suddenly on the bed. She began wheezing. Ginny, coming back into the room, said "Get out of here, Myra, you're allergic to this kind of residue. I'll put the laundry in the washer, go on."

"What about the mattress, and Carly's new chair?" said Myra, standing.

"There's stuff I can spray on it that will actually break down the chemicals in the odor. I'll take care of it."

Myra went downstairs and waiting five minutes, but had to use her inhaler anyhow. She was coming out of the storage room with an armload of items from the freezer and shelves when Ginny came downstairs with a huge bundle of linens. "I'll wash Gillam's too, I can't remember if we did after the last time he was here" said Ginny.

"How are the baby plants?" asked Myra.

"Good. The dragon carrots are ready to set out, and lots more of the Mammoth Red Rock cabbage. The Romanesca broccoli didn't all come in, but I'm starting more. We have lots of baby lettuce for salad, too."

"Which kind?" asked Myra.

"The Tango. Oh, and I started some of those Carentan leeks." They were talking almost normally.

"Well, I know they'll all be pulling in after dinner but I bet they'll be hungry. I thought fried chicken would keep well, with baked potatoes and some version of a three-bean salad. Is there anything you want to add?"

"How about a quart of my shallots, in a cream sauce?" suggested Ginny.

"Maybe with frozen crab meat?" asked Myra.

"Mmm. What kind of pie is that?"

"Blackberry" said Myra.

"I'll come help with salad and tea once I get Carly's room cleaned and the transplants done" said Ginny.

Myra defrosted the fryer pieces, put them in a bowl of evaporated milk and set it in the refrigerator. She began the pie and potatoes baking simultaneously, then took a sheet of paper and started a list for the major shopping that needed to happen in the morning -- six or seven people per meal plus guests for every meal the next five days, plus the New Year's Eve food and Gillam's birthday. They'd be feeling the loss of the garden especially keenly. She'd have to use the mini-fridge in Carly's room to hold all the veggies they'd have to buy, to eke out the salads and side dishes.

When Ginny went outside to harvest what she could, Myra unpacked her bag from their trip. She put together two days' worth of clean clothes, toiletries, and a nightie, and stashed it in the bathroom off her study. She put her pillow and an extra blanket in the storage box under her daybed. She was back in the kitchen when Ginny returned.

"How about if I turn over the bean salad to you as well?" said Myra. "The pearl onion dish can be last minute, once they're thawed. I should make bread for the masses."

"Sounds good" said Ginny. Myra made three sponges, each enough for three loaves of different varieties plus two dozen rolls. After the first rise, she removed the pies and potatoes from the oven and let them cool on the sideboard. After the second rise, Ginny was done in the kitchen and started vacuuming the house as Myra coated the chicken and began frying.

Ginny mopped the wood floors as well, but said she'd leave the upstairs for one of the kids. She poured herself a glass of iced tea; her cheeks were dark red and her brow a little sweaty as she sat down at the breakfast bar to drink.

"This the grocery list? Yowzah. Why don't we just buy six little fishes and a loaf, and hope for a miracle?" she said.

"I keep thinking of more to add" said Myra, saying "Dammit" as a drop of flying grease hit her wrist.

"Eggs" said Ginny after a minute. "And olive oil, we're low. What are we going to give them in the morning, before we go shopping?"

"Oatmeal and dried fruit" said Myra.

"What kind of cake are you going to make for Gillam?"

"I'll ask Carly. And Jane" added Myra.

"He's going to love being fitted for a hand-tailored suit" said Ginny, grinning. "I can't wait to see what fabric and style he chooses. I hope that guy is as good as Belva said he is."

"The cufflinks Sima made are the piece d'resistance" said Myra. "You want some these of crunchies that I'm skimming out?"

"You know I do" said Ginny, taking the little plate Myra handed her. She popped one in her mouth, took a quick drink of tea, saying "Oops, too hot". Myra laughed, her back to Ginny as she put more thighs into the grease. After half a minute, Ginny said "I'm really sorry, Myra. I do not think you see my art as money in your pocket, not ever. That -- it was pure Helen coming out of me. I can't believe I have that inside me. That's bad enough, but to hurl it at you -- I can't figure out why I did. But I'm abjectly sorry."

Myra turned around, her face still a little wary. "Okay. I accept your apology."

They looked at each other for a minute. Ginny's gaze dropped to the skillet and she said "Oh, god, are those livers?"

"Yeah, there was a bundle in the package. I figured you'd polish those off before the kids got here" grinned Myra.

"I need sliced onion and a heel of bread" said Ginny, going to the refrigerator.

"From quoting about loaves and fishes to pure shtetl food" remarked Myra. "You're a woman of the world."

Ginny kissed her shoulder softly before returning to the breakfast bar. Myra pulled a neck from a small pot where it had been boiling and cut it into morsels. She set them in Beebo's bowl and placed it in the freezer to cool off quickly. He watched nearby with bright eyes.

Ginny made herself a quick lettuce-and-carrot salad to go with her pre-meal, and Myra took half of it with a small baked potato and a piece of chicken. They ate at the breakfast silently, Beebo crunching at his bowl. When they were done, they finished preparing the rest of the meal and put it in the refrigerator while the bread baked.

Ginny said "I'll remake the beds upstairs. I left the deck door open and a fan blowing outward from Carly's room. What are you up to?"

"Answering mail. Trying to get back into my book."

They separated and didn't talk again until nearly 8:00, when Myra set the table for them both and they began eating the second half of dinner. They'd been at it only a few minutes when the front door opened and the phone rang almost simultaneously. Laughing, Myra went to greet Gillam, Jane and Carly, while Ginny answered the phone. Beebo raced in from the study. As the newcomers used the bathroom, Ginny set out three more plates and said "That was Margie. She said they're leaving right after Frances' shift tonight, will be here some time in the wee hours, we shouldn't wait up."

"Frances is coming with her? I'm really glad" said Myra, reheating potatoes in the microwave.

After they all began eating, Ginny and Myra took turns telling the younger folks about the second attempted break-in and arrest. Before they were finished, Carly stood up, his face rigid, and walked out to the carport. After a few moments, Gillam followed him, then Myra, who leaned against the doorway and watched them pick up the broken fence boards and trace the damage with their hands. Carly turned to her and said "You repaired this today?"

Before she could answer, Gillam came to envelop her in a hug. "My god" he whispered. He pulled back to look at her and said "You're sure he was alone, didn't have any buddies still out there?"

"Aaron seems to be sure, and I don't think he fucks up often" said Myra. Over his shoulder she said to Carly "Yeah, I couldn't stand to leave a breach. I'm going to talk over modifications to the wiring with Aaron, though."

Back at the table, Ginny was talking with Jane about the trip to Lake Quinault Lodge. After pie, they had a viewing of the new painting. A little awkwardly, Ginny then said "Myra had a breakthrough with her book, too. You want to share the details with them, honey?"

Myra wasn't sure what to say. They couldn't do a "viewing" of ideas. She sat down at her desk, Gillam and Jane nestled onto the daybed, and Carly claimed the second chair as she started trying to discuss her draft introduction. Ginny leaned against the far wall, listening as if she hadn't heard any of this before -- which maybe she hadn't, thought Myra. Slowly her explanation became more fluid and excited, urged on by the comprehending expressions of her family. Finally Gillam said "I want to see these baskets."

They had already set aside and wrapped the one they wanted to give him for his birthday, so Myra led them into their bedroom where the rest of the baskets were stacked on the dresser. They marveled over them, Myra explaining what she could remember of function and technique -- which was a great deal. Intermittently Ginny jumped in additional information, proving she had paid attention to Lois, too.

After a third long yawn, Gillam said "I know it's early for me, but it's been one hell of a busy day. I need to go to sleep. Wake me for the trip to Pike, okay?"

"I want to be in on that too" said Carly. "We just don't have anything like it in Oly. I think of it as essential Seattle."

Jane elected to go upstairs with Gillam, though it didn't appear automatic to Myra, which she liked to see. Beebo stuck around for a minute, then thundered upstairs after them. Carly came back into the kitchen and picked up the list on the breakfast bar. "What's your menu plan?" he asked, reading it.

Myra told him, adding "Any changes you want to make, go for it. I meant to ask Jane, too -- what's Gillam's favorite cake at the moment?"

"Chocolate's never wrong" said Carly, grinning. "But, hey, Jane's been talking about a marble fudge she's known for, why don't we let her do that?"

"Will you get the ingredients from her before we shop tomorrow?" asked Myra.

"Sure. In fact, if you want to sleep in, you can leave the shopping to us" offered Carly.

"I want to go with you" said Ginny. "I want to see the produce for myself."

"Okay, I accept" said Myra.

Carly said "My room smells okay but it was pretty chilly from the airing out. I'd like to watch a movie, and we can make it Ginny-friendly."

Ginny looked torn. It felt like days since they'd gotten up at Lake Quinault. She said to Myra, with coded meaning, "Is it all right with you if I don't join you?"

"Yes. You need sleep, too. I'll get my extra in the morning." After a moment's hesitation, Myra crossed to Ginny and hugged her. Ginny squeezed her tight, then let go. Carly was at the DVD shelves and didn't notice the tension in their embrace.

"Don't laugh, but I kinda wanna see Oklahoma, I never have" he said to Myra as she joined him in the living room.

"Ah'm jest a gurl who cain't say no" she replied. He looked briefly confused as he loaded the DVD.

He headed up to bed a couple of hours later, after talking with Myra a while about how much he had enjoyed his trip back to Chicago with Patty. "She's way more happy than I remember her ever being. She didn't push me to go visit Pat's family, and on Christmas morning, it was just me, her and Thea. Really sweet" he said with satisfaction.

She looked at the color in his face as she said "I love you to bits, Carl Elijah. I really hope you have children, and that this world gets to have your descendants in it forever." He was frozen with embarrassed joy.

After making a hot steamed milk, Myra turned off the lights to everywhere but her study. She sat at her desk to drink her milk, missing Beebo, then Ginny. She began reading through her work earlier in the day and got caught up. It was 2:00 before she pulled off her pants and socks, lying down on the daybed without brushing her teeth. She was tired enough to drop off quickly, despite feeling bad about Ginny alone in their bedroom.

She woke up once in the morning, hearing the sounds of spoons clanking bowls and Carly singing "Pore Jud is daid" half to himself in the kitchen. When she woke up again, sun was in her eyes, Beebo was sprawled on her hip, and she needed to pee urgently. Once in the bathroom, she showered and dressed, scrubbing her teeth and tongue.

It was 10:30, and the house was very quiet. She went to the storage room and got a Coke from her stash, pouring it over ice in a glass and sipping at it as she made toast and sliced the last of the Edam with a couple of apples. Before she sat down, she heard a door open and two seconds later Narnia was glued to her shins, vibrating and warbling. Margie came dopily down the hall and gave her a bed-warmed hug.

Myra put half the cheese on a second plate, along with her toast and all the apple, and handed it to Margie. She began making more for herself. Margie said "Is there coffee?"

"No, but I'll make you a cup" offered Myra.

"I'll do it" said Margie swiftly. Myra said "We're out of real cream. Everyone else is on a grocery run, should be back any minute."

Margie put some of Edwina's Cremora in her espresso, grimacing before she even tasted it, and fed a crust of toast to Narnia under the table. "Frances was still wired up from work, so she drove and I sacked out in the car" she said. "She needs another couple of hours, at least."

Narnia had started for the pet door, but reversed herself abruptly and scrambled, paws sliding on the kitchen tile, toward the front of the house. The front door opened and Carly staggered in with two bulging canvas shopping bags on each arm.

Myra chose to finish her breakfast as the groceries were hauled in, sorted, and put away. Gillam set an almond danish on her plate from a bakery bag, and she declared "You just moved ahead in my will."

Ginny said "The milk folks were completely out. I bought commercial organic, including yogurt and ricotta."

"Hand me a carton, will you?" said Margie. "Plus one of those little bananas."

Gillam was unwrapping a large white paper package, which he set down on the table next to Myra. "Look at what I picked for my birthday dinner." There were two thick, massive tenderloins. "Grass-fed. Check how little marbling. I told 'em to leave all the fat on the edges."

"Beautiful. We're out of these steaks from our big meat cutting day, huh?"

"Yep. I also want oysters, raw and steamed, but I'll run back down the day of and grab those" said Gillam. He took the package to a cutting board for rendering into smaller steaks.

"What did ya'll settle on for tonight's meal?" asked Myra.

"More of that caramelized pork" said Carly, "but this time with polenta instead of rice."

"And they had an absolutely stupendous filet of tuna" said Ginny, hoisting another paper-wrapped heft into the air.

Narnia had come back in the house from the back yard, but instead of sniffing around the counters where meat was sitting, she went under the table and pushed against Margie's legs.

"What's wrong with you, doggie-o?" said Margie, looking down at her. "Her tail's between her legs, something's scared her."

"I bet she went in the side yard" Myra said to Ginny, raising her eyebrows. At Margie's blank look, Ginny began telling her the break-in news.

Margie stopped eating and became unusually pale. When Ginny was done, Margie said "Which house did he live in? The one with the dangling gutter, or the one with the old Fiat in the driveway?"

"The gutter, I think" said Ginny. She turned to Myra and said "I wonder if the gutter got damaged from the fucker climbing around on his roof trying to get a better look at us."

Frances emerged from the back bedroom, a long pillow crease in one cheek. She shambled to the table and sat down. Carly said "Latte?" Frances nodded mutely and Carly began making her a cup.

"Oh my god, Mama, you must be completely freaked out" Margie said to Ginny. She briefly filled in Frances, who now looked wide awake. Jane placed a plate of croissants and pastries on the table, along with a bowl of plums and grapes. Ginny pulled a tub from the cheese bag and set it on the table as well, saying "This is a port-flavored caciotta, haven't tried it yet." Frances began slowly assembling her own breakfast.

Margie said to Ginny, "Mama? That was a question I asked you."

Ginny took a long breath and sat down next to Margie. "I don't exactly know what I am. I mean, relieved. But -- I keep trying to remember if I knew him, and wondering why he focused on us."

"I remember him, if it's that same house. He always said hi to me when I walked by with Narnia, but there was something creepy about him" said Margie. To Frances she said "The guy with the bulgy eyes." Frances nodding knowingly.

Returning to Ginny, Margie said "A creep's a creep, Mom, you know that." She looked at Myra and said "Have you reminded her to not take on other people's difficulty, or are you still wallowing in your own guilt?"

"My guilt?" repeated Myra, shocked.

"Yeah, 'cause it's like your job to make sure all of us are safe, especially Mom. I mean, she looks after everything too, I don't mean to diss you, Mama, but the Maginot line is Myra. Do I need to start with you, tell you nothing bad happened here, your claymores worked?" She put her hand on Myra's.

Myra couldn't think clearly. She fixed on that glib reference to "Maginot line", wondering how on earth Margie knew about that. Her children's intelligence was limitless, it seemed.

Ginny said in a strange voice "We haven't talked about it all." Gillam, who had finished rewrapping his steaks and was washing his hands, looked over the sink at Myra. "Mom, did you fall asleep on your daybed accidentally last night?"

When Myra couldn't think how to answer, he came to the table, his hands still wet, and kneeled beside her, saying "What's going on?"

Carly had been about to carry extra produce upstairs. Instead, he returned the bag to the counter and came to sit on the other side of Myra. Frances suddenly looked like she wished she'd not gotten up. Jane stood uncertainly in the kitchen. Ginny broke the silence with "We're fighting."

"You don't sound like you're fighting" said Gillam.

"We fought at the Lodge. And on the way home. And then...I'm too upset to talk with her. I...the best I can manage is to not pull an Anacortes" said Myra, looking into Gillam's eyes.

"Holy shit, what is it?" demanded Margie. On her heels, Gillam said "Does Allie know about this?"

"She saw some of it" said Myra, glancing at Ginny.

Gillam sat down in a chair, then remembered Jane and looked around for her. "You might as well come in here, sit next to Frances and learn the Bates-Josong method" he said gently.

"Josong-Bates" corrected Margie. Carly smothered a smile.

Ginny said, in a rush, "That breakthrough Myra had with her novel, from spending time with the weaver, Lois? That whole time I was buried in a painting, and when I came out of it and found out what was going on, I got jealous. I was nasty and -- distracted."

"Jealous of who, the weaver?" said Margie. She looked at Myra. "Was there something going on?"

Myra's mind cleared as anger flooded back in. Before she could lash at Margie, however, Ginny said "No! Except that someone connected with her, I wasn't jealous in any rational way. But I kept on -- being stupid, and sometimes mean, and Myra -- she's run out of slack. And I have to fix it, without her help now, and I don't even begin to know how." She began crying, despite desperately trying to force it back into her chest. She began coughing right away.

"Nancy?" asked Gillam.

"Out of town" said Myra, feeling irritated at Ginny for crying and feeling guilty about that.

"So you're not sleeping together?" continued Gillam. Carly looked stunned. "Were you planning to cover it all up while we were here?"

"I don't have a plan" said Myra. "That's part of the problem."

Frances said, "Do you need us to clear out and give you some space?"

Margie glared across the table at her. "No, we're not leaving them alone with it, not if they're this stuck."

Jane's hands were folded in her lap and her face was very alert, but she didn't look apprehensive, Myra noticed. She said to Margie, "What did you mean, Maginot line?"

Carly spoke up. "You're the one who keeps guard, like, the security system is your responsibility. And chlorine in the hot tub, and answering the phone."

"Sitting up for curfews" said Margie reminiscently. "No driving with a cell phone on."

"Feeding Mom when she's in Painterland" said Gillam. "Feeding us all, and keeping us a family, while she's in Painterland. While she's naked and completely vulnerable."

Ginny burst into sobs. Myra noticed that Ginny's hands were shaking violently. Margie put her arm over Ginny's shoulders, and Ginny gasped "I've been so fucking scared, I couldn't stand to think about it. It wasn't until we got to the Lodge, or any hotel lately, that I felt safe to paint again. I know I'm not doing my share, Myra, but what if I can't? What if I have to choose between doing my share and painting?"

Now even Gillam looked stunned. Myra said softly "I'll never ask you to give up painting, Ginny Bates. You wouldn't be you without that."

"But I don't know how..." Ginny couldn't speak any more, she was crying so hard.

Myra said to Margie "Maybe I did feel guilty. I can't tell. I -- feel like it's Ginny, that she's the problem."

"Well, there's a big flashing clue" said Carly. "You usually think it's all your fault, whatever it is. If you've transferred it over onto her, then maybe you've simply flipped over the tortoise. Shells on both sides, you know."

Smart, smart kids thought Myra again.

Jane finally spoke. "If somebody could help, Ms. -- Myra, if you could imagine help being offered, what would you want?"

Myra thought. "I don't know. I have to think about it."

"Well, for starters, you need to be sleeping in the same bed, you're just fucking with yourselves by separating that way" said Margie vehemently. "Tonight is New Year's Eve, you can't start the new year like that."

Myra said slowly "We don't really think of it as the new year. I haven't, since I started celebrating Yom Kippur with Ginny..."

Ginny wiped her face on her sleeve, her voice congested as she said "If Myra needs room, that's the best thing to give her. I learned that a long time ago."

Myra picked up stray croissant crumbs from her plate with a moistened fingertip. She said "I'll keep thinking. And if I could talk with you kids, one-on-one, when I feel able to -- "

"Of course" said Gillam.

"Don't get all weird about this" asked Myra. "We're not splitting up, we're only fighting. I want to have a normal visit with you all."

"Same here" said Ginny. Margie tightened her arm around Ginny's shoulders and whispered "Any time you want to talk."

Myra finally met Ginny's eyes. Maginot line she thought.

Margie said "I have to get dressed so I can W-A-L-K you know who, stopping by that sonuvabitch's house to heave bricks through his windows."

"Not without me" said Frances, standing up. After a couple of seconds, Ginny said "Could I -- go with you? I want to look, but..."

"We'll flank you" said Margie. Gillam stood up as well and said "I need a hard swim."

Carly looked at Myra and said "So do you. Or a work-out, take your pick. I'll spot you."

"I'll take the work-out now, maybe a swim later" said Myra. She thought Gillam might want a chance to talk alone with Jane right now. She pulled him down to kiss his cheek, and he whispered "I'm calling Aunt Allie, too."

"I thought you might" said Myra. Carly was saying to Ginny "Leave all that on the counter, we'll have to begin the tamalada right after lunch, I'll get us set up."

Tamales thought Myra with pleasure. She followed Carly upstairs, pulling off her overshirt as she went.


© 2008 Maggie Jochild.

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LOLCATS WEEKLY ROUND-UP, 12 AUGUST 2008

Here's the weekly best of what I've gleaned from I Can Has Cheezburger efforts. There are some really creative folks out there. As usual, those from little gator lead the pack.

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DAILY BEIJING OLYMPICS THREAD FOR 11 AUGUST 2008

(Jason Lezak after winning the men's 400 meter freestyle relay for the U.S.)

Daily Beijing Olympics Thread for 11 August 2008

Here's your daily subjective report on the Olympics and a chance to converse about it in comments.

SPOILER NOTE: Some results will be reported below for the competition of yesterday, so be forewarned.

Sorry about this going up late. I needed more rest, which always come first. And there's a LOT to cover.

Regarding the murder of Todd Bachman, assault on Barbara Bachman and a Chinese tour guide by Tang Yongming, with subsequent suicide by the attacker: No, I haven't commented because the facts are not yet in on this case. No connection has yet been made between the attack and the Olympics themselves, except circumstantial, that one of the members of this family is Hugh McCutchan who coaches men's volleyball for the U.S.. As someone who has lived in Calcutta and Brazil, and traveled through Mexico, I'm well aware of the generic hostility Americans encounter in other parts of the world -- and why. (They don't "hate us for our freedoms", they hate us for how our country negatively impacts the rest of the world.) I want to hear from those present at the attack, Barbara and Elizabeth Bachman and/or the tour guide, before leaping to conclusions and nationalist-based conjecture. I am struck by the fact that in all the English-language reporting of the incident, the name of the also-injured Chinese tour guide (a woman) or her current condition is never mentioned, as if she were of no consequence. If there is an Olympics-based reason for the attack, I'll report it here. In the meantime, grieving for that family's loss does not demand we immediately assign blame and "make sense" of it: There is never a sensible reason for murder.


Now, to coverage of yesterday's events, subjective as always. (You can add your own coverage in comments.) I didn't watch the entirety of the women's road cycle race, but I was glad for the region around Beijing, as well as the racers, that it rained all day. It provided a break from the punishing heat experienced by the men cyclists earlier, and possibly helped clean the air, even as it created slick road hazards for the women.

Sixty-two women began the race, and only 27 posted finishing times, a loss of over 50% of the riders. Of these 27 who finished, 15 were European, confirming what a commentator stated during the race that the current status of women's road cycling depended on a core group of 10-20 who were well-funded by their nations and thus able to dominate the sport. Africa had only three cyclists (two from South Africa, one from Mauritius); six were from Asia (China, Japan, Korea, Thailand, and Kazakhstan; 11 were from North and South America (Venezuela, the U.S., Canada, Mexico, Brazil, and Cuba); and four from Australia/New Zealand.

Personal note: I enjoyed the camera coverage from the chase motorcycles because the lenses rapidly became coated with rain blowback, creating a blurry montage of speed and color. Also, one of the racers was Natalia Boyarskaya, and every time I heard her name, I flashed on the song "Natalia", sung by Joan Baez, about Natalia Gorbanevskaja, Russian poet and civil rights activist who was imprisoned in a psychiatric hospital for four years during the 1970s for her demonstrations against the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia:

Where is the earth
Where is the sky
Where is the light
You long for
What hope of you
Where you are now
Natalia Gorbanevskaja

Regarding the desperate need for rain around Beijing, however, the real story is among Chinese farmers. The Miyun Reservoir, which supplies water to Beijing, was earlier this year down to one-third of the water it had ten years ago. Water is being diverted to create flowing taps for the Olympics, and this is far more grave than the air pollution. Vast areas of farmland have had their water turned off, throwing families which have farmed for time out of mind into desperate circumstances, and dropping the water table below into dire conditions.

And, as if to symbolize just how very clueless our corporate-stupid nationalism keeps us, at the conclusion of the race, when Nicole Cooke of Great Britain was celebrating her victory, the American commentator said "Today the British Empire extends into China." Click.

REPORT:
Women's Road Cycle Race -- Gold, Nicole Cooke, Great Britain (Wales); Silver, Emma Johansen, Sweden; Bronze, Tatiana Guderzo, Italy.

I briefly checked into the sculling heats, considering once again how much money it takes to buy and maintain these boats, what kinds of water access it demands, and how therefore the class and race demographics of who's competing in this sport are utterly nonrepresentative. And where class/race restrictions apply, in most nations this means women's access to the sport will also be affected. This triumvirate of oppression, a solid cord that cannot be meaningfully teased apart, is not identity politics but instead the foundation upon which every aspect of national power in the world currently depends, directly or indirectly.

I also watched some of the synchronized diving finals. This is the first time U.S. women have competed in this event, with Kelci Bryant and Ariel Rittenhouse coming in fourth. As if these dives don't present enough pressure on an athletic, having to match your body to the motion of another is mind-boggling.

REPORT:
Men's Synchronized Diving -- Gold, Lin Yue and Huo Liang, China; Silver, Sascha Klein and Patrick Hausing, Germany; Bronze, Gleb Galperin and Dmitry Dobroskok, Russia

Women's Synchronized Diving -- Gold, Guo Jingjing and Wu Minxia, China; Silver, Yulia Pakhalina and Anastasia Pozdnyakova, Russia; Bronze, Ditte Kotzian and Heike Fischer, Germany.

I checked in on the gymnastics qualifying trials. An NBC closer look focused on the ancient tradition of acrobatics in China (which is also true for some other Asian nations), especially for girls, which creates a bedrock for Chinese women to move on to gymnastics. I don't how accurate my perception is, but I've always felt like gymnastics in the U.S. was a place where white trash girls (like me) could find easier access to sports, because it combines individual and team effort (solo effort and glory is contrary to working class ethics) and it emphasized sexual dimorphism/female infantilism (also congruent with working class ethics).

Perhaps this is all a carryover from peasant culture and ethos. Several years ago, a prominent genealogist who was sick of the "hereditary societies" found in genealogy which are almost always racist and classist in nature retaliated by created what he loftily titled "Society of Descendants of 11th Century Peasants", limited to those who could prove such descent. The joke was, of course, that every human being on the planet is descended from at least one 11th century peasant. (Feel free to create your own gilt-edged membership certificate.)

Peasants were dependent on farming and community for survival. The values which emerged from this reality, no matter the local geography, included manual labor over other forms of labor, limiting education to only a few, sexual division of labor (which eventually became mythologized as the result of biological difference, but was mostly an economic response to non-biological pressures), conformity and collective action valued over individualism, dependence on community rather than institutions, suppression of angry response to oppression because of reprisal against the entire community, and the development of a certain body type after generations of repetitive labor on limited nutrition.

Perhaps gymnastics is the sport preferred by modern-day descendants of peasants.

Later in the coverage was another special report, this time on the Soviet boycott of the Olympics in 1984. Part of the point of this story was to illustrate how beneficial rejoining the Olympics community has been for Chinese athletes, which is clearly true. But a lot of political narrative and outright deception was folded into the story. To set it straight: The FIRST use of boycotting the Olympics for the purpose of political pressure and grandstanding was done by Ronald Reagan. His claim of the "noble" cause as a protest against the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan is belied by the fact that his administration constantly invaded, manipulated, and wreaked havoc on Central American nations, primarily for U.S. corporate interests.(Sound familiar? Those men found new life in Bush administration.) [NOTE: There is an error in the above paragraph. It was Jimmy Carter who ordered the 1980 Olympics boycott. However, in the NBC story it was credited to Ronald Reagan. I should have verified it independently before repeating it.]

Reagan paid for his illegal assaults on other nations by illegal sale of arms to Iran. I wonder if his contacts in Iran were the same men who helped delay release of American hostages until it cost Jimmy Carter the election.

After the farce of our 1980 Olympic boycott, we had no moral high ground to protest the equally stupid Soviet boycott in 1984. I hope such idiocy is behind us, but I won't be assured until every last Bushie is removed from any access to decision-making on a governmental level.

The rest of my Olympics attention for yesterday was consumed by swimming, where breaking world records (and stereotypes) became almost matter of fact. Eight new world records were set, many of them during qualifying races instead of finals. This kind of surge forward begs the question why? The streamlined suits so popular were in use in 2004. I'm reminded of the past Olympics (I want to say 1976, but I'm not sure) when a revision in the pool structure itself resulted in an explosion of new world swimming records. I particular remember new dampers at the sides of the pool then, as well as perhaps a shift in depth and lane ropes all designed to minimize waves and turbulence. Does this ring a bell with anyone else? Any theories about why we're seeing the current extreme improvement in swimming times?

After winning silver the first day of the Olympics in the women's 400 meter individual medley, Kirsty Coventry of Zimbabwe during the semifinals set a new world record in the women's 100m backstroke with a time of 58.77 seconds. The previous record of 58.97 set by Natalie Coughlin this past July, and Coughlin had set five consecutive world records in the event before Coventry took the record off her. Coventry is the second woman to ever break 59 seconds in this event. Her swimming style makes her strong as a closer, where Coughlin tends to get her best work in early. Perhaps ominously, in the heat for the 100 meter backstroke, Coughlin (who is the world record holder) swam in the lane next to Coventry and lost the heat to her. Coventry is a swimmer whose boundaries are bursting open, keep your eyes on her.

Also during the trial heats for the women's 400 meter freestyle, Katie Hoff of the U.S. broke Janet Evans' record which had stood for 20 years. This was after she raced to win a bronze in the morning's 400 meter individual medley.

Only minutes later, in the next heat for the women's 200 meter freestyle, Federica Pellegrini of Italy set another world record at 1:55:45, replacing the old record set by Laure Manaudou of France.

In the men's 100 meter breastroke final, Kosuke Kitajima of Japan not only won gold, defending his title from Athens, but set a new world record at 58:91, breaking the old one set by Brendan Hansen of the U.S.

Michael Phelps also set a new record during his heat for the men's 200 meter butterfly, beating his own old Olympic record at 1:53.70.

Early in the evening, a personality close-up focused on U.S. swimmer Cullen Jones, only the second African-American to appear on a U.S. Olympics swimming team. Jones talked about his experience of nearly drowning at age five in a water park, when his inner tube flipped over, he sank and swallowed enough water to become unconscious. CPR was performed, and he coughed up a pint of water. He tells this story to children as part of his outreach work teaching African-American children how to swim. He stated that African-American children are three times more likely to drown than other children.

(Cullen Jones gives swim lessons to Tavion Traynham at the Butler-Gast YMCA in Omaha on in March 2008; photo by Daniel Johnson, AP)

I was thrilled to see him take head on the racist myth that African-Americans are somehow deficient in knowing how to swim. This is vicious stereotype which saw public exposure in 2006 when Tramm Hudson (white Republican) running against Katherine Harris for Congress decided to declare "I grew up in Alabama and I understand, uh…I know this from my own experience; blacks are not the greatest swimmers, or may not even know how to swim." (For great coverage of the incident, check out Crooks & Liars.)

The reality is, of course, African-Americans have the same swimming ability as anyone else. However, as a population subject to racism, they have been prevented from the chance to learn, originally by slaveholding practice which (no doubt correctly) interpreted the ability to swim as beneficial to escaping from slave territory. Later, segregation denied urban blacks the chance to use public swimming pools. This became intensified during the 1950s when polio swept the country, seeming to target children. I remember clearly hearing adults (whites) state that polio was being spread by black children at public pools. This was broadcast on the radio in Southern Louisiana, where the term used for black children is not something I can repeat here.

This is living memory for a huge section of the population. Racism is deeply imprinted on our culture, whether you know about it/admit it or not. To read more about Cullen Jones' work, check here.

Cullen Jones returned to the spotlight in the most electrifying swim of the day, the men's 400 meter freestyle relay. The French team was heavily favored, and without Jason Lezak of the U.S., the French certainly would have won. But the U.S. took the gold with a world record time of 3:08.24 and an astounding performance by Lezak who swam his 100 meters in 46.06 seconds, absolutely shattering what anyone else has ever done.

And let's be clear here: All of the American men who swam this relay deserve the gold, but some deserve it much, much more than the others. Michael Phelps is getting a lion's share of the credit, despite the fact that his lead-off leg lost to Eamon Sullivan of Australia, who swam it in 47.24, a new world record. If everyone had performed at Michael Phelp's level, the U.S. might have wound up with only the bronze.

Garrett Gale-Weber swam the second leg for the U.S., and he managed to catch and pass the Australian swimmer for that leg, Andrew Lauterstein.

During the third leg, however, the French surged, with their Frederick Bousquet passing both Cullen Jones and Australia's Ashley Callus. At this point, all three of these top teams were swimming noticeably faster than world record pace. I was sitting up screaming at the TV. My cat Dinah went to hide in the closet.
In the final leg, Alain Bernard, powerhouse for France, was off the blocks first. Jason Lezak, looking almost the entire length of a swimmer behind, entered the pool. At 350 meters, the turn, Bernard was ahead by 0.18 second. It looked like a done deal.

But Lezak got close to the lane marker between himself and Bernard, and he began the swim of his life. At 30 and 20 meters, Bernard was still ahead. Lezak kept closing, and in the last few meters, he evened up with Bernard. Lezak touched the wall first by 0.19 of a second.
It's Jason Lezak, my darlings. He did the job.

REPORT:
Women's 400 meter freestyle final -- Gold, Rebecca Adlington of Great Britain; Silver, Katie Hoff of U.S.; Bronze, Joanne Jackson of Great Britain

Women's 100 meter butterfly -- Gold, Libby Trickett of Australia; Silver, Christine Magnuson of U.S.; Bronze, Jessicah Schipper of Australia

Men-s 100 meter breastroke -- Gold, Kosuke Kitajima of Japan (new world record); Silver, Alexander Oen of Norway; Bronze, Hugues Duboscq of France

Men's 400 meter freestyle relay -- Gold, U.S. (Michael Phelps, Garrett Gale-Weber, Cullen Jones and Jason Lezak); Silver, France (Amaury Leveaux, Fabien Gilot, Frederick Bousquet, and Alain Bernard); Bronze, Australia (Eamon Sullivan, Andrew Lauterstein, Ashley Callus, and Matt Targett)

SCHEDULE AND RESULTS: Available here.


[Cross-posted at Group News Blog]

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GINNY BATES: REPAIRING THE FENCE

Another installment of my Great American Lesbian Novel (in progress), Ginny Bates. If you are new to reading GB, go to the section in the right-hand column labeled Ginny Bates to read background and find out how to catch up.

Late December 2012

At their house, Myra insisted on waiting for Chris to undo the ropes tying down the luggage on the car's roof so she could exit by the rear door instead of climbing over a seat. By the time she slid out, carrying her bag of baskets, the rest of her friends were clustered under the carport, staring silently at the jaggedly cut hole in their fence. She joined them, feeling a little as if someone had punched her in the gut.


Ginny carried her painting into the house, leaving the car door open and the small alarm pinging. After a minute, Allie squeezed Myra's hand and went to pull her key from the ignition, to stop the racket. Chris said "A half-sheet of plywood will cover that for the time being."

"I think I'd just as soon get replacement fencing, if I can, and replace the boards myself" said Myra. She kept waiting for Ginny to come back out. Instead, the housesitter joined them, saying "I never heard a thing. I had the TV on a lot, though, lying in bed and dozing."

Allie was carrying bags into the house. Edwina went to help her. Myra went to the carport door and entered the living room. Beebo was sitting on the stair landing in a crouch, his eyes very wide. Myra set down her bag of baskets and said "We're back, Beebie-Jeebie."

He suddenly galloped toward her, nearly tripping Edwina. He stood up against Myra's legs and Myra scooped him into her arms. He made rumbling sounds and pressed against her. "Bad week, huh, kitty o mine."

Chris came in and said "Do you want help with the fence?"

"No, I don't think so. Thanks for the offer, though" said Myra.

"What kind of fish should I put in your freezer?" said Allie.

"Oh, you take that home. If you want to make something at our house for a special meal, you can haul it back over. But ya'll worked hard for that catch, you get to glory in it" said Myra.

Edwina looked toward the studio and said "Is Ginny going to come back up here?"

"I have no idea" said Myra, irritation leaking into her voice. "If you want to get on home, please don't wait on her account." She lifted Beebo as if to set him down, but he extended his claws and gripped her shirt tightly. "Okay, buddy, I hear ya, no separation for a while" she assured him. She hugged her friends sideways and they trailed out the front door.

The housesitter came down the stairs with her own bags. Myra said "Let me pay you before you go."

"The service will bill you" the housesitter said. "I'm ready to go home to my own bed." She still sounded congested, and anxious to get away. Myra couldn't blame her.

"Thank you so much for your care of our place" Myra said. The housesitter rubbed Beebo's head, shook Myra's hand, and fled. After a minute, Myra locked both doors and walked back to her desk. Once she was in her chair, Beebo consented to unlatch from her and sit on the desk. He offered to take her pulse, and she accepted, saying "I got palpitations from missing you, handsome."

Ginny came around the doorway, looking toward the front of the house. "Where is everybody?"

"Gone home" said Myra. "The housesitter, too."

"I needed help getting my canvas out of the carrier, it was wedged pretty tight, but I finally managed on my own" Ginny said with complaint in her voice.

Myra pulled out a file drawer and located the fat folder which contained bills for house repairs. She started at the back, and found the receipt for their original fence, erected in 1986. She picked up the phone to call the company but Ginny interrupted, saying "What are you doing?"

"We have a fucking burglar-sized hole in our fucking fence, Ginny. I know nothing on earth matters like a wet painting, but seems like you could have retained that information from the drive home." Myra's voice was angrier than she meant it to be. She refused to look at Ginny. Into the thick silence, she dialed the number from the receipt. The person who answered was an individual and had no idea what company she asked for. She apologized, hung up, and looked at her phone number sheet on the wall to dial her favorite hardware and lumber center nearby. As she got connected to the fencing department, she heard Ginny walk to the carport door and go outside.

They no longer made the type of boards she needed; instead, it was a kind of MDF made with resin and recycled particles, stained to "match cedar exactly" the clerk said. She'd need to go measure the existing boards and bring that in, they could cut whatever she needed to spec and provide her with the proper attaching hardware.

She pulled a tape measure from her desk drawer and headed for the front, Beebo close on her heels. "I'm not going far, just outside for a couple of minutes" she told him. He didn't believe her. Ginny was leaned against the hood of their Volvo, looking rattled. Myra crossed to the hole in the fence and began taking measurements. She leaned inside the fence to check on damage to the cross boards: They were intact, the alarm wire running along the top and bottom left undisturbed. The fucker knew just what to do, she thought.

She repeated numbers under her breath to memorize them and headed back in the house, picking up Beebo at the doorway. She whispered the numbers to him and he purred briefly. Returning to her desk, she wrote them down and folded the receipt into her pocket with the measurements.

As she stood up, Ginny appeared, saying "Do you think they meant to go in the spare room window?"

"I have no idea" Myra said. "I expect the police may get it out of him. I'm going to buy stuff to repair the hole." Beebo reached entreatingly toward her wrist with his paw. She picked him up again, kissed his forehead, and said "I'll be back soon, I swear." She said to Ginny "He's pretty freaked." Ginny offered to take him and he allowed himself to be transferred. Ginny said "I gather you don't want me to go with you."

"The truth is, Ginny, I'm feeling thoroughly fed up with you. I think you're being not just nutty but oblivious in a way that, yes, makes me rather not be around you for a while."

Ginny's eyes flashed. "Oblivious? Is that your new replacement term for Painterland now?"

"Painterland is supposed to end when the canvas is done" said Myra, looking around for her daypack with her billfold. Must be in the living room.

"But when the check comes in and you get your share, you don't have a problem with my choices then, do you?" said Ginny.

Myra stared at her in disbelief. She walked around Ginny, avoiding brushing against her, and stalked to the living room where she found her pack. She slung it over her shoulder and slammed the front door behind her.

The lumber yard errand took far longer than it should have. By the time she left, boards tied to the top of the Volvo, she was in a worse mood than when she'd entered the store. She drove to Interbay, near where she had lived before partnering with Ginny, and walked into the Red Mill. She ordered a bleu cheese burger with bacon, onion rings, and a large Coke. She walked back outside to buy a P-I from the stand and read it slowly as she ate. By the time she was done, she decided to go home instead of spending the day at Allie's. She ordered a Verde Veg burger with more onion rings to go, a minor peace offering to Ginny.

When she parked in the carport, she noticed someone had neatly unscrewed the damaged boards from the fence. Inside, Beebo again came streaking to meet her, this time his nose becoming engaged when he got within range of her white to-go bag. She walked back to Ginny's studio and said "I brought you a treat", setting the bag on her work table and leaving without waiting for a reply. The new canvas was on the drying rack, and Ginny was hunched over a sleeve of slides.

Myra unloaded the car and stacked boards next to the fence. She went inside for the electric drill and her hammer; neither were in the toolbox. She walked back toward Ginny's studio and saw them sitting on her desk. Ginny came around the corner, eating an onion ring, and looked at her levelly.

"So much for pax" she said.

Myra said "I'm not crazy mad any more. But I can tell, it would be easy for me to get that way again. Nancy's out of town until next week, and there's a part of me that would be willing to fight with you from now until then."

"Bring it on" said Ginny.

"Finish your lunch. I'm going to repair our perimeter. After that -- okay."

She pulled a bottle of Coke from the back of the fridge and popped off the cap as she carried her tools outside. After half an hour, Ginny joined her, saying "I think this is a two-person job."

Myra sucked her skinned knuckles and said "It is. You want to hold or screw?"

After a second, they burst into crazed laughter. When it was done, they covered the hole with new boards which did not, in fact, look just like cedar. It went swiftly. Myra found herself on the inside of the fence. She said through a crack to Ginny "If you'll take those tools in, I'll carry these around the side." She walked through Ginny's jungle of rhododendrons and came in the back door, startling Beebo. While she was washing her hands at the sink, Allie came in the front door, nearly bumping into Ginny who was standing staring at her self-portrait in the foyer.

"What's going on over here?" said Allie. "You're not answering any of your phones."

"I haven't turned on my cell today" said Ginny. She walked to the breakfast bar and looked at the phone there. "And this one has the volume off, I guess the housesitter did that."

"My cell is in my pack. Maybe the battery is dead" said Myra. "Sorry, Al. I can see why you had to check on us."

Allie picked up the breakfast bar phone and dialed Edwina. "They fine, just got everthing turned off." She said to Myra "She asks you wanna come over and cook salmon with us?"

"We're about to have a long fight" said Myra calmly.

Allie stared at her. "What ya'll do, schedule 'em?"

"Nope. Just overdue."

Allie said to Edwina. "They busy...Yeah, that's what she said...You better believe it." She hung up and said "I'll catch you later."

"Thanks for stopping by" said Ginny with an oddly formal politeness. Allie was shaking her head as she left.

Myra dried her hands on the dishtowel and sat down at the dining table. After a few seconds, Ginny came to sit across from her.

"Shall I begin?" said Myra. When Ginny nodded, Myra said "I went elsewhere to find what I needed to begin writing my book. I didn't wait for you to be done painting, and I didn't simply stick to our friends. You didn't notice until finally you did, and then you got mad at me instead of being happy for me. You even had the fucking gall to act like there some kind of infidelity on my part. You've been zoning in and out ever since. Well, you better get used to it. I will do whatever I need to do to write, and if I'm not breaking a promise to you -- which I have not and will not -- you have no fucking right on earth to treat me like I'm doing something wrong." Her tone was heated but more measured than she had thought she could pull off.

"That woman did have a crush on you -- " began Ginny.

"Which is nothing to do with me or us. If I didn't return or encourage her feelings, I'm not responsible for hers" said Myra.

"So is your making a ritual of watching her weave part of what you meant about it being your turn, and I need to be there for you?" said Ginny scornfully.

"Absolutely. I never, not once, raise any complaint about all the galleries and museums you insist I accompany you to. You say all art is grist for your mill. Well, goes both ways" said Myra, her anger building.

"But now your resentment comes out?" demanded Ginny.

"No. I like seeing what you want to show me. But I'm goddamned well as much an artist as you are, Ginny Bates. I may not be able to sell paintings for big checks -- " Myra stopped herself. When she remembered Ginny's crack about the money, she wanted to pound on the table.

After half a minute, she said "You need to fucking apologize for implying that I only appreciate your art for the money."

Ginny had a mixture of regret and obstinacy on her face. She sat in silence for a minute. Myra pushed her chair back and said "I mean it, Ginny. We are at a crossroads. Things have to change."

"Don't give me ultimatums" warned Ginny.

Myra took a deep breath. "I am madder at you than I think I have ever been."

"Over what, exactly?" Ginny showed a sliver of anxiety.

"More than I can say. But I'll do my best to bring it out piece by piece. I want that apology. I want you to never again even think that I see your art primarily as money in my pocket. I want you to keep track of the support and make sure it's even, as close to even as we can get it. I've retired from active parenting, except for their visits home, and I'm not going to be on automatic pilot any more. I need to find something else to fill that purpose in me, and this book is what I've chosen. I want my fucking turn!" Her voice got frighteningly low.

"I'm doing my best, Myra -- "

"No, you are not. The shit you aimed at me the last few days is not your best. Getting in the car to come home was a fucking joke, Ginny. I'm ashamed our friends witnessed it."

"You mean that Chris saw it." The minute it was out of her mouth, Ginny wanted to take it back.

"I'm not going to leave you. But you have to clean this up. And I don't want to help you. I'll stay here in the house, I'll cook for us like always, I won't run away. Gillam and Jane, and Carly I guess, are coming tonight, Margie tomorrow. We'll have a New Year's gathering with our family, and then Gillam's birthday. I'll be kind to you. But not intimate. I won't sleep with you and I don't want to talk with you any more until you shift your ground somehow." Myra stood up.

"You mean you're not going to do your share" said Ginny, panic rising in her eyes.

"Call it whatever you want. I'm too mad to do more than what I've just said. If that changes, I'll tell you." Myra went to her study. In a minute, Ginny heard the first song on XX Alix. In another minute, Ginny went upstairs to plant seeds and harvest herbs. As she walked by the breakfast bar, she plugged in her cell phone and turned it on.


© 2008 Maggie Jochild.

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ATLATL

(Atlatl petroglyphs at Little Lake, California)

True story: When I switched my major in college from Journalism to Anthropology, it was mostly to take the courses that would now be called Women's Studies. However, to have the major I was required to take a lot of basics in field archeology which wound up catching my interest. I had one professor, Dr. McCormick, whose hair and beard were troll-esque and whose sense of adventure was unparalleled.

He was a big believer in hands-on learning. Thus, we were regularly taken to outdoor sites where we learned how to flintknap, to dig clay and make pottery, to weave baskets -- even, one memorable day, to mix pigments and blow them through a straw onto a limestone wall, outlining our hands like our early hominid ancestors had. We weren't any good at these endeavors, but it taught me worlds about, well, our world.


Dr. McCormick, however, was fairly accomplished at ancient crafts. His bows and arrows shot true and his hand axes of obsidian were first-class. One semester he got caught up in the physics of atlatls. An atlatl is a throwing stick that extends the length of a human arm and, through leverage, transfers energy from muscle to greatly extend the range of whatever is thrown in its cup. He believed the Aztecs had produced atlatls which were traded up into Texas, because the Spaniards were terrified of them. He began tinkering around with making them in different forms, and modifying the 6' long slender spears they hurled.

(To hear the pronunciation of atlatl, a Nahuatl word which means water thrower, go here and click on the wav file.)

Dr. McCormick told us that during the age of sword warfare in Europe, some swords were so massive that only a very strong man could lift and swing them. This left no room for finesse, but if you were struck by such a sword, you went down and that was the point. Eventually a clever smith invented broadswords with what were called "apples": The heavy sword had a track running the length of one side, with a stop at the tip end. Into this track was fitted a dense "apple" of metal which ran up and down the groove but never detached from the blade. As you slowly swung, the stored work (due to the mass) of the apple slid down the blade until, if you were skilled, the sword made contact with its intended target just as the apple reached the end of its track, multiplying the force of the swing to such an extent that it could penetrate any armor and cut a man in half.

There was some evidence that atlatls in the New World had been modified by stones for perhaps a similar effect, enhancing the power of a throw. He spent much of the fall semester trying to come up with an atlatl which satisfied his theory. Not long before the Christmas break, on a Sunday morning, he took his beta atlatl and best spear to a large public park in Dallas, where he lived. He went to the far end of a soccer field which was deserted and faced the opposite end. Beyond the goal in the distance was a patch of woods, and beyond that was the street with a bus stop. To be safe, he reined in his throw, using the stone weight but not all the force in his muscular arm.

(Girl using an atlatl to throw a stick)

The spear sailed into the air with an elegant but alarming arc. Within seconds, he said, he knew it was going to land somewhere beyond the 100 yards of the soccer field. He began running as fast as he could toward the patch of woods, praying fervently no one was in them.

He searched frantically through the woods for his spear. Slowly he became aware of screams ahead of him, and followed the sound. He emerged from the thicket to see the bus stop next to the street. An elderly woman was standing on the sidewalk, screaming one scream after another and pointing to the slatted bench at the bus stop. Still minutely quivering, its shaft neatly between two of the slots and right next to the woman's purse, the head of his spear was embedded several inches in the earth beneath the bench.

A crowd was beginning to form. Dr. McCormick shoved his atlatl into his coat and reminded himself his fingerprints were not on record anywhere. He walked slowly in the opposite direction, abandoning his favorite spear. The incident made all the local papers, with wild theories about the origin of the weapon. He only told a couple of us, and I kept his secret. Until now.

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DAILY BEIJING OLYMPICS THREAD FOR 10 AUGUST 2008

(Diana Gandega and the other members of the Mali women's basketball team received a house and bonus for qualifying for the Olympics. Photo by Antonio Scorza/AFP/Getty Images. Hat tip to Oak for e-mailing me the story from The New York Times.)

Here's your daily subjective report on the Olympics and a chance to converse about it in comments.

SPOILER NOTE: Some results will be reported below for the competition of yesterday, so be forewarned.

I'll begin by linking to an excellent article in today's New York Times about women at the Olympics, "Inside the Rings: Once Banned, Women Now Center Stage at Games". In one paragraph, they state "Women were not allowed to participate at the 1896 Summer Games in Athens, the first Olympics of the modern era. They were expected to contribute applause, not athletic skill. Not until 1984 were women permitted to run the Olympic marathon, in reefer-madness fear that they might grow old too soon with such exertion; or worse, they might grow a mustache. Or their uterus would fall out, as if it were a transmission."

Yeah, it's a real hassle to pull out the WD-40 and reinstall that uterus. You have to anchor it back in place with cinch clamps.


The article also says "Now, women have become must-see TV at the Olympics, as well as the target viewing audience for NBC. Of the 11,427 athletes participating in these Games, 4,845 are women — 500 more than in Athens four years ago, 1,000 more than competed in Atlanta 12 years ago."

Much of the focus of the article was the ground gained by African women, who "have long struggled against more onerous cultural perceptions and restrictions than women in the West. Not until 1984 did an African woman — the 400-meter hurdler Nawal el-Moutawakel of Morocco — win an Olympic gold medal. It was 1992 before a black African woman gained the top step on the medal podium, when Derartu Tulu won the 10,000 meters (6.2 miles) at the Barcelona Games." I think it's important to point out that these restrictions are not simply due to religious and patriarchal beliefs embedded in some modern African cultures. Regional and national instability also play a role, and this is ultimately brought on by the machinations of superpowers like the U.S.: there is constant strife at the edges of empire, and this strife always hits women and children hardest.

So, I've watched some coverage here and there. As usual, what gets in-depth, at times obsessive focus on NBC (the broadcast version, at least) are only the events where Americans have a perceived medal opportunity. I cannot afford cable and don't know if it is better on other channels, or if this sham "patriotism" carries through everywhere. I feel like I'm missing the best, which is the international effort, not the medal count.

(Mariel Zagunis of the United States celebrates after defeating her compatriot Sada Jacobson during the women's individual sabre gold medal match at the Beijing 2008 Olympic Games, Aug. 9, 2008. Photo from Xinhua/Chen Xiaowei)

I enjoyed watching women's sabre, ignorant as I am of the sport, in part because one of the commentators was doing his best to explain things as they progressed. I also really enjoyed seeing female bodies with thick, muscular thighs and asses, instead of the anorexic model seen too often among professional female athletes. I'm presuming there's a reason for that particular muscular development in fencing. Can anybody elucidate? I'm also curious as the reason why the U.S. swept all three medals in women's sabre: Is it primarily because (as always) we have the money to pay for facilities and training, or is there another contributing cause? Third question: They screamed when their sabretip made contact. Is this because it is painful or a release of emotion? Fourth question: Did the fact that the top two medal winners here were both left-handed play any sort of role in giving them an advantage? Inquiring minds want to know.

REPORT: Women's Saber -- Gold to Mariel Zagunis, Silver to Sada Jacobsen, Bronze to Rebecca Ward
NOTE: This was the first gold medal won by the U.S. at Beijing and a back-to-back gold for Zagunis (she also won in Athens). Interestingly, she is the child of Olympic rowers. Wonder if there's a story there.

I also liked seeing the men's road cycling and hearing the strategy employed. I have to confess, I kept thinking about Breaking Away, which I saw four times in the theaters, I loved it so much. I also appreciated the little bit of information they gave us about Tieneman Square (The Gate of Heaven to the Forbidden City). I recently saw a PBS special about China which was much more educational. It was intriguing that despite it having been constructed in 1651, it only got paved over in the 1950s. I find that unpaved stretches of land connect us much more deeply to the earth, even if they are lined with stone.

China's lone cyclist, Liang Zhang, led the peleton through the heart of Beijing. This appeared to be partly allowed by the other riders out of respect for the honor it meant to him, and partly because at that stage of the race, his choice to exert himself in this way meant he would not be a competitor at the end -- or might not be able to finish at all.

Some of the cyclists were squeezing what was called "energy gel" into their mouths as they raced along. I was curious and looked this up, finding a description here: "Energy gels (also called carbo gels) are a thick carbohydrate syrup or paste designed as an alternative snack supplement to extend your muscle glycogen stores and provide additional calories and energy for rides of more than 2 hours. They contain a combination of simple and complex carbohydrates (usually maltodextrin, rice syrup, or polysaccharides) packaged in a palm sized packet of plastic or foil with a tear off end to allow the contents to be 'sucked' out rather than chewed, and provide between 70 and 100 calories (17 - 25 grams of carbohydrate) per packet. An additional advantage is that they are completely fat free, minimizing any delay in gastric emptying. To provide the 60 grams of carbohydrate per hour usually suggested to supplement exercising muscle glycogen supplies, you would need a gel packet every 30 to 45 minutes." Sounds like maybe it's not something I'd spread on a biscuit.

I read an account once of a modern polar adventurer who was attempting to ski to the North Pole. She was using up so many calories, even chocolate bars weren't replacing enough. She began eating sticks of butter during her day's exertion. Wow.

The loss of liquid in the road race is a constant factor; the commentator said the cyclists could expect to lose about 3-5 liters of liquid. One method set up to help with perspiration loss is brand new to the Olympics: long strips of showers periodically by the side of the road that a cyclist could veer over and ride through to get wet. It was fun watching them discover these. Even so, heat and humidity took a heavy toll; of the 143 starters, only 90 finished. Another factor not mentioned in the press was, of course, the heavy pollution, euphemistically referred to as haze. When asked about the effect of this on the race, at least one cyclist, American Dave Zabriski, replied "On the advice of counsel, no comment."

Another first for Beijing is that the 152.2 mile race began and ended in different locations. It began in the heart of ancient Beijing, went past the Temple of Heaven and Tiananmen Square, traveled 25 miles along the Badaling Expressway, and ended at the Great Wall, where cyclists took seven laps around a 24 km loop which involved a total 12,000 feet of climbing.

(Spain's Samuel Sánchez, left, outsprints Italy's Davide Rebellin, right, to win. Photograph: Christophe Ena/AP)

REPORT: Men's Road Cycle Race -- Gold, Samuel Sánchez of Spain (the first cycling road race medal of any kind for Spain); Silver, Davide Rebellin of Italy (on his 37th birthday); Bronze, Fabian Cancellara (without the assistance of any teammates).

NOTE: For a great gallery of photos from the men's road cycle race, check out the Guardian UK.

I didn't watch the beach volleyball, regular volleyball, sculling, or men's gymnastics preliminaries. I did tape and later view the swimming heats and finals. As you cannot have missed by now, the first medal swimming race for men, the 400 meter individual medley, was won by Michael Phelps with a new world record time of 4:03.84. Silver was claimed by Hungary's Laszlo Cseh and bronze was also won by an American, Ryan Lochte.

Let me admit up front, I got sick of the hoo-ha about Michael Phelps at the Athens Olympics four years ago. Now I have a serious case of what I'd describe as Phelps Fatigue. Honestly, though, the commentators (especially Costas, who definitely has a crush on the guy) cannot talk about any other swimmer without needing to mention Phelps -- as in, "I wonder how so-and-so from (insert nation) feels about having to swim against Phelps" or "This woman swimmer once shared a training pool with Phelps." I'm not exaggerating. I would not have been surprised to hear Costas swoon "Phelps once loaned X his jockstrap" or "Phelps opened the door for Y to the Aquatic Center" as his only description of other swimmers. Is this just me, or is anybody else feeling the same way? I want to hear about the field, about what people from other places have to contend with in order to reach the Olympics.

And it would help if the objects of these fawning spots could actually articulate something deeper than "I just wanted to swim." I mean, that's a fine sentiment but don't give us five minutes of it rephrased in shorter and shorter sentence fragments. Let someone else talk, I do want to hear about the lives of committed people.

I enjoyed the spot given to Dara Torres, though it was a repeat of the interview done recently when she set a new world record at age 41. There's a shade too much emphasis on her having produced a baby (proving she's a Real Woman) but, interestingly, never mention of a husband or boyfriend. What I especially liked is how she is cleverly forestalling innuendo that her physical accomplishments are the result of doping by demanding more stringent testing for herself than most athletes receive and having her blood draws saved for eight years, against future refinement in testing technology. I mean, given this week's revelation in other arenas, it's possible she's a world-class narcissist who thinks she cannot be found out, but for the moment, I'm erring on the side of belief.

She swam today as anchor in the womens 4x100 meters freestyle relay, and the American silver in this event is clearly due to her. The initial leg by Natalie Coughlin was electric for 75 meters, but she faded at that point (uncharacteristic for her), swimming the 100 meters in 54 seconds flat, and she was overtaken by Germany, who held the lead for almost half the race. The next American swimmers in the relay, Lacey Nymyer, did not advance the team forward with a swim of 53:91. Following her, Kara Lynn Joyce swam her leg in 53:98 but this was enough to move the U.S. into second place. By the time Dara Torres entered the pool, the Netherlands team was a full length ahead of everyone else, and Australia looked poised to come in second. Dara's split of 52:44 gave the Americans their silver medal and contributed hugely to the new U.S. national record of 3:34:33.

(Dara Torres, photo by Robert Maxwell; I really can't share this image enough)

This race makes Dara Torres the oldest Olympic swimming medalist in history and the first American swimmer to mark her fifth Olympics -- her first was in 1984, when she was only 17, where she won gold. She now has ten medals to her credit. She is performing in Beijing without her longtime coach, Michael Lohberg, who is gravely ill in Bethesda, Maryland with aplastic anemia. Dara will be competing later in the week in the women's 50 meter freestyle, where she holds the world record. Can't wait.

REPORT: Women's 4x100 meters freestyle relay -- Gold, Netherlands foursome of Inge Dekker, Ranomi Kromowidjojo, Femke Heemskerk and Marleen Veldhuis (setting a new Olympic record at 3:33.76); Silver, U.S. as above; Bronze, Australia's team of Libby Trickett, Cate Campbell, Alice Mills, and Melanie Schlanger

Women's 400 meter individual medley -- Gold, Stephanie Rice of Australia with a stunning world record of 4:29.45; Silver, Kirsty Coventry of Zimbabwe; Bronze, Katie Hoff of the U.S.

Men's 400 meter freestyle -- Gold, Park Tae Hwan of South Korea, their first gold medal ever in swimming; Silver, Zhang Lin of China; and Bronze, Larsen Jensen of the U.S.
NOTE: Gold medalist Park Tae Hwan went to the 2004 Athens Olympics as a 14-year-old swimmer. However, he accidentally fell into the pool just before the race started and was disqualified for a false start in the preliminary heat of the men's 400m freestyle competition. He hid in the bathroom in shame. Way to come back, guy!

TODAY'S SCHEDULE:
Final competition in:
Archery
Road Cycling
Diving
Fencing
Judo
Shooting
Swimming
Weightlifting

Non-final competition in:
Badminton
Basketball
Beach Volleyball
Boxing
Equestrian
Football (Soccer)
Gymnastics Artistic
Handball
Hockey
Rowing
Sailing
Tennis
Volleyball
Waterpolo

[Cross-posted at Group News Blog]

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OLYMPICS DAILY THREAD, 9 AUGUST 2008

(Fou drummers perform during the Opening Ceremony for the 2008 Beijing Summer Olympics at the National Stadium on August 8, 2008 -- Adam Pretty/Getty Images)

For those of you wanting a daily update on Olympics-related stories, or wishing to have an online conversation about this event, I/we will be posting a thread here every 24 hours which will report on what's been happening, offer some analysis, and create community.

Here are the ground rules:

(1) No sexist, racist, classist, or ablist language. You can (and will) comment on these events without targeting oppressed groups in your choice of words. If your post contains such language in my opinion, I will delete it. I am the moderator here.
(2) This is not the place for U.S. nationalism per se. That hype exists in the mainstream media. Of course, we should celebrate those who perform well, but ALL of those who perform admirably, not just American. You will receive prestige points for commenting intelligently about non-U.S. competitors.
(3) This is not about medals only. All performances worthy of attention should receive air time.
(4) Background cultural history or related political stories are welcome, as long as they follow the previous guidelines. Distinguishing between your opinion (which is fine) and more documented fact will earn you more prestige points. Documentation and links are more valuable that vehement argument.
(5) Please don't use this to whip your particular hobby-horse into a lather. This is a general thread about the Olympics, the coming together of nations and the meaning therein.
(6) Limits your comments to one or two, unless you are asked a direct question. Read, listen, and give others a chance to jump in.
(7) If you have suggestions for how folks can watch events online, please pass those on.


THE OPENING CEREMONIES

This will be subjective, of course. The artistic presentation was stunning in many, many regards. Beginning with a series of 29 "footsteps" across the vast city of Beijing which were outlined in fireworks, as if a giant were walking on a wet beach filled with phosphorescent organisms who burst into luminescence with every footfall, the new and beautiful structure called The Bird's Nest was reached.

2008 drummers in the middle of The Bird's Nest began drumming in the countdown, beginning with 60 (for 60 seconds) outlined by drummers whose instruments glowed in the darkness. Down by ten second intervals, until we reached 10, 9, 8 .... I was particularly moved by the sound of 100,000 people chanting numbers in unison in who knows how many different languages, a sound both familiar and utterly untranslatable except definitively human.

In the absolute center an enormous scroll unrolls. A group of dancers begin moving across the blank page at its heart, celebrating the three ancient Chinese brush arts: Painting, calligraphy, and poetry. Each dancer leaves a mark, because enormous ink pads at the edges leave red, green and black on their feet. They are creating what is called a "Mountains and Waters" painting (Shan Sui), a style used for millenia to reflect the harmony between elements of nature. Harmony is the overriding theme of this ceremony.

Where America celebrates (and fetishizes) individualism, many other places in the world pay much more attention to harmony, to creating a harmonious society. Our ethnocentrism generally leads us to read this as stepping on the rights of the individual. However, I try to step outside my conditioning and my bias, as I watch this, to understand that harmony is necessary to lift a huge population from poverty and hunger. Warfare always creates deprivation around it. You grok, of course, that I'm not advocating repression by the state to avoid dissension. I'm simply attempting to admit a contrary idea.

Gandhi said "There are those so hungry that the only meaningful definition of God is bread."

Now 850 Confucius scholars appear, wearing bamboo scroll headdresses. These are a reminder that the Chinese invented paper, and are also a reference to the Spring and Autumn period of Chinese history (722 BCE to 481 BCE). The scholars traveled around China, offering advice on how to maintain a harmonious society.

The scholars give way to a throng of printing presses (the Chinese invented this as well). These are blocks with a human being inside them, and all their motion is done by choreography -- no computers, no hydraulics. They move up and down in irregular waves, as if the wind is blowing them. This references a famous Confucian saying, "The virtuous leader can pass across his subjects with the ease of the wind."

The blocks form the Chinese character for harmony, followed by drops of water (representing inner peace), then harmony again. Eventually the blocks form the Great Wall of China, which is brought down/transformed by a sea of plum blossoms. The crowd's reaction is extreme. It is an extreme part of Chinese history, the transition from isolationism to joining a world community. I'm indescribably moved.
A female dancer appears, supported by others, representing the new openness of China.

The period of China opening to trade and navigating the globe begins, showing Zheng He, the great navigator of the Ming Dynasty who was the first to master use of a magnetic compass. He was an explorer, diplomat, and fleet admiral, a major figure in Chinese history. He was also a eunuch.

From the ship and sea imagery emerges a modern era, symbolized by a mass of figures in bright colors with light-up costumes. They arrange into the shape of a dove, which flaps its wings -- amazing choreography. Over them is now suspended a little girl, Chou Chou, who is flying a massive tiger kite.

A group of children representing 56 ethnicities of China move into the center. What are the 56 ethnicities officially recognized by the government of China? Go here to find out. Shorter answer, according to Wikipedia: The major minority ethnic groups are Zhuang (16.1 million), Manchu (10.6 million), Hui (9.8 million), Miao (8.9 million), Uyghur (8.3 million), Tujia (8 million), Yi (7.7 million), Mongol (5.8 million), Tibetan (5.4 million), Buyei (2.9 million), Dong (2.9 million), Yao (2.6 million), Korean (1.9 million), Bai (1.8 million), Hani (1.4 million), Kazakh (1.2 million), Li (1.2 million), and Dai (1.1 million). Can you imagine our own government creating a list of American ethnicities without deliberately leaving out someone?

Surrounding the children are 2008 Tai Chi masters going through forms. (One of the commentators, I think Costas the Moron, refers to them "doing karate".) They flow into absolutely perfect concentric circles as seen from above, without the aid of any markings on the floor -- they form these through an awareness of each other. One of the commentators states that in the philosophy behind Tai Chi, a movement in one direction often begins with a subtle movement in the opposite direction. (Yeah, baby.) Again, the idea being emphasized is harmony, that between humans and nature.

During this, Bush is talking nonstop to Putin, over their wives and an aide -- he is not watching this part of the ceremonies.

The Tai Chi masters give way to soldiers, who march in protective order around the children. I am jarred by this. The commentators say this represents the state guaranteeing stability, and thus protecting the children's future. My Quaker heart struggles to consider such a notion. A little girl is singing "Hymn to My Country". When the flag carried by the children is passed to the soldiers, they sing the Chinese national anthem "March of the Volunteers".

An enormous globe rises, and the first three Chinese space explorers, taikonauts, receive homage. Suspended sideways by wires, I'm guessing, figures run in tracks around the globe above -- fantastic athleticism and artistry combined.

The cultural part of the opening ceremonies was a stunning success, but was marred by the fact that none of the thousands of drummers, martial artists, scholars, or explorers portrayed were women. Only a handful of women and girls appeared, from what was a cast of 10,000 and a nation of 50% female. Not acceptable.

Note: For a fabulous set of photos covering the opening ceremonies, check out the Boston Globe online.

We move into the Parade of Nations. Because the host nation does not have an "alphabet" which is in a particular sequence, the order of nations as they appear is determined by the number of strokes in the Chinese characters spelling their name. Nice.

Greece, of course, leads the way as is traditional. But each of the Greek athletes is carrying a Chinese flag as well as a Greek flag. I am welling up: Patriotism can be expressed in a non-selfish manner.

Of the 205 nations appearing in this Olympics, 204 are marching. The missing group is Brunei. Of these 205, 87 have never won a medal in any Olympics. They are here for the honor of being here, and this, the Parade of Nations, is their shining moment.

Without a predictable order to the sequence, the atlas game -- finding the nation just entering the stadium on an atlas -- becomes an adrenalin-filled scramble. Yee-haw!

(For a list of the nations in the order they appeared, their flags and flag-bearers, check this Wikipedia entry.

What I noticed: Niger had only one athlete attending, and he was of course the flag-bearer.

The following countries had contingents of more than 3, but had NO women athletes marching: Yemen, Central African Republic, Qatar, Afghanistan, Tanzania, Syria, Swaziland, and Myanmar. (The single Afghan woman who was planning to compete, middle-distance runner Mehboba Ahdyar, received so many death threats for her attempt that she has disappeared from her training camp and it is believed/hoped that she is seeking asylum somewhere.)

The following countries had contingents of more than 3, but had only 1 woman athlete marching: Madagascar, Gambia, Pakistan, Ghana, Democratic Republic of Congo, Iraq, Equatorial Guinea, Cote d'Ivoire, Ethiopia, Lesotho, and Monaco.

The following countries had contingents of several people but had suspiciously low numbers of women athletes marching: Uzbekistan, Barbados, Chad, Iran, Dominican Republic, Surinam, Saudi Arabia, United Arab Emirates (there were two women but they are the daughters of the government's leader), Guam, Palau, Puerto Rico, Tajikistan, Cameroon, Lebanon, and Zambia.

As far as I'm concerned, a nation who can't foster women's equality is unlikely to foster basic freedom for its citizens. It should be right up there with ending race and class oppression.

Vanuatu has the oldest Olympic competitor in these games, a man in his 70s who has been competing in equestrian events since the Olympics of 1964. Palestine has a swimmer competing despite the fact that they have no Olympic-sized swimming pool in which to train. (Shades of Eric Moussambani.) Eritrea had several athletes marching, from a country where the average annual income is $130. Taiwan, once again forced to march under the name Chinese Taipei (because China will not recognize them as Taiwan) and to use a flag not their own, nevertheless drew a huge, heartening cheer from the crowd in The Bird's Nest.

Iraq also drew a huge cheer. The camera cuts to George and Laura Bush. George's applause was perfunctory, his face in his usual dimwitted scowl.

Jordan's contingent of seven had four women, three men. (Way to GO.) Nauru, in their first Olympic appearance, is a nation of 8 square miles with a population of 13,000 -- but they sent a woman athlete.

North and South Korea did not march together this time, although the IOC offered them the opportunity. Governmental pressure prevailed, and the North Korean contingent asked to march separated from their sistren by at least three contingents. Our increasingly polarized world via Chimpy and Gunner Dick's master plan.

After all the blondingly white visages of so many wealthy European and formerly Russian national contingents, I was glad to see solid blocks of people of color in the U.S. crowd. But it's a mixed gladness. While every one of those Olympians has more than earned their way into a chance to compete, I know all too well that the celebrity and respect offered black athletes in this country is part of a system which keeps the majority of those disadvanted by race and class locked into generational hopelessness, with the illusion of the NBA, etc. trotted out to pretend we have class mobility and reward for merit.

(Yao Ming and Lin Hao leading the Chinese contingent in Parade of Nations)
The end of the Parade of Nations was brought in by China, as the host nation. Their flag bearer was Yao Ming, but marching alongside him was a 9-year-old boy named Lin Hao, who had a visible patch of hair missing from his right scalp. Lin Hao was in the Sichuan earthquake two months ago which killed at least 70,000 people. Twenty of those who died were his classmates, from a class of 30 in a collapsed school. Lin Hao managed to free himself from the rubble, but then went back in and rescued two of his classmates. After other rescuers arrived, he sang songs to his still-buried classmates to keep up their spirits as rescuers tried to dig them out. When asked why he had risked his life in this way, he replied that he was the hall monitor, he had a responsibility to his sister and brother students. At the end of the Parade, Lin Hao was in Yao Ming's arms, and his somber, radiant face drew every eye.

After the Parade, ceremonial speeches and welcomes are extended by president of the Beijing organizing committee, Liu Qi, and IOC president Jacques Rogge. The Olympic flag is carried in by eight revered Chinese athletes: Li Lingwei, 13-time world badminton champion; Xiong Ni, three-time gold medalist in diving; Mu Xiangxiong, who once held the world record in the breaststroke; gold-medal winning shooter Yang Ling; speedskater Yang Yang, a five –time Olympic medalist; Zheng Fengrong, once a world record holder in the high jump; Pan Duo, mountain climber; Zhang Xielin, table tennis champion and coach. As the flag reaches the top of the pole, it is caught by some wind that is only apparent at the heights, making both the Olympic and the Chinese flag extend outward and flutter vibrantly.

Prior to the procession of the flag around The Bird's Nest, the Olympic cauldron has appeared above the lip of the stadium, with a spiraling drape of metal up to its dark bowl. The Olympic flame now entered the stadium, carried by Xu Haifeng, who won the first gold medal (in shooting) in China's history during the 1984 Olympics, after China had not participated in the games for decades. He is immediately recognized and roared at with approval by the crowd. From him the torch is passed, in succession: diver Gao Min; gymnast Li Xiaoshuang; weightlifter Zhan Xugang; badminton player Zhang Jun; taekwondo expert Chen Zhong; and volleyball player Sun Jinfang.

The final athlete to receive the torch is Li Ning, a gymnast who won three gold, two silver and one bronze medal at the 1984 games. He takes a couple of steps, then ascends into the air by barely visible wires, causing the crowd to gasp. They gasp again when he reached the margin at the top of the stadium and begins slowly running through the air. His form is utterly beautiful, his leg muscles flexing and extending, as he lopes through the void around the entire perimeter of The Bird's Nest. When he comes back around to the Olympic cauldron, he touches his flame to a pipe which sends a stream of fire up and around the spiraling base of the cauldron until, finally, the bowl bursts into a blaze. Spectacular.

Followed by crescendos of fireworks which remind us that China invented, too, gunpowder, and they remain geniuses at its artistic uses. Thus the 2008 Games are begun.

TODAY'S LINEUP (click on a link to find out details of the competition)
Finals in:
Road Cycling
Fencing
Judo
Shooting
Weightlifting
Non-final competition in:
Archery
Badminton
Basketball
Beach Volleyball
Boxing
Equestrian
Football (Soccer)
Gymastics, Artistic
Handball
Rowing
Sailing
Swimming [Natalie Coughlin! Dara Torres!!!]
Volleyball


[Cross-posted at Group News Blog]

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