Reporter's Note: President Obama always seems to have something on his schedule, but frankly I think he gets more vacation than I do. Or at least it feels that way as I wrap up a long week on the road with my latest letter to the White House.
Tom Foreman | BIO
Dear Mr. President,
Well, I don’t know everything that you’ve been up to this week, but I’ve been working! By the time you read this, I hope to finally be in the air on the way home for a truncated weekend, and we all know how painful that can be. My team and I pulled pretty much 15 hours every day that we were in Austin. Apparently when they say everything is bigger in Texas, they’re including the work week.
The only real down time we had was at meals, and we ate like horses. My favorite dish of the week was an appetizer: a lightly fried ball of risotto and mozzarella with a red sauce that was so good it would make you slap your mama. That’s a New Orleans phrase. It means something is so good you’d resent the fact that your mother’s cooking fell short, which as you might guess means it’s pretty darn good.
I guess I also had a wee tiny bit of free time just before sleep each night, and I spent it trying to catch up on the Winter Olympics. I know that we talk a lot these days about understanding other cultures and appreciating the rest of the world and all that, but I still cheer for the U.S. in every event.
Except curling. I mean, we are so hapless in that sport it would have been like cheering for the third dog in a two dog race. So instead I got totally wrapped up in the Canadian women’s curling team. I couldn’t explain the scoring even if I were at gunpoint, but I found the sport oddly captivating; all that super-slow-motion sliding around, those wild slipping shoes the teams wore, and all that crazy sweeping. It looks like a game you’d see played in an insane asylum, but I really like it and wouldn’t mind giving it a shot. The Canadians are practically our cousins anyway, aren’t they? And forgive me, but that Cheryl Bernard? If we ever play Red Rover, Red Rover with the Canucks, make sure you tell them she’s the one we want sent over. Man, she was cooler under fire than Steven Seagal.
Anyway, the Canadian women were edged out of the gold by the Swedes in some sort of indecipherable last-minute brilliance. Again, I can’t begin to explain what happened, only as they say in Sweden “yit souockes!” (Actually, I’m pretty sure that’s not how they say it; but what I lack in knowledge of other languages I make up for with reckless enthusiasm.) Now I guess I’ll cheer for the Canadian men’s curling team.
Still, be forewarned my moose chasing friends: In the men’s hockey final, I will be pulling hard for the U.S. side. That should be one smokin’ hot game! Hey, here’s an idea. How about you call the Canadian Prime Minister and make a little friendly bet? Something like, if they beat us we send them a box of steaks, and if we beat them he gives us Ontario.
Granted, it’s not much of an idea, but then, this isn’t much of a letter either. Write that off to fatigue. Like I said, whatever you’ve been doing with your time, I’ve been busy. So please don’t call this weekend. I need my rest.
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