Thoughts on the Closing Ceremonies...

I love that the Canadians can laugh at themselves about the fourth arm malfunction. Awesome.

I am jealous of Team USA's cardigans and I want one.

It was so nice to see Ryan Miller smiling and happy.

I have no idea what is being sung during the Russian national anthem, but it is one of the most beautiful anthems, musically, I have ever heard. (And I even thought that back when it was the Soviet anthem and I was afraid they were going to invade us Red Dawn style.)

My favorite part is always when the IOC President calls upon the youth of the world to assemble four years hence. That gives me a thrill.

Michael J. Fox! Yay!

Michael Buble is Canadian? That was unexpected. (I just love him. He looks like a frat boy, and then he opens his mouth and Sinatra comes out.)

Are those Mounties doing the Charleston? Is that child dressed as a puck? Is that an army of ginormous, inflatable beavers being hauled around by lumberjacks as a tuxedoed crooner presides over it all? Ah, the home of decriminalized marijuana use.

I am so sad the Olympics are over. Thank you, Canada. I can't wait for London.

Even I am not immune to the power of Canadian kindness.

Did anyone watch the Olympic coverage this afternoon? Tom Brokaw did an hour-long feature on a small town in Newfoundland that took in 7,000 stranded Americans whose planes were grounded after American airspace was shut down on September 11th. I can't really talk about it because I'm too busy crying, but if you caught it you'll understand.

I can only say that this morning I was consumed with bloodlust for the gold medal hockey game tomorrow. I had gotten over the weirdness of rooting against Sidney Crosby and I wanted the Americans to pulverize the Canadians. Just really destroy them, you know? But now I just want them to politely beat the Canadians. You know, nothing too humiliating.

My plans for the day are made.

We got called off from work today because of the weather, which is probably good because I have 33 hours and 26 minutes of Olympic coverage waiting for me on my DVR. Don't tell me who won the ice dancing last week. I'll be finding out soon.

The tickets are now diamonds!

My friend alerted me to the utter hilarity of this commercial, but what I really love is how it's done with one contiguous shot. Kinda like that movie Russian Ark, only much shorter and hocking body wash.

Well, this was a surprise.

So, the part that was totally rusted on my deathtrap of a car was recalled by Hyundai recently. So I called up Hyundai to let them know that the recall was a little too late for me and my wretched junker and, get this, they're actually going to pay for the repairs. They're not even going to make me push the thing to a Hyundai dealer. They're going to let me send them the bill from the auto shop where it is now, and they're going to reimburse me. Can you believe that? Neither can I.

My mother says I have to stop badmouthing them now, but I say the car is crap and it almost killed me and I will continue to badmouth as I see fit.

However, I must say there was quite the vehement reaction to all this car news when I announced it at a family dinner last night. And the reaction was a general, "Oh for pity's sake, does anything ever not work out for you?" (And to that question I say, "Yes! My crap car needed a new engine! I'm prone to bumping into doorways when I walk! Germany is creeping up on us in the medal count!" But okay, for the most part life proceeds delightfully.)

Anyway, Linda immediately jumped on the phone to tell Giz so he could roll his eyes. My mom said, "I was wondering how you'd come out smelling like a rose after this, but you always come out smelling like a rose." Brian just laughed and shook his head. But that's because he's still not over the delays, early dismissals, and cancellations we get at work. Sorry, Bri.

Never buy a Hyundai. They make hideous cars that will try to kill you.

My car loves this movie.

My car is paid off.

And there ends the list of nice things I have to say about it.

Other things I have to say? I suspect it wants me dead. I don't know if it thinks it's a beneficiary on my life insurance or something, but if it does, it has highly overestimated our relationship.

Evidence my car has it in for me:

Exhibit A: The engine died, 2000 miles outside of its supposedly fab warranty. If the engine itself wasn't a health hazard, having to replace it so early certainly was.

Exhibit B: The windshield wipers have a habit of tangling themselves up like something out of a Dali painting, or ceasing to work altogether. Generally in the rain. Not that they ever did a stellar job anyway.

Exhibits C - F: Blatant attempts on my life this weekend. Allow me to explain. I came to visit Linda and Giz this weekend to get Oscar ready. As I was driving to their house, an evil person pulled out in front of me, causing me to swerve to avoid broadsiding his evil vehicle. My deathtrap of a car hit some snow and my steering wheel decided, "I've had enough of this whole 'controlling the tires' gig" and just stopped doing so. I could turn the wheel 360 degrees and my tires were like, "Whatever. We're on strike."

I called AAA (best purchase ever) which I only just got last month (why, hello awesome timing) and they sent a tow truck. When the guy arrived he looked under my car and exclaimed, "Holy s**t! Your [insert name of car part I do not know] is completely rusted away!" He said he'd never seen anything like it. I swear my car chuckled to its diabolical self. It's only regret was that it didn't get me on the turnpike when I was going... well, faster than I'd like to admit while my mother has access to this blog.

Maybe it's time to buy a Vespa.

I've kinda been dreading this.

Oscar readiness continues as, weather permitting, I will be seeing The Lovely Bones tonight.

Please, please, please do not let this ruin Stanley Tucci for me. I may have to rush home and watch Julie and Julia to wash out my brain.

False advertising! (Although it did make me want to eat chicken.)

Have you seen these McDonald's commercials for chicken McNuggets? The tagline is, "golden, juicy chicken McNuggets: the favorite of athletes at the Olympic Winter Games."

Excuse me? Exactly which athletes are these? I find it impossible to believe the superbly conditioned athletes competing in Vancouver are hoovering down Mickey D's. Those biathlon dudes are not eating McNuggets. Ludicrous.

Okay, maybe the curling dudes. Maybe.

Olympic champion Vincent Jay is not eating chicken McNuggets.

Upon watching the opening ceremonies...

Zack, Liz, Kris, and I are watching the opening ceremonies tonight. During the parade of nations, we kept track of the number of athletes fielded by each nation. 109 here, 152 there. Then the US Team entered the stadium, 216 athletes strong. The conversation went thusly:

Liz: 216! We win.

Ali: Suck it, world!

(pause)

Ali: We're so gracious.

Don't judge me; I've been snowbound.

I spent the better part of yesterday watching a marathon of MTV's Jersey Shore. Amanda and Gena recommended it and it did not disappoint. It was such magnificent trash--the perfect methadone to my Rock of Love withdrawal.

The entire cast was orange, and composed of silicone, collagen, steroids, hair extensions, and rum. It was appalling. And hilarious. I'm still recovering.

My favorite

Also, Abe Vigoda is alive? Who knew?

Gah!

I was feeling better this morning so I went out to shovel a path to my garage. Why hello, blizzard. Next door, Jones was standing in the middle of four feet of snow shaking his head, dismayed that he doesn't live in Florida. Anyway, I was shoveling away, listening to my iPod (P!nk is best for shoveling) and I was almost to the garage door when the shovel caught my earbud cord, whipped my iPod out of my pocket and through the air, and disconnected it from the earbuds still lodged in my ears. For a moment I saw its shiny silver backing silhouetted against the bright morning sky and then it was gone. Oh fudge.


Ack! I raced to dig through three feet of snow to discover my precious object. Then I raced into the house (I may have been screaming in horror--I don't know--you'd have to ask Jonas) and dried it as best I could. It actually appears to be working perfectly; the music plays, the Moron Test tests, the Lightsaber app swishes and hums. Thank goodness Apple makes these things idiot-proof because I am the clumsiest person I know.

That was plenty of excitement for one day. The rest of my afternoon will be spent this way:

I can't wait to hear the woman say, "She stepped into the spin, then I'm not sure, but it looked like she got caught in his lederhosen."

Sick, sick, sick.

Well, I feel wretched. I don't know what's wrong with me, but I'm achy, tired, and all-around miserable. Sort of like Marianne in Sense and Sensibility, although thankfully no one is bleeding me from the arm. (shudder) I came home from work last night and and thought, "I'll just lie down for a nap." Well, that nap lasted about fourteen hours. I plan to repeat it again tonight.

The worst is I haven't seen my sweet little niece in almost a week. Blargh!

This is how I feel. (Minus the lovelorn.)

And so it begins...

The Oscar nominees were announced today. I have had this on my calendar for a long time, the way you might mark off a birthday or trip. This is serious stuff.

There weren't many surprises. I'm am most pleased that Jeremy Renner got a nomination for his excellent work in The Hurt Locker. The whole film rested on his shoulders and if he hadn't give such a nuanced performance, he'd have taken the whole film down with him. I've enjoyed his work for a long time now, and I'm happy he's getting some recognition.

I'm also happy for Carey Mulligan. The world at large only now seems to be discovering her, but those of us who live and breathe Masterpiece Theatre are all like, "Duh. She's awesome and has been for a long time."

Despite the inclusion of ten Best Picture noms, the awards themselves don't seems to hold many questions. I feel like all the acting categories are forgone conclusions (Jeff Bridges, Meryl Streep, Christoph Waltz, Mo'Nique) and even Best Picture seems pretty firmly in Avatar's hands (although I'd love to see The Hurt Locker or Inglourious Basterds slip in there, as I am convinced they were both far superior films). But none of that really matters because I'm so psyched that Oscar season has begun and I can immerse myself in movie watching (or at least have an excuse for it.)

The Zombie Scarecrows

Perhaps you've noticed that one of the items in my Planning List (down and to the left) has been "Fielding a trivia night team at the Windber Hotel." Tonight I remove that item from the list because we totally fielded a trivia night team at the Windber Hotel.

Laura, Mike, P, and I, a.k.a. "The Zombie Scarecrows" (points to those who know why we chose that name), took on a surprisingly large number of other teams. The place was packed with beer-guzzling, cheese-stick-munching, trivia hounds. We were in the hunt till the end, but alas, we failed to place. The sports questions were our undoing. Next time, Gadget. Next time.

P was pumped full of Troeg's Mad Elf. We're not sure if it enhanced or impaired his playing skills.