While this probably wouldn’t be my first choice of attire in selling my first autobiography, I suppose you work your strongest assets when you’re hawking a book. In this case, Tom Daley is working that Speedo like a bitch in heat. (This gratuitous post is a reminder of our Summer Olympics – the posts of which I’ll try to repopulate if ever I find a spare minute.)
That is what some of the fans of Olympic diver Matthew Mitcham call themselves – bitchams – and I’m adding my name to the list.
Far more than Tom Daley, Mr. Mitcham really makes me miss the Olympics… and the Summer of the Speedo. He’s cuter, his accent is hotter, and he plays for my team. Team Bitcham all the way.
This may be the part of the Olympics that some people miss the most: the after-diving shower. It’s just a question of which part.
Okay, I’m a bit biased, as he’s the first (and only) Olympian who was nice enough to follow me on Twitter, but Matthew Mitcham is my new favorite diver. (What’s the matter Tom Daley? Are you scared of me or something?) Even if Mr. Mitcham didn’t extend that courtesy, I’d have been enamored of him for being one of the only Olympians to live proudly and openly as a gay man.
It seems like such a small thing, and such an insignificant thing when you’re in the running to be the single best diver in the world, but to some of us it makes a world of difference. To some, this is everything – the peek into a future of possibility and hope – the seed of an idea that this might one day be you. If you’ve had to grow up without that, you have no idea what kind of power that holds.
One of these things is not like the others…
The one that looks slightly more, well, excited, is Henrik Rummel – one of the US Olympic rowers. Just when you think it’s the pool guys that offer the most intriguing views, the rowers throw on some spandex and suddenly Mr Rummel’s a human sundial.
Welcome to the Wonderland of Zonderland. This guy set the high bar, well, high – and deservedly won the gold medal for the Netherlands.
This is Epke Zonderland, a gold medalist from the Netherlands. The name alone would be worthy of admiration, but he’s got the body to further back it up.
Not sure what the point of showering in your Speedo is, but Michael Phelps knows way more about water sports than I ever will, so we’ll leave it at that.
To all you guys who ever described yourselves as having a swimmer’s build, you can take it back now.
This is Britain’s Tom Daley, and this is how it’s done.
Now if you’ll excuse, I have some three-month-fasting to do, with a side of manorexia.
From the moment Johnny Weir triple axeled onto the figure skating scene, I hated him. Whether it was his diva-like antics, fashion freak-outs, or temper-tantrum-throwing attitude, there was something about him that I simply didn’t like. Only after watching his new Sundance reality show did I realize the rather obvious reason for such heated hatred: he is exactly like me. Or I am exactly like him. The point is, we’re scarily similar, and such similarity has always been a turn-off for me.
In the words of one of my best friends, I can be, and often am, an insufferable little bitch. (Okay, I added the insufferable, but only because it’s true.) I’ve long ago reconciled myself to this, as has my inner circle, but the beauty is that I’m the only little bitch in said circle.
When questioned if I have a ‘type’, I always think ‘anyone different than me’ Fuck the notion of successful relationships being built on similarities. I don’t think Andy and I could be more different – what’s important, and what has made our relationship work for so many years, is the fact that we’re compatible. It’s possible to be total opposites in every way, and still get along.
It’s also the subconscious way I’ve chosen my friends over the years. A quick survey of those friends who have lasted a decade or more in my life reveals that not one is anything like me. I live with myself 24/7- why would I want to hang around a carbon copy, or even someone remotely like myself? There’s nothing attractive about that.
Which brings me back to Johnny: I thought I would rather pass a kidney stone than sit through a reality show (yuck) about a bitchy queen (double yuck). But after watching the first episode, I was pleasantly surprised, and wildly taken aback by how much I grew to like him. Even Andy didn’t think it was a total train wreck, and actually found himself laughing at some of the familiar antics (especially those that found him in the more ridiculous clothing pieces). After the second episode, I had come to admire the flamboyant skater, for refusing to bend to ‘proper’ figure skating etiquette, and for doing it his own way.
True, he has not publicly and officially come out- but is that even necessary? The man has more sequins and furs than the entire Gabor family, and he wears Galliano underwear. With nothing but a pair of skates. How could I have ever hated someone like that?
