Un-American girl

This week at work I made the mistake of asking a colleague, "Is it wrong that I don't give a shit about the Olympics?" He immediately replied, "Yes," and went around telling everyone that I was un-American. (This is what you get for asking stupid rhetorical questions while bored at work instead of surfing the Web like everyone else. But anyway.) My gentleman-caller is an Olympic fiend and I find his interest very cute, but I just can't get too much on board myself. It's great to see international fellowship, particularly in these troubled times, and the athletic feats are hugely impressive. But does it all have to be brought to us by Nike and McDonald's and Budweiser? Even the pasta brand I buy is all over that one skier guy, so I can't buy it now without looking like I've been subconsciously brainwashed by the Olympics. I just hate ads and I hate buying stuff and I hate that everything comes down to sales. Oh well. It probably comes down to my alleged resemblance to President Mitterand (see icon at right).