Pancake Day! Pancake Day! Let's all go to the cafeteri-ay!

Short takes on the fun stuff of life:

* Did I go to the short track meet here on campus? You betcha! And it was fanTAStic. The first race we saw was a handful of very little girls running their way around the track. The youngest we saw were four or five years old; the oldest, in their later fifties. I went with Kim, and we saw a handful of races and then...a lot of Zamboni action. Bad timing. After I took her home I returned for more short track mayhem. People splatting on their faces! People crashing into walls! Girls racing against boys...and winning! Very fit young men without their shirts! It was a very good day. Amelier, though you would like the racing itself I think, I can't see you taking up speed skating spectatorship. Something about sitting in an ice-filled room in February seems un-you, but I can't pin down what it could be.

* And while we're on the track, did you see the Olympic short track finals Saturday night? I watched it at, like, 3:00 in the morning after seeing the Fiery Furnaces. A very close 500m, Ohno wins the gold, and then straight on into the relay. Yeah! Now that's a Saturday night!

* One last Olympics and speed-skating obsessive note. The closing ceremony? Crazy! WHY would the Italians have some sort of army of snowtroopers doing the YMCA? But all is forgiven, because the US team elected my man Joey Cheek to be the flagbearer, ensuring he got camera time. As a gift for all my devoted viewing, maybe.

* Today is Fat Tuesday, or Shrove Tuesday, or Pancake Day, if you're of the mind. When I was a kid I had a book of holiday poetry, and one of the poems was Pancake Day. I knew that wasn't a holiday we celebrated, so I assumed it must be Jewish. (There were poems in there about Hanukkah, which we also didn't celebrate. Made sense at the time.) So you go on out and get yourself a girl! Or maybe a wagon! Full of paaaaancaaaaaaaaaaakes!

Here comes the sun!

My quest for light-heartedness is going about the same as the U.S. quest for Olympic gold: a few bright spots, but mostly a lot of hype and lack of follow through.

Actually, things were going pretty well until late Wednesday. There were a few moments in the first day and a half that I nearly hyperventilated with the cleansing breaths, but I am a duck! Rain rolls right off my back! Or it did until I met my optimism Waterloo, in the form of a million yards of gold felt.

I have to make this skirt. I got stuck with the gold felt because nobody else wanted it, and everybody was being all diva about not wearing the gold felt (because it. is. HIDEOUS.), and eventually I just said for the love of Pete, give me the damn felt. I've had it at work for a few days (because there is no surface in my home large enough to lay out the fabric on, and that includes the floor) and, without knowing why I had a bolt of gold felt, several co-workers commented on its hideousness. Perhaps they were afraid I was going to cover the cubicle walls with it. EVERYBODY thinks it's heinous, and they don't even know that I'm actually going to wear it. It will be like wrapping the atomic golden mass of the sun around my hips.

But the worst part is that I also had to actualyl sew the skirt. Why I thought I was capable of this, I'm not sure; but I found myself at home last night with the speedskating on the TV and fifty feet of yellow felt and a box of pins I kept knocking over, screaming on the phone at my brother that while I was very interested in hearing about his meeting with the Walnut Association, if he could not tell me how to get the bobbin thread to pop up, he was useless to me. Sewing this skirt did not bring out the beauty and the wonder in me, I'll tell you that. But, thank god, the skirt is done, and I just have the blouse, the cardigan, the scarves, the socks, and the hat to deal with.

I'm feeling much better these days, though, so maybe the Goldenrod Skirt of Frustration was key to my personal growth and development.

In Olympic news: You know how L's German friend was talking about how exciting biathlon is? Is she nuts? Maybe it's just the televisual sameness of it, but pretty much all the events that involve cross-country skiing seem kind of dull to me. You know what would be more exciting? If they were shooting at each other. Anyway, it's no short track. Which, don't forget: Finals of the relay are Saturday night! Enjoy it while it lasts! (Or...enjoy my telling you about it while it lasts!)

Someone's got a case of the Mondays.

You know how sometimes, you're having a rough time or you're just really burned out and lethargic, and you just feel sort of antagonistic and pissy and you're kind of aware of it and you kind of hate yourself for it, but you can't break the cycle?

I've kind of been having that lately, but without any particular rough times to blame for it.

So. I'm trying to break out of joylessness and pettiness and the corruption of the soul and all, starting today. I will be kind and appreciative with the people I love, instead of grumping at them. I will write postcards (maybe even sober!). I will wear ridiculous clothes because I like them. I will do my work competently and then I will WALK AWAY from it. I will not seethe at meetings because everybody else is stupid. I will NOT be resentful and sullen in tap class, because I am not a sulky teenager; I am in captain of my ship, mayor of my fate; I hold the reins. Besides, pissiness is bad for the skin. So. Wish me luck with that, right? Right. Then I'll send you a postcard.

One last glumpish thing: The Olympics is wearing me out. I can't maintain this level of attention and enthusiasm for two weeks.

But on that note, I'll recap the weekend's Olympic action:
Italy and Norway: The biggest cross-country relay rivals ever! Edge-of-your-seat suspence in the most contested race of the Games! Except not, because Norway blew it and Italy ran away with the race, and nobody cares about cross country relay.

JOEY CHEEK WINS SILVER MEDAL, LOOKS ADORABLE. Also donates another $15,000 to cute refugee orphans.

Shani Davis and Chad Henrick give NBC hack sports journalists something to hammer on, relentlessly, and completely hyperbolically. I have a lot more to say about this, but the end-of-the-day ennui is inhibiting my typing.

Bode Miller continues to not win medals.

Apolo Anton Ohno wins bronze; NBC reporter tries to get him to say the competition cheated; he doesn't quite do it.

All the people who are supposed to win the ski jump land on the earth after a lousy 120 meters, and for the umpteenth Olympics in a row a dark horse kid wins it.

The Austrian team is subjected to an early-morning raid from the ergogenics police, who saw a known (and banned until 2010) doping doctor lurking suspiciously near the Austrians. Authorities later find the doc sleeping in his car just across the Austrain border; he flees (presumably after waking up), crashes into an empty cop car, and is taken into custody. I'm guessing he's not going to be reinstated as team doctor for 2010.

It snows like the dickens and forces the cancellation of several snow-based events. This is clearly god's protest against not getting a cut of the broadcast royalties.

Some people totally got slammed into the boards in hockey.

That's your Olympics Minute! I'm Tornadia McCreaky. Higher faster farther! Peace out!

The most Scott Baio-themed post you'll ever get out of me. Probably.

I didn't get to see much of last night's Olympics--yet--but here's what's on my mind. (Because I'm sure you've been sitting at your desk wondering "what's on tornadia's mind?")

** French snowboarder Francois Boivin has the best name, at least as pronounced by U.S. Commentators: Fran-swa Bah-vah. It sounds like gibberish foreign name. Like Bob Loblaw!

** Snowboard cross. When I first heard about this I thought it sounded like the most ridiculous X-Gameification of the Olympics yet. Now that I've seen it? I LOVE SNOWBOARD CROSS. Four snowboarders race down a track and shove each other around. When they come over a jump all at the same time and their arms are out all "be the crane" style, it's like an awesome Olympic parody of the Matrix or Spy Kids or something. Plus, crashes!
I've learned a little something about myself this Olympics: I've got a lot more bloodlust than I realized. And I've got a short attention span. How can you watch cross country skiing when you've experienced snowboard cross and short track?

** American figure skater Evan Lycek looks like a young Scott Baio. Scott Baio...who plays Bob Loblaw.

That's it. Enjoy the weekend!

The first tornado watch of the year!

OH, my sweet existence! It's February, it's 60 degrees, the Olympics are on, and there's a tornado watch! It's like Christmas and my birthday wrapped up with candy!


* Did you watch the short track relay last night? Awesome. The U.S. team advanced easily, the Japanese tripped and got disqualified, taking down the Italian team; consequently, the Italian team moves on automatically. Know what that means? Instead of 16 skaters in choreographic chaos, there will be 20 skaters in the finals on Saturday. Mayhem! Bedlam! Anything could happen!

* They also had the preliminaries of the women's 500 meters the other night, and it's also a crazy mess because the whole thing is a sprint. Somebody fell and took down two other skaters, one of them plucky American Alison Baver. She got knocked down, but--as Chumbawumba would do--got back up again, and finished in qualifying position for the finals. (She didn't win.)
That's all great, but over the course of the evening's events the announcers must have mentioned at least three times that her boyfriend is speedskating star Apolo Anton Ohno. The first time, I was like "Oh?" After that, I was kind of irritated. In all the incessant nattering about Ohno--and god knows, I've nattered about Ohno enough myself--I've never heard anybody refer to him as Alison Baver's boyfriend. "Heartthrob," "cutie," "phenom," yes; "boyfriend of Alison Baver," no. Is it just because people won't recognize her name? Is it some sort of Cynthia Lennon-esque "don't let the fans know he's taken or they won't be as smitten" shunning? Is it because he's a stellar athlete and who cares about his dating life? And if that's it, why should we care about hers? I'm just saying.

* I finally watched the men's figure skating short program. I think the commentators are kind of bitchy. They were all over the poor French guy, summing up the conclusion of his performance with "O....kay?" I didn't realize Dick Buttons was such a shrew. They were nice enough to Peorian Matt Savoie, though, which pleases me, because maybe I'll run into him doing karaoke at the Liquor Basket and can be all "so...Dick Buttons is kind of a bitch, am I right?" Then he'd probably shake his pretty hair and sing "Through the Eyes of Love ("Ice Castles Theme Song")." Or "Ice, Ice, Baby." And then I'd probably spill High Life on his sequined shirt and get thrown out. Yay, Peoria!

* One last Olympic note: Russian speed skater Svetlana Zhurova credits her Olympic win to being a mother, because motherhood gives you strength. Take that, gents! There's one ergogenic you'll never harness!

Cheek: Yeah, baby.

I think I may have found my Winter von den Hoogenbad in American speed skater Joey Cheek. In last night's qualifying race of some non-short track variety, he raced his little heart out and came in well ahead of the nearest qualifier. After crossing the finish line he looked up to the board, and apparently couldn't find his score. When he did--a whopping doozy of a score, apparently, but since I know nothing of these things you'll have to trust me while I trust the commentators--he just kind of laughed. No fist pumping, no theatrics, no crazy-man yelling. Just an "aw shucks" laugh.

But the best was yet to be. Joey went on to win the gold, handily, and in a similarly under-ostentatious kind of way. Then he went to the medal winner's press conference, where he announced he's donating his winning money ($25,000 from the US Olympic Committee) to refugees from Dafur. To an organization set up by the best speedskater from a couple Games ago, Johann Olaf Koss. Awww! Johann Olaf Koss is the boss. Cheek told reporters "I know you want to write about happy American gold medal with hearts and flowers and butterflies, but I've got a pretty rare opportunity at a microphone like this, so I'm going to talk about death." Take that, Kostas! He pointed out that "my government" has labeled this a genocide, but it's still gotten little attention. He'll donate any other money he wins, too. He gently but pointedly suggested he'd be asking Olympic sponsors to match his donations. (Nike has already said they're in.)

He's adorable and appears to be not macho insane-o and he's awesome and humanitarian. To that, I say: You, Joey Cheek, are a champion. You win the gold medal of my devotion. Huzzah!

***

In other news: Our vice president shot somebody? In the face? Who then had a heart attack? Eh. I'm sure nobody'll notice.

I particularly like that (a) the VP has time to relax away from the pressures of running a war, specifically by taking up arms. Now in his next surprise visit to Iraq, he can really relate to the soldiers. Thank god quail are piss-poor with improvised explosives. (B) that after getting Whittington to the hospital, the rest of the gang sat down to a nice dinner. Why mess with reporters when there's all that fresh meat to eat?

Potential for carnage. In Spandex. That's hot!

I was thinking I didn't really have a winter Olympics sport to get really excited about, but that's because my short term memory has been killed off with cheap beer and bad whiskey. How else could I have forgotten my 2002 love, short track speed skating?

I love short track speedskating. I mean, I LOVE IT. It's crazy. Especially relay, which is just seriously, chaotically, beautifully poised for utter mayhem from the gun to the finish line. There are four concentric circles of speedskaters weaving in and out of each other and doing the most literal tush-push maneuver possible, and they're all going really fast and are about 2 inches from each other and are on ICE. It's nuts. It's like a tornado! Of sharp edges! Seriously, y'all. It's like roller derby on razor blades.

And, if that's not enough--and HOW could that not be enough?--I just found out two things that will make this day a golden shiny beacon of delight. Are you ready?

Okay. First: Do you know where short track speed skating was invented? No? I'll give you a hint. It rhymes with "Ham pain."

Second: Oooooh, this is good. Do you know where there’s going to be a short track speedskating championship next weekend that’s open to the public and FREE? AND they’re doing relay for the first time ever, so you know it’s going to be an insane mess of crashes? DO YOU?

Do you know how excited I am right now?

Lately on the TV

I have about fifty things to write about, but typing and time aren't going so great these days, so I haven't gotten around to it. So instead you get QuickCaps! Tiny little disjointed notes from my brain!

1.State of the Union. Ugh. Wasn't that the most pointless SotU yet? In case you didn't get the chance to watch it, take notes, and review the videotape later, here's the gist: Our union is strong, we're the sowers of freedom in the fields of unfreedom, and in response to Sputnik we will be putting more money to math and science. Republicans and Democrats disagree on pretty much everything from Medicare funding to whether Nancy Pelosi should cut her hair. Because of the flu I was trying to watch this on club soda alone. I think we can all agree sobriety is no way to run a country. Right, George?

Some highlights from my notes:
* "Bin Laden's taking shelter in Iraq? Is anybody fact-checking this? Did that come from Downing Street?"
* "I don't know what pattern is on Cheney's tie, but it's going crazy on the TV. Mind control tie!"
* "8:32. Wire tapping. Says it's for international calls. Says 'appropriate' members of Congress have been informed. Hilary grins broadly at the campaign commercial this will make. W. looks back at her like he's going to tell the rest of the football team she totally put out."
* "8:39: God, I want to line-item veto smarmy cheeky monkey fucking face."
* "8:48: GW says 'environment' for first time. Ever."
* "8:55: credits drop in crime, abortion, and drug use to rising 'conscience' in youth and abstinence-only education. Maybe I should just have one drink."
* "8:57: [indecipherable scribbling] Laura. Whore!"
* "9:00: HOW do you compare the war in Iraq to the work of Lincoln and MLKing? On the day Coretta SK DIED? Man. Somebody better call that shit out."

I was watching it mostly on ABC, who were kind of deliciously bitchy themselves.

Here's the tally:
Appearances of word "freedom": 17
"Hope" and "hopeful":21
"Katrina": 0
"Strong" and "strength": 10
"Wiretapping": 0
"AIDS": 6
"Condom": 0
"Protect": 10
"Defend": 1
"Attack": 6

Thank god that's over for another year! But next, the TV event of the biennial: The Games of the Umptieth Olympiad.

Although I don't normally track luge results, I admit it: I dig the Olympics. I like having one fortnight every couple of years to be all cheery and sporty and into crazy sports that somebody spent every day of the last two years thinking about, obsessively, almost monomaniacally, so they could get 16 seconds to sled down a hill. I like watching it and being all "Who knew Nepal is also known for skiing?"

Last night were the opening ceremonies. They were way overblown and weird, the way they always are, because the host country has to prove that they have a long and culturally important history, but that they're all about the now! And well into the future! The future is Torino! (I was disappointed, however, but the utter lack of shroud-related spectacles in the ceremony.)

My favorite part in the opening is the parade of athletes, when each nation comes walking in to the arena and NBC's design team puts up little country factoids and you can judge each nation on it's population density and their athletes' fashions. Let's face it: It's hard to look elite and sophisticated in winter wear, particularly sporty winter wear. The US actually looked pretty good this year, nicely subtle in black or white coats. Nice to see them keeping the garish red/white/blue/stars/stripes/Hollywood-and-cluster-bomb motifs to hats and gloves. Macedonia had wicked awesome fur hats, which apparently they always wear and which give the appearance of a fox casually devouring one's head. Japan went with the winter-head-warming power of nylon baseball caps, and sported an upside-down maple leaf on their jackets. Fuck off, Canada! Somebody, maybe Russia, had delicious coats for their ladies--white with red trim that looked like retro majorette costumes. And spats boots! Yay!

But the really messed up part was that this whole lengthy parade of athletes took place to the beat of (mostly American) disco music. The first 10 or 12 nations to walk in entered to "I Will Survive." I believe the Italians got "YMCA." So, if we believe the lessons of Turin, Night 1: Italy = Romans, Renaissance, Da Vinci, Pavarotti, and Gloria Gaynor. Sounds about right to me.

Groundhog Day!

Groundhog Day! Groundhog Day!
Let's get drunk and stand aroundhog day!
Will you see your shadow? Will you spread a flea?
Will you cast bubonic plague around me?
Will you hear the news and go back down to your bed?
Will you play some Patsy and wish that you were dead?
Will you see the sunshine, and think your hole is sweeter?
Will you be offended by my careless sense of meter?

There should be more jumprope rhymes about groundhogs. And the answer to that last one should be "yes," if you're a groundhog with any decent poetic sensibilities.

Today I stopped at the gas station to get coffee after lunch, and there was this sort of wild-eyed grimy guy getting coffee too. Maybe he's a construction worker, or maybe he's a murderer hobo--we don't really know. But we do know this: man likes him some sugar. He's got a cup of coffee in a go-mug, and he stood there and put about 18 packets of sugar in it, three packets at a time. He'd grab three packets, whap-whap-whap-whap-whap-whap them against his fingers, then dump them into the cup. Then he'd grab another three. I figure he's either trying to get as many free calories as possible into that cup, or else there is going to be some seriously hyper constructing going on around here.


Geez. Reading back over this, it sounds like I'm the one who put 18 packets of sugar in her coffee. Sheesh.

Flee, flu.

I declare this flu OVER! Bring on the health! Whoo.

Today I found a sequin on the floor of the warehouse ladies room. My first thought: "Hey! A sequin!" My second thought: "Who the hell's wearing sequins to work?"

As it turns out, I found at least three people who could have been the sequin dropper. And that's just in the departments closest to me. How did I miss the fact that wearing sequins to work is now okay? Sequin gown Wednesday. It's the perfect counterpoint to casual Friday.