London is probably a completely insane place to be right now. Jam packed with the usual sardine-like arrangement of a major capital, plus a global array of tourists and athletes and support staff and journalists and pickpockets and terrorists (since all the media can talk about leading up to the olympics is how DANGEROUS it is BE AFRAID). The excitement of years building up to a fever pitch as they wait for the last runner to light the big torch. And something about a 40-foot Voldemort battling a flock of Mary Poppins?!
There’s no coverage here until 7:30, when I’ll be partying with my buds and watching the replay. But in the meantime, I’m trying to channel some of that excitement across the pond into my silent little house in Pittsburghian suburbia, where little is moving more than the second hand on my clock and the ants checking out yesterday’s spilt coffee grounds.
But I am ready.