The lovelies and I caught a few ice skating performances on the Olympics last night.
I remember being young and watching in awe…gawking at the girls in sparkly outfits spinning and hurtling themselves through the chilly air. I always wondered how they got those nude colored leggings around their skates without tearing holes in them.
There was a woman who skated to Pink Floyd last night. Shine on you crazy diamond.
I began to think of all the great songs I would skate to if I were talented and not a weak ankled, fat knee’d, awkward faced, cynical mom with unachievable, athletic, childhood dreams.
Of course, you know me, and I would have to skate to Eddie. I noticed everyone tries to skate to beautiful and moving pieces of music. I would have to make a medley of Pearl Jam. A little Chris Cornell and Soundgarden action could be great too.
Maybe Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch? Color Me Badd?? Vanilla Ice??? Salt n Peppa? Matchbox 20?? Stone Temple Pilots? Nirvana???
Grunge is like poetry, arguably, and so is ice skating, I guess.
I could wear a signature Cobain cardigan. I could have a pair of Doc Marten ice skates fashioned as well.
I wouldn’t smile. I would keep an air of angst and dirt and just enough self doubt. I might even flip people off but I would school some fucking ice skating haters. I would be so good on those triple axles and so visually and musically ironic, no one could handle it.
I would be the best role model for young girls. My own kids would roll their eyes and say, ugh mom, not Pearl Jam again.