Five days and fourteen hours

Dear Matt Drudge: Stop posting Olympic swimming results before I have a chance to watch the races!

In other news, Phillip and I now have all of our China tickets plus a hotel reservation. We leave Saturday afternoon and get to Beijing at 9pm the next day. That seems like a long time. Especially since we are going BACKWARDS. Jeez. Ten hours to Tokyo, four hours to Beijing. Then we plan to locate a friendly and honest taxi driver who will deposit us at the Beijing Landmark Towers for the night. Our flight to Xi'an leaves at 9 the next morning and hopefully Blondie will meet us at the airport because we'll be absolute zombies by this point, stumbling around the Xi'an airport and muttering to ourselves. Gosh, I hope we don't embarrass her.

There's a bunch of stuff to do between now and Saturday, namely packing. I am an awesome packer. The Ziploc company should have paid me large amounts of money to promote their gallon size freezer bags among the college backpacker set. But on this trip we'll be spending most of our time in one city. With our own apartment. And I keep translating this into, "I totally think there'll be room for my hairdryer."

This brings us to the First Official Fight of the Trip To China: will Maggie allow Phillip to become one of those Really Annoying Airline Passengers who incur the wrath of thousands by insisting that their barely zipped-up carry on WILL fit in the overhead compartment, even if it takes thirty minutes and nine bloody fingers to get it done? I hate those people. I hate them more than the people who hog the arm rests and the people who keep talking to you, even when you are trying to make it obvious that you find your sociology textbook infinitely more interesting than any possible conversation. Although when you hold up the plane to stuff your bulging suitcase in the overhead bins AND hog the arm rests AND talk about personal matters on your cell phone AND stick your humongous knees and feet into the space of the person sitting in the middle AND pass the time by reading PLAYBOY next to me, then you are not just Really Annoying, you are The Absolute Worst Fellow Airline Passenger In The World and should thenceforth be banned from all manner of public transportation. Except rickshaws. And Playboy? Seriously?

And on a completely unrelated topic: what is up with gymnasts and their bizarre fixation with Hair Accessories? Back when I was a Young Athlete myself, the girls on my team sometimes wore matching sweatbands and sometimes we braided our hair exactly the same way and one year my volleyball coach's wife made us all matching scrunchies in our school colors. We were, like, SO EXCITED. So I understand the matching-ness. Even the sparkly eyeshadow and the glitter in your hair. Go team! You kick the most ass AND you are the prettiest. But the little hair clippies? Like, a hair clippie for each and every single strand of wayward hair? Is there a tenth of a point deduction for every flyaway? What's up with the skinhead look? Well, except for Romania who mistakenly thinks a little sprayed-stiff forehead fringe softens it up. I wish NBC was doing a feature on this. Really. "Next up in our Olympic coverage: Gymnasts and Those Metal Hair Clippy Things. The Mystery Revealed."