Datebook: Monday, February 4th ~ 2008
I seem to have enhanced jet-lag. Seriously, this is like high–definition hang-over jet-lag compared to just the every day cable-ready version.
This is unusual because St. Paul was only in a one-hour time zone difference.
I think this might have something to do with diminished stored body heat—I have spent the past seven days wearing turtleneck sweaters and wool pants, sleeping under two blankets at night, and wearing my scarf in-doors even after I took off my coat.
And I have been extremely tired and sleepy.
“I’m going to bed”, I told my husband on Tuesday night.
“But the news is on,” he answered as if I make my life as an AP correspondent.
“I know, we always go to bed when the news comes on,” I replied with a yawn.
“But it’s the six o’clock news!”
On Saturday, NBC aired what they billed as the Exhibition from the Sunday performances. Since we were on the tarmac at 10:30 Sunday morning, we missed this extravaganza and I was almost looking forward to watching it from the comforts of my multi-blanketed family room. As the camera panned the Xcel Center though, I started getting that feeling in the pit of my stomach—the one that seemed to “back-to-the-future” me with the smell that permeated the arena—a mixture of burnt popcorn and Walleye sandwich (I never ate one but it was on every menu in town!). I listened very carefully and thought I heard “Genie in a Bottle” and “Skater Boy” on the first warm-up, but then the program shifted and I was watching the short and long of women and men again. I kept hitting the info button, but it still kept reading, “US Nationals Exhibition of Champions”.
And then, of course, we had the replay of the Evan and Johnny orchestrated hate-fest. It just seems like whoever wanted this rivalry forgot to tell, well, Evan and Johnny. So instead of coming across as the modern version of the Sharks and the Jets, or a lame version of a Zoolander run-way walk-off, it is unfolding as a minor blimp, much like two drivers racing for one parking space and the one who doesn’t get it smacks his steering wheel in frustration.
No need to go to the Truth Booth.
Wow, imagine how scary that could be instead of merely having a Doping Policy with mandatory samples, if all skaters would be forced to go into the Truth Booth and honestly answer questions from either Nancy Kerrigan or Bob Costa.
“No, I did not like doing double run-throughs the last few weeks, and I may have taken my coach’s name in vain. Okay, I did use a few of the George Carlin list of words you cannot say on television attached to my coach’s name.”
“No, I did not feel authentic wearing my (turban, lariat, lederhosen, crystal ball, Jasmine, Mufasa, leprechaun) costume for the OD, but, on the bright side I think I now have an audition tape if I want to try out for Disney on Ice.”
Anyway, I fell asleep during the latter part of the exhibition, so I’m not sure if it actually got around to showing any of the Sunday skating.
I’m thinking my malady is akin to the nature of bears; they hibernate in cold weather in escape those minus degree temperatures, and the boredom that comes from countless days of watching the thermometer.
Mombo
This is unusual because St. Paul was only in a one-hour time zone difference.
I think this might have something to do with diminished stored body heat—I have spent the past seven days wearing turtleneck sweaters and wool pants, sleeping under two blankets at night, and wearing my scarf in-doors even after I took off my coat.
And I have been extremely tired and sleepy.
“I’m going to bed”, I told my husband on Tuesday night.
“But the news is on,” he answered as if I make my life as an AP correspondent.
“I know, we always go to bed when the news comes on,” I replied with a yawn.
“But it’s the six o’clock news!”
On Saturday, NBC aired what they billed as the Exhibition from the Sunday performances. Since we were on the tarmac at 10:30 Sunday morning, we missed this extravaganza and I was almost looking forward to watching it from the comforts of my multi-blanketed family room. As the camera panned the Xcel Center though, I started getting that feeling in the pit of my stomach—the one that seemed to “back-to-the-future” me with the smell that permeated the arena—a mixture of burnt popcorn and Walleye sandwich (I never ate one but it was on every menu in town!). I listened very carefully and thought I heard “Genie in a Bottle” and “Skater Boy” on the first warm-up, but then the program shifted and I was watching the short and long of women and men again. I kept hitting the info button, but it still kept reading, “US Nationals Exhibition of Champions”.
And then, of course, we had the replay of the Evan and Johnny orchestrated hate-fest. It just seems like whoever wanted this rivalry forgot to tell, well, Evan and Johnny. So instead of coming across as the modern version of the Sharks and the Jets, or a lame version of a Zoolander run-way walk-off, it is unfolding as a minor blimp, much like two drivers racing for one parking space and the one who doesn’t get it smacks his steering wheel in frustration.
No need to go to the Truth Booth.
Wow, imagine how scary that could be instead of merely having a Doping Policy with mandatory samples, if all skaters would be forced to go into the Truth Booth and honestly answer questions from either Nancy Kerrigan or Bob Costa.
“No, I did not like doing double run-throughs the last few weeks, and I may have taken my coach’s name in vain. Okay, I did use a few of the George Carlin list of words you cannot say on television attached to my coach’s name.”
“No, I did not feel authentic wearing my (turban, lariat, lederhosen, crystal ball, Jasmine, Mufasa, leprechaun) costume for the OD, but, on the bright side I think I now have an audition tape if I want to try out for Disney on Ice.”
Anyway, I fell asleep during the latter part of the exhibition, so I’m not sure if it actually got around to showing any of the Sunday skating.
I’m thinking my malady is akin to the nature of bears; they hibernate in cold weather in escape those minus degree temperatures, and the boredom that comes from countless days of watching the thermometer.
Mombo
posted by ice-dance.com @ 4:43 PM
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