Ehrmagerhd Sperts Merbers!

Okay, peaches. Now that the U.S. Men's Soccer Team HAVE (PLURAL) lost to Belgium and we, as a nation, HERETOFORE BOYCOTT WAFFLES AS WELL AS POMMES FRITÉS*, let's settle into some Netflix while we await the World Cup final with some sperts merbers.  Who needs carbs? We need to look sick in our soccer gear. 

The Price of Gold

You guys, you guys, you guys. Nancy Kerrigan and Tonya Harding. You know you love this shit. We were treated to a recap of the Nancy and Tonya saga during this past Olympics in Sochi. NBC produced an original docu that aired, weirdly enough, before the ladies' singles figure skating finals. For the NBC production, Mary Carillo was able to gain access to Harding and Kerrigan for sit-down interviews. The Price of Gold was produced as part of ESPN's 30 for 30 series, and features mostly interviews with Harding, Harding's childhood friends, and former coaches. Kerrigan only makes an appearance in figure skating and news footage. 

 The subject of many a late-night joke, the Nancy and Tonya story was one of those media events that took on a life of its own, garnering hours of media coverage and pages of newsprint devotion. The event and the spectacle that followed has not yet been forgotten by the public consciousness. It elevated the popularity of the sport, and apparently Tonya's side of the story has been turned into a musical. (The part of my brain that loves trashy media is super stoked about the latter.)

The story was simple enough. Tonya Harding was the 1991 Skate America champion, U.S. figure skating champion and a second-place finisher at Worlds. Not too bad for a girl who grew up in a poverty-stricken and dysfunctional family and who famously took skating lessons at the local mall because she couldn't afford to study privately. She was blue-eyshadowed and a little trashy, and definitely didn't fit the mold of the Disney princess-esque pseudo pageant queen that some figure skating fans have come to expect and demand. Contrast that to Nancy Kerrigan, who grew up in a working-class but loving and stable family and who fit the stereotype of the beautiful and balletic skating champion. In spite of Tonya's seeming disadvantages, it was she who won the U.S. National title in 1991, with Kerrigan coming in second.

In spite of their differences, both ladies seemed poised to take home a medal at the 1994 Winter Olympics in Lillehammer, Norway. Then things all kind of went to shite. On the morning of January 6, 1994, just weeks before the start of the Olympics, Nancy Kerrigan was clubbed in the knee as she came out of practice at Cobo Arena in Detroit. At first, the attack seemed to have come out of the proverbial ether, but suspicion soon fell on Tonya Harding after it was revealed that Kerrigan's assailant, Shawn Eckhart, was associated with Harding's ex-husband, Jeff Gillooly. Harding was accused of masterminding the plot against Kerrigan. The motive? Jealousy. Money. The usual suspects.

We skate to the death!

You see, although Harding had the titles, Kerrigan had all the corporate sponsorships, and thus, all the money. (Kerrigan was famously gifted with Olympic skating outfits by fashion designer Vera Wang.) Harding was struggling financially (she became famous for her "homemade" costumes) and felt unsupported financially by her skating federation, and was angry that no corporations had approached her, whereas Kerrigan had lined up sponsors ranging from Campbell's Soup to Evian Water. Remember, Harding was the champion, not Kerrigan.

The theory is that Harding felt Kerrigan was her biggest competition for the gold medal. The federation, and the corporate sponsors, clearly adored Kerrigan.  Nothing was ever proven against Harding, but the suspicion was that Harding thought if she could knock Kerrigan out of contention for the gold medal in Lillehammer, then she would almost certainly win. The incentive for winning the gold was motivation enough. The gold medal comes with not only all the media exposure, but a cash prize, and is generally accompanied by the aforementioned corporate sponsorships. 

Harding's feelings, according to the 30 for 30 interview, are that there is a lot of corruption in the figure skating world, and that the Olympic champion is "pre-selected" from among a list of acceptable candidates. Harding's current feeling is that her skating federation thought she was fine as the U.S. champion, but she wasn't acceptable as a World or Olympic champion, regardless of what she'd done at the 1994 Winter Games. Her homemade costumes, her athletic style, and her mouthy attitude were not marketable. (Every time I picture figure skating authorities, I picture Barry Fife from Strictly Ballroom. See below.)

To date, Tonya Harding retains her innocence. She was stripped of one of her U.S. National Champion titles and due to her famous "skate lace malfunction," did not medal at the 1994 Olympics. Nancy Kerrigan did not win gold that year, either. That honor went to Ukrainian upstart, Oksana Baiul. 

Nancy Kerrigan retired from amateur figure skating competition after Lillehammer.

Harding was banned from figure skating for life and never skated professionally again.

The sad part of it all was that Harding was a very talented, if troubled, skater. She went down in history as the first woman to land the difficult triple axel in competition.

Why, why, why?

Schooled: The Price of College Sports

You want to get schooled? 

Gather round children and hear the tale of the NCAA. This documentary is about a sports scandal, but it makes the Harding/Kerrigan fiasco look like amateur hour. I am a big supporter of college sports and of my alma mater (WE ARE SPATANSSS!!!), so this documentary made me several kinds of angrysad.

Schooled is an expose of the shocking level of greed and corruption that has taken over the NCAA. It focuses on college players, "student athletes," who are being taken for a ride at the hands of a supposedly beneficent system.

Let's pretend you are a high school athlete who has been recruited by a major football university to play gridiron football for that school, and in the process, you will be earning the school major buck$$$ as well as potentially helping the team to a national title. If all goes well and you are not injured in play, you can then be recruited by the pros. In exchange, these 17 and 18-year-olds receive tuition, room and board, and a college education that, in other circumstances, they may not be able to attain. 

Sounds like a great deal, right? Well, it's more complicated than that. As recent debates have indicated, college players are agitating for more compensation, unionization, and pay-to-play. Why have they got such a problem? The deal the athletes make with the NCAA is not as great as it seems on the surface. 

College sports in the United States is a multi-billion-dollar industry. Colleges and universities make serious bank off tickets, concessions, and merch. So, the players get a cut of that, of course. Ehhh, not so much. Profits from football and basketball games go to the NCAA and the schools.  Players are actually banned by NCAA rules from making any money off their likeness. For example, if you are a star quarterback for University of State U., the school may manufacture as many jerseys with your starting number on it, but they will not pay you any of the proceeds. If the school decides to make your team the subject of a video game created by EA sports, they can manufacture a computer generated image of you, call it you, stick your jersey number on it, sell the game, make a profit, and they do not cut you a check. They can also make multi-million-dollar deals with television networks to air games in which your team will play. Again, no dohlars for you.

But, but, but, Arsenic Pie, they get a free education! That's enough, right?

Ehh, yeah. About that "education." This is not to say that there isn't such a thing as an outstanding student and athlete at the college level. However, many athletes who are recruited by universities are not academically prepared for the rigors of a college education. Athletes are often admitted on a special status -- that means they often have lower grades and SAT scores than regular students. For example, Stanford University, with a big football program, is famously highly selective of its undergraduate students. I am not being a snob here, but higher grades and test scores are often the result of better pre-college academic preparation (they are often also a function of class privilege and wealth, but that's for another day), and better pre-college preparation often, but not always, results in higher levels of success in college. (Author's note:  I slacked off in high school but graduated college with a 3.7 #humblebrag.) Regular students at University of State U. are expected to attend a certain number of class hours and keep themselves out of academic probation. Student athletes are expected to remain academically eligible to play, in addition to the 40 to 50 hours a week they are expected to be in training and practice. There is really not a whole time for the athletes to attend class or study. This has given rise to "special classes" for athletes, in which they are required to write a paper or read a book, or some other essentially symbolic classwork that they actually have time to do. This has led to "outrage" over student athletes taking "fake" classes. Whether the classes are "fake" or not, what's true is that the athletes are not getting the same quality of education that the normally matriculated students are getting. It may be free for many of the athletes but, I guess...uh...you get what you pay for. (???) Since student athletes have to stay academically eligible to play, and since many of them are academically unprepared, and since many athletes do not have time to keep up with a regular course load on top of their training schedule, is it really any wonder that universities have resorted to giving athletes special classes so they can stay eligible? Because the schools are deliberately recruiting athletes that they willingly know are woefully academically unprepared in order to have a better team so they can win more games. Winning more games = more potential for a championship title. Winning a championship title = more money. So, the argument that they're getting a free education in exchange for their play doesn't hold much water with me. If it's not of the same quality as the other degree-holders from the same university, then it is separate and it is unequal. Athletes often do not finish their degrees, and leave for paid play in the pro leagues. Who can blame them? They either don't have time to get a part-time job or they're not allowed to, so if their families can't support them financially, how do they live? Student athletes have complained about their inability to buy food. With coaches and administrators pocketing million-dollar paychecks, and with the NCAA making billions, this is an outrage. 

If the student athlete is injured and can no longer play, they lose their athletic scholarship. If they cannot afford to continue with their education, they must either leave school or take out loans. Then they would be expected to finish their education taking normal classes, which they may or may not be ready for.

So, the athletes can just choose not to sign a contract with the NCAA, right?

Nope. All NCAA accredited schools (read: the big sports schools) require student athletes to sign a contact in order to play.

So, if they don't want to play by the NCAA's rules, they can just choose not to play, right?

Right, and they can miss out on the potential for a lucrative career in the pros. For talented athletes, that may be their only avenue out of poverty.

Oh, and the NCAA is a non-profit organization. So all of that profit that they make off the efforts of young players is tax-free.

The lesson for student athletes is, if you want to have a chance to make it to the pros, you had better be prepared to make a deal with the devil.

Bigger, Stronger, Faster

Onward to more controversy! I'm feeling British today, so you must read that as conTRAHvahsy.

So...steroids. I am from the generation that was brought up to be scared poopless of using steroids. I was warned if I ever put anything that resembled an anabolic steroid in my booty to enhance athletic performance (not that 13-year-old me wanted to excel athletically), I would immediately turn into a cyborg.

I was warned that if I used steroids, my boobs would shrink and my period would dry up. I was on board with all that and was about to shoot up until they mentioned the lady facial hair part. I was obedient enough to ingest the information in my "good life choices" classes presented by sexually repressed adults so that I have more or less avoided all of the "risky" behavior that they warned us against.

Given that, I was really surprised that I ended up enjoying Bigger, Stronger, Faster: The Side Effects of Being American.

I wouldn't say it is pro-steroid in any way, but it does ask some interesting questions about the mixed messages we send about body image (to men as well as women, but this is one of those rare documentaries that focus on male body image) and about durgs. I mean drugs. I mean. OYU UDN'TSLHO UES DURGS. Why is our society accepting of the use of certain drugs, and we have deemed other drugs to be "bad"? After all, caffeine is a drug that enhances performance (increase in energy) and I've had three cups of butter coffee and a Diet Coke already today and it's not even noon. Butter coffee, you guys.

Bigger, Stronger, Faster focuses on Christopher Bell and his two brothers, Smelly and Mad Dog. Both of Bell's brothers are steroid users, and Mad Dog suffered from drug addictions that eventually took his life in late 2008. The documentary examines the use of anabolic steroids and its relationship to the American Dream. 

I liked this documentary because it pointed out the hypocritical way in which Americans view drugs. On the one hand, Americans decry steroid use, but they spend millions on the rather shady supplement industry. Similarly, some drugs are labeled as steroids and athletes are banned from using them, but they are able to take cortisone shots (Spoiler alert: cortisone is also a steroid.)  I think we've all seen the outrage that accompanied the revelation that Lance Armstrong was juicing. 

I find the last bit especially pertinent today with the Dr. Oz controversy. People who are desperate to lose weight line up in droves to buy a chemically suspect product off an internet retailer that sprung up overnight after an airing of The Dr. Oz Show, but everyone knows that steroids are Satan's own brew.

(That's the second time I've mentioned the devil in this blog post. No known association available at publication date.)

I'm not saying I'm in favor of people going out and shooting themselves in the bum with a steroid to enhance their performance, but I do feel people ought to take a look at what sorts of drugs make someone a "cheater" and what is only an "enhancement."

Also, it features this cow:

Cow.

Shaolin Soccer

So, onto less heavy subject matter. Shaolin Soccer is a 2001 comedy from Hong Kong about a shaolin monk, Sing, who wants to promote kung fu through soccer. Very apropos, is it not? Sing dresses like Bruce Lee and recruits his fellow monks to create an unbeatable soccer team.

Team Shaolin enters a competition and they play against Team Evil, a team that's been injected with an American drug that has made them superhuman (I'm guessing the secret ingredient is Red Bull; I hear it gives one wings). Team Shaolin beats Team people all over the world practice kung fu in their daily lives. The plot is a bit weak, but it's a fun movie with a soccer theme. It's a Hong Kong kung fu movie, so it pays a lot of homage to Bruce Lee, which I of course appreciate. It's very promotional of kung fu, which the Chinese gubbmint seems to have no qualms with promoting. Just as long as it isn't Falun Dafa Soccer, I suppose. Didn't hear anything about that from Bob Costas in 2008, now did we?

The hypocrisy is strong with this one.

One Night in Turin


I've been watching Endeavour again, chickens. On a recent episode, England won the 1966 World Cup.

Footy, footy, footy. ENGLAND ENGLAND.

One Night in Turin is a 2010 documentary that focuses on the 1990 English soccer team. According to the archive footage and the narrator (Gary F*cking Oldman), by 1990, England's soccer glory days were long behind them.

The Scottish Football and Highland Dance Team of 1966.

The film provides a lot of context for the underdog 1990 English team's improbable journey to the World Cup in Turin, Italy. At that point in time, English fans were infamous for being HOOLIGANS and rioting during soccer matches, and the English team wasn't  weren't doing so hot. England itself was suffering from a poor economy due to Thatcher-era policies. The success of the English team galvanized the nation, and brought the English a sense of national pride that they had lost. 

The England team defied everyone's expectations, and not only qualified for the World Cup, they made it into the Group of 16, then the quarter finals, and then the semi-finals, where they faced West Germany, a team whose captain was a 26-year-old Jürgen Klinsmann.

Strictly Ballroom


Were you unjustly robbed of your title as Pan-Pacific Amateur Five-Dance Latin Final Champion? At the Pan-Pacific Grand Prix? Well, guess who else had that happen to him? Scott Hastings, that's who!

SCOOOOOTTTTT!!!

I don't care how much you love Moulin Rouge. This is Baz Luhrmann's best movie. The first movie in Luhrmann's Red Curtain trilogy, Strictly Ballroom makes me happy and full of twenty kinds of joy. If you ever watch it with me, I WILL quote it and I WILL totally spoil it for you 

The plot is pretty simple. It's about Scott Hastings (Paul Mercurio), a rising star in the world of Australian dancesport. Scott is tired of dancing the old steps taught by his dancing instructor and his mother, a former amateur dancer herself (who now teaches dance and sells cosmetics on the side).

Scott wants to dance NEW STEPS with his partner, Liz Holt, but Liz definitely does not want to dance NEW STEPS. Liz drops Scott after an argument, and she partners instead with That Drunk Ken Railings. Scott needs a new partner fast, and he is approached by the awkward, acne-ridden Fran (Tara Morice).

Fran is willing to dance NEW STEPS, so Scott gives her a chance. He meets her Spanish-speaking family, and Fran's father teaches them the steps to the pasodoble. The pasodoble is not new per se, but it is new to the stuffy world of Australian amateur five-dance Latin final. (The pasodoble literally means "double-step" in English, and it was originally a French dance that is danced in Spain and other Spanish-speaking communities.)

¿Tu bailas pasodoble?

Fran transforms herself from a wallflower beginner to an accomplished dancer and hottie. Scott and Fran fall in the lovez, in spite of the opposition from Federation President Barry Fife, Mrs. Hastings, Liz, and well, everyone, except Fran's family. I first watched this in a college Spanish class and I wrote una composición en español about how awesome it is. 

I believe that we will win!

*Am no way ever boycotting waffles and pommes frites. 

Edited to add: I just discovered this afternoon that The Netflixes has a whole selection of soccer-themed 30 for 30 docus available for streaming RIGHT NOW Check out the collection 30 for 30: Soccer Stories. I prithee get thee to yon Netflix posthaste! 

Bridezillas!

This past weekend, I traveled with some friends to Chicago to visit another friend who is enrolled in a grad program at Northwestern.

Spoiler alert: it was cold. 

Mind numbingly cold. And snowy. But surprisingly not that windy. Huh. Anyhoodle, spending a lot of time outside my friend's apartment wasn't really on our agenda, but we managed to get ourselves bundled up and on the El on Sunday morning for a drag brunch at the Kit Kat Club. The food was yummy, the drag queens were fierce, and the martinis? Were HALF OFF. 

So, yeah.. We all got a bit toasted. 

I'm not sure how we got on the subject of the television show Bridezillas--maybe it was because my Chicago-based friend is getting married later this year, or maybe because we were talking about trashy reality tv in general. But in any event, after returning to the Rogers Park apartment, we switched on Netflix, curled up on the couch, and five grown adults spent about 8 hours doing nothing but watching Bridezillas while the alcohol slowly worked its way through out bodies. 

This show is everything wonderful and everything horrible all wrapped up into one. 

The concept is simple: cameras follow around a bride during the week leading up to her wedding documenting every incident of physical, verbal, and emotional abuse she spews at the people around her. The brides seem to come from all over, but they all have one thing in common: they are horrible people. Nobody is safe from the bridezillas ire, certainly not her groom, parents, bridal party, and any vendors unlucky enough to have contracted to provide a service for the wedding day. 

Watching this show raises so many questions. Why would this man marry this woman? How can her parents allow her to speak to them like that? Why are these people her friends? Why would ANYONE hired by these women not just tell them to go fuck themselves and walk away?

Any most importantly, why am I watching this?

It's like a train wreck--you cannot look away. Objectively, you acknowledge that these people are horrible and that you are actually part of the problem; by watching the show you are providing incentive for the brides to act like trolls. But subjectively, it's just flat-out entertaining. Maybe it makes us feel better about ourselves? Whatever the reason, 8 episodes of Bridezillas didn't feel like enough and we could have gone on for much longer. 

 "Why don't people just give me everything I want when I want it and for free? WHY ARE YOU MAKING ME HIT YOU!

I must point out that the best part of Bridezillas is actually the snarky commentary provided by the female narrator. The producers are definitely in on the joke and take every opportunity to belittle and humiliate the "ladies" on the show. I think our favorite example was when a certain zaftig bride was trying to wedge herself into a narrow manicure chair. "Apparently nobody in the bridal party thought to bring a shoe horn or bacon grease," commented the narrator. OH SNAP. Also? Awesome.

So, if you ever need a self-esteem boost, want to laugh at the most heinous women on earth, or just need a mind-numbing activity to engage in (preferably while drunk), Bridezillas is the show for you!

This charming young lady, Danyelle, is a 19 year old "student" bride who got so drunk the morning of her wedding, she could barely climb the stairs to put on her wedding dress. She also stole her groom's credit card, took the last $300 from his bank account, and chose as her wedding theme (I shit you not), "Bros and Bro-Hoes." Here is an interview with Danyelle.

Bridezillas airs on WE (check the schedule) and past episodes can be viewed on Netflix or the show's website. 

I'm holding out for a Hero.

This past week, TNT debuted a new reality series about trying to find a true hero. I would think there are better ways to find a hero other than a cable channel reality competition, but hey, what do I know. And if you're anything like me, you now have Bonnie Tyler's "I Need a Hero" or the theme to Greatest American Hero running in your head on a constant loop. You're welcome.

Hello, THIS is an American Hero. Why are we even still talking about this?

The concept of TNT's The Hero is pretty simple, though the execution is anything but. From the website:

Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson brings to TNT an epic competition testing the strength, courage, and integrity of a diverse group of nine individuals. Each week, the contestants will be tested, physically, mentally, and morally, as they try to prove that they truly deserve the title of "The Hero" and the life-changing grand prize that goes with it. With temptations around every corner, America watches to see what the contestants are willing to overcome, undergo, and sacrifice on behalf of themselves and others. In the end, it's America's call on who will be "The Hero."

Yes, it's hosted by The Rock. Apparently, an ex-pro wrestler turned adventure movie "actor" is an expert on heroism. Because this is America.

Oh, whatever.

If every episode is going to follow the same format as the premiere, there are three challenges presented to the contestants. First, a team challenge, where they compete together to achieve a common goal and receive a code. Then a smaller team (selected by the larger team) works to overcome a second challenge--to succeed they must overcome a physical test and enter the code in a computer within the time allowed. THEN, the entire group must select one person from the smaller team to compete in a solo challenge. If the individual succeeds in the challenge, $50,000 is added to the overall pot that the winner gets at the end of the show. But the individual challenge winner also has the option to take the money for themselves, and the rest of the contestants will be told he/she didn't succeed in the challenge and be none the wiser.

Yeah, it's kind of complicated, but I was entertained and I like the twist that it's not just physical challenges--there are some ethical challenges involved as well. For the most part, the contestants seem slightly more tolerable than your average reality show competitors--and they are at least physically prepared. There's a fitness instructor, a trauma surgeon, a construction worker, a wrestler (of course)....and an NFL cheerleader (of course again). There are already some personality clashes and douchebaggery, but hey, it's reality tv. You gotta give the people what they want, and in-fighting is part of the deal. Oh, and the way the competitors idolize The Rock is laughable. It's not like he's Tyra Banks, after all.

I'll definitely stick with The Hero for a few more episodes, and it's fun, inoffensive summer viewing. I don't believe for one second that the winner will be a hero or deserving of the title in any manner, but hyperbole is also part of the deal.

The Hero airs Thursday nights at 8pm on TNT. You can watch the entire first episode on their website.

Man, if they had gotten THIS guy to host the show, it would be so much more badass. In other news, who wants to watch this movie with me sometime?

That Damn Jumpy Banana in My Head. Je-ahhh!!!

So, I decided that it was within my naturally charitable (snort) nature to take one for the TV Sluts team and watch the first six episodes of What Would Ryan Lochte Do? 

And it is glorious. 

Ladies. 

Yes, the E! network is reprehensible in many ways. I was recently witness to a clip of Kourtney Kardashian demonstrating a certain carnal act by shoving a carrot through the hole of a doughnut (a chocolate one, no less). Granted, I was watching The Soup of my own volition, so it is not as though I am entirely innocent, but I was not directly supporting Kourtney K. in her campaign to violate cruciferous vegetation and pastry. 

I have to say, however, that What Would Ryan Lochte do is not the worst thing to hit the airwaves in recent years. It doesn't involve tarting up a five-year-old girl, forcing her to prance around on a stage, and screaming at her to gyrate as though she has some combo of rickets and Bell's palsy.  I mean, if anything like that happened on the show, I'm sure Lochte would have done it willingly if you, like, bet him a hamburger or something.

Whether or not you are not a member of Lochte Nation (awaiting official UN recognition), Olympic gold medal swimmer Ryan Lochte appears to most teevee viewers and netizens to be an adorable simpleton, akin to a cocker spaniel who repeatedly pees on the carpet. Personally, he reminds me of my cat Pippin. Pippin is this adorable little gray kitty who greets each and every day with a sense of playfulness and innocent wonder. 

D'awww.

He's also kind of an idiot. Not in a chasing-his-own tail way (he's outgrown that), but in more of a "all objects that are not nailed down are either a food or a toy or both so why don't I put it in my mouth om nom nom sort of way." He runs full-tilt around my apartment as if bitten by a crazy viper, throws himself up walls in pursuit of insects and feels very proud of himself when he kills his stuffed catnip rat.  All of this occurs on a daily basis while my other cat, Salem, looks on disapprovingly, as if Pippin's very existence is an assault on his dignity.

What fresh hell is this?

Enough about my cats.

Obviously, Lochte was granted his own reality show due to some network execs recognizing that Lochte's lack of awareness of his own surroundings, coupled with a chronic inability to form a sentence, equaled television gold. 

The show focuses mostly on Ryan, Ryan's family, his network of friends and the revolving door-esque nature of his romantic life. I have to say that one of the positive points about the show is how close-knit the Lochte family appears to be.

Although they have an Olympic swimmer in the family, the Lochtes seem very normal and, dare I say it, down-to-earth. I especially like Ryan's sisters, whose job it is to guide their hapless bro (BRO!!!!) through the perils, trials and tribulations of modern dating.  One of the things that troubles Ryan's oldest sister is that Ryan likes to take all of his dates to the same sushi restaurant in Gainesville. The Lochte Logic behind this choice being that Ryan knows all girls like sushi. And now that's it's been on TV and is now A Thing, I think any girl who dates him now would be kind of offended if he didn't take them to the sushi restaurant.

What's wrong with sushi? I'm a girl. I like sushi. I'm kind of with Ryan on this. 

If only Ryan's family could have talked him out of swimming with dolphins, it would have saved me some anxiety about his well-being. He got super excited about swimming with dolphins during one episode and I feared for the lad's life, since poor, clueless Ryan Lochte has no idea that dolphins rape people.

Ryan's also unaware, I should mention, of what a douchebag is. Honestly. Bro has no clue. 

During the first episode, Ryan searches for meaning about what a douchebag truly is, and he makes it his philosophical quest (for about five minutes)  to find out why people think he is one. 

Ryan is also on a quest to find his One True Love (for there can only be one). He has been involved in a long-distance relationship with this really adorable English girl named Jaimee, who he'd been seeing off an on for about three or four years. She comes to visit him in one episode, and this is where we learn that she's kind of the Kate Middleton of this relationship. 

katemiddletonforthewin.tumblr.com

He's the famous guy and she's the non-famous girlfriend who is way, way, way too good for him and who also totally knows it, but who likes him anyway. Their relationship is handled tastefully as far as reality show standards go, and they're only shown kissing, even though she's staying at his apartment. So, viewers could actually see their relationship dynamic instead of voyeuristically watching grainy, black-and-white surveillance video of people bumping and grinding in the dark.  This isn't Jersey Shore. Sadly, things didn't work out so well for the long-distance relationship, and Jaimee called it off a few episodes ago. So, Ryan will have to go back to dreaming about hooking up with Carmen Electra and viewing his favorite movie, "What Woman Want" (actual quote) with his awesome sisters.

I will say, in his favor, with regard to his taste in women, he doesn't really like dumb girls. He took this one girl out for sushi and ordered wontons and she asked him what wontons were and he looked at her like she was from Idiotville. So, I don't think he's stupid stupid. Maybe a little dense. Okay. Maybe a lot dense. At least he knows what wontons are. He's probably doing better than most people.

Wontons: little fried pockets of deliciousness.

One of the things that surprised and impressed me about Ryan was his involvement with End Duchenne. Duchenne, as I learned from the show, is a fatal type of muscular dystrophy. Kids who are affected are unable to play sports or do a lot of physical activities, but one of the things they can do is swim. One of Ryan's uncles suffered from Duchenne and passed away, and Ryan is active with the charity takes his mom to D.C.  to meet with kids who have Duchenne, and to lobby Congress for research funding.

The only thing that marred the trip to D.C. were these three super serious D.C. ladies who were in this bar that Ryan took his mama to. One of them approached Ryan and brought him to their table, where they proceeded to talk to him about politics. He has no idea about politics and stated as much. They kept asking him questions about current debates and were unimpressed with his answers. I felt like they brought him to their table to make fun of him or make him look/feel stupid or to prove a point. He was polite enough to leave his mom for a few minutes and go over to their table, so why be so catty, girls? Like, I get he isn't a super genius or a Fulbright scholar, and he did say he doesn't have much time to follow the news due to his training schedule, but he's a pretty decent, rather average guy overall. Fortunately, his cocker spaniel puppy brain didn't appear to realize that these girls were trying to make him look like an idiot. If he did, he didn't let on, but politely excused himself and went back to his date with his mom.

Then he bought his mom a car.

With regard to the phenomenon that is "jeah" or Jeah Nation, Ryan was kind enough to give his mom a tutorial on the correct pronunciation and accent of the word "jeah." Okay, look, people. You're saying it wrong. "It's jeah like jeah, not je-ah." You don't pronounce it the way it's spelled.

Duh.

"If you get a hot dog named after you, you've made it."

If you're curious about what Ryan Lochte would do (or even more curious about what Ryan Lochte wouldn't do), tune in to E! On Demand to watch this season's eight episodes.