On my first college road trip ever, and it just happens to be Pancake Day.

Pretty freakin' sweet, considering that I spent 13 hours in a car for 11 waking hours in Liberal, KS. Jeff, Annie, Tim, and I all headed west for the grand festivities of this Shrove Tuesday. We left at noon yesterday, and spent the night at Jeff's parents' house (they happen to be super nice, by the way; they will receive the Church of Beer's highest order, just as soon as we, uh, think it up) where I realized that I am, indeed, a cookie addict (to go with my other status as a brownie whore). This morning, we dined on pancakes that really had quite a bit of soaking power, and watched as another KU grad student, Henry, gave a speech as England's official representative to Liberal for the day. Then we headed downtown to watch the series of pancake races held under sunny skies and in perfect temperatures (perfect, we believed, for what could be world record times). At noon the feature event, the international women's race, ended with the front-runner tripping 20 feet from the line, and the winning time in Liberal was five seconds slower than the time recorded in Olney, England, six hours previous, thus snapping Liberal's seven-year winning streak. Fortunately, this did not dampen our barbeque lovin's, and we then piled back into the car for the 6.5h trip back to Lawrence. A fantastic time with my best friends and some good food and the international brotherhood of running with breakfast pastries.

On a completely unrelated note, I wanted to amend my column that ran in today's Kansan; in my submitted version, the following paragraph goes in right after 'And, please, for the love of Tonya Harding, stop taking it all so damn seriously.' The editors are perfectly in their right to cut down as they see fit (they also made stylistic changes that I in no way take responsibility for, as always), but this passage makes a larger point that I wanted to discuss in addition to the others presented.

Lindsey Jacobellis fell in the final seconds of her snowboardcross final. She had a sizable lead on her Swiss opponent, and coming off the next to last jump, she pulled a method air, went off-balance and nearly wiped out before recovering to her feet and finishing with a silver medal. Her actions were treated with unimaginable disdain; to the journalists watching, she should have gone straight and narrow down that course, won her gold medal and waved her flag while giving a Wheaties smile. That she is still one of the top snowboarders on the planet doesn’t matter; that she and her fellow extreme athletes operate by a less, shall we say, stringent notion of athletic behavior is seemingly forgotten in the media. It’s not surprising, though, as it was forgotten by our society long ago.

And on another completely unrelated note, I am less than two weeks from the end of my yearbook career. I not only have to design 70 pages in the next twelve days, but likely come up with most of the pictures for said pages. In other words, I will be dead by 13 March. That, or I'll have an I.V. pumping maple syrup straight into my veins.

I can stop watching TV and have my life back!

[Compliments to Jeff for the title of this post.] Yes, my grand, unprecedented Olympic viewing experience is now complete. There are many, many things I could say about the Torino Games, but for right now I'd like to cap it with these few thoughts:

In such a magnificent stadium and setting, on such a special night...Ricky fucking Martin?

I have a serious crush on Mary Carillo.

I don't even want to know how many athletes have already gotten laid over there tonight.

I did go buy the Bode Miller autobiography. This is like when I finally started rooting for Howard Dean just as all of his momentum evaporated. Yes, a lot like that, but not really.

Bob Costas is getting on my nerves more often than usual.

And my videotape for the last day of competition and the ceremonies ended at literally the very second that the traditional closing montage on NBC ended. If that's not a sign, I don't know what is. Buona notte, all.

Ryan's TV time.

Updated daily to reflect the number of hours I have spent watching NBC's Olympic coverage since the Opening Ceremonies on the night of 10 February 2006: 106h

10 Feb: 4h
11 Feb: 7.5h
12 Feb: 7h (I'll have to wait until next weekend to go for the eight hour barrier)
13 Feb: 4.5h
14 Feb: 4.5h
15 Feb: 5h (Includes some Olympic late-night and the Today Show's Matt & Al going down a luge run while screaming like little girls)
16 Feb: 5.5h (An extra half-hour in primetime, plus some Olympic late-night on tape)
17 Feb: 5h (Lost a half-hour due to the greatest car battery replacement *ever*)
18 Feb: 11h (Admittedly, about five hours of this is on videotape to be watched tomorrow during the Daytona 500, when I should be studying)
19 Feb: 6h
20 Feb: 8.5h (Thanks presidents!)
21 Feb: 4.5h
22 Feb: 4.5h (Can I break one hundred?!)
23 Feb: 5h
24 Feb: 7.5h (Finally watched some of the Olympic late-nights that I had on tape)
25 Feb: 10h (I did it!! The Closing Ceremonies will truly be the icing on the cake)
26 Feb: 6h

Goosebumps.

It's amazing that as much figure skating as I've watched in the last thirteen days, I just can't seem to get into the ladies. All of the talk about the new scoring system detracting from the artistic elements has finally caught up to me I guess. While watching the pairs and the ice dancing I thought it was great that the system was now demanding athleticism to be brought in to the routines, but we expect something different from the women as they skate alone. We want grace, and we get endless spinning crotch shots. We want them to float, not speedskate. We want art and power, and the times we get both seem to be few and far between anymore.

Perhaps I spoiled myself when I accidently broke cardinal rule #1 and clicked on ESPN.com this afternoon and was a touch too slow to raise my hand to the screen. Perhaps I further inflamed it when I went to NBColympics.com and clicked up the video of Sarah Hughes' free skate in 2002. But I'm not sorry for the latter; it was perhaps the most sublime performance I have seen in eight Olympics, and I'm not ashamed to admit that I choked up a good number of times while rewatching it. In every Olympics I have what I like to call the 'goosebumps test': who makes me absolutely unable to sleep that night after watching them. Sarah aced that one four years ago, a rising performance that just took your breath away with each element.

Tonight, there was sadly none of that (though of all the Olympians this time around, Irina was most certainly my most favorite to watch). I wish a gold medal could always be won in the strength of a competition, and not merely by default. With this new system yes we get plenty of jumps, but we don't get our goosebumps. Athletics and aesthetics, when done right, should be inseparable. When done right, they should make us jump.

Forza Italia.

I would apologize for the lack of posts about anything other the Olympics this past week, but I could give a damn. Not since Atlanta in '96 have I had this much fun watching an Olympics. Throughout the 60 hours so far that I've devoted myself to, I've been picking up on all sorts of little things about each sport: skidding in the bobsled, tucking in the downhill, lifting on the ski jump. Indeed the big surprise for me has been my newfound fascination with figure skating; tonight's ice dancing performances have made me repent for all the laughs I ever gave to comedians who made fun of this event.

And after yesterday's superb documentary on the 'Great Race', the 4x10km men's cross-country relay in Lillehammer '94 in which Italy upset the heavily-favored Norwegians on home-snow, I was even more excited about the fourth installment of that famed rivalry. Ultimately, one of these years the race would have to be a blow-out, and this time it was Italy coming in first, a minute and fifteen seconds in front of Norway; regardless of margin of victory, the party was on in Torino and Italy, and it seems to have simply poured fuel onto the fire to carry these games through this last week of competition. Exams, yearbook, and Pancake Day notwithstanding, I'll carry on as well.

Nothing short about 5K.

If I knew how to skate, I would take up short-track speedskating in a heartbeat so that I can take part in the 5000m relay. That looks like the most fun sporting event *ever*. And that includes anything that the Swedes ever came up with.

(The joke there being that they like doing things naked. Like volleyball and go-cart racing.)

You can keep your basketball.

And your football, and your baseball, and your what the hell ever. I just watched the most amazing display of athletic courage and fortitude in my life. Zhang Dan bashes her knees on the ice, hits the boards, and still manages to skate well enough to win a silver medal, but I'm sure that was the last thing on their minds during the remaining four minutes of their free skate. They attempted what had never been done (and I mean never; Inoue and Baldwin hit a throw triple axel before they came to the Olympics, so they were just here for the record), chose to complete what they stepped onto the ice to do, and I'll be damned if I wasn't a babbling idiot by the end. God I love this stuff.

ETA: A commenter in the TWoP 2006 Winter Games forum (no, my TV time doesn't reflect all of the time I spend on Olympic related materiel each day, which is sad in itself) said "How incredible is it that all 3 medal-winning pairs have had major injury within the past year and a half, 2 of them on ice? That speaks to the toughness of these athletes." Indeed.

Sequins.

I am finding myself absolutely transfixed by the pairs figure skating right now. I've watched figure skating since Albertville in 1992, but I guess I never really looked at the athleticism required to do some of the things these guys and girls are able to do on a sheet of ice with quarter-inch wide steel blades on their boots. I'm not saying that I'll be just as devoted to ice dancing, but for tonight they've got a convert.

And to prove the point, I totally forgot about this.

Commercialization.

I am very much in love with the ExxonMobil commercial of the kids walking, bouncing, and otherwise making the movements of winter olympians, because I very much did that myself when I was in third grade and first realized just what the Olympics were. I especially remember speed skating down the hallways at school...and everywhere else we went, I suppose.

Meanwhile, Chick-Fil-A is on my shitlist until the end of time. Their new spot in which a cow holds up a line of bulldozers trying to build a new burger joint is about the most dispicable commercial I've ever seen. Using one of the most powerful images and symbols of freedom in history–the man standing in front the tanks at Tiananmen Square–is and should be beyond the pale for any profitable use, especially for second-rate chicken sandwiches (and no, not even your waffle fries can save you this time).

Of all the times I wish I had HDTV.

I'm not quite sure it was the best opening ceremony I've ever seen, but it was definitely the most beautiful. Stadio Olimpico looked absolutely stunning from every which way; the dove and the ski jumper were about the most original artistic portions I've ever seen in an OC; Pavarotti deserved to be in the largest opera house ever; and the lighting of the cauldron was neat and imaginative (if solely because the only other way to light it would've been by helicopter). The disco music during the parade of the athletes was definitely inspired, though it ranks behind Athens bringing in DJ Tiësto for a live house rave. And if there are more women over there who look like Carla Bruni, then Fabrica or no Fabrica, I'm making my way to Italy when I'm all said and done here in Lawrence.

Now for the minuses: STFU Brian Williams. You damn near ruined my seventh opening ceremony; if you're around for an eighth, I will cut you. NBC has a habit of splicing out lots of stuff to make room for the seven million hours of face time they have to give to Kwan, Bode, Chad, and Tomato Guy; they edited the hell out of Athens in 2004. And last but not least, somebody give Bob Costas an enema. Man's gone downhill since Barcelona in '92; maybe he's still suffering Dick Enberg withdrawals.

XX.

Fettuccine with organic spaghetti sauce: check. Two packs of blank videocasettes: yep. Couch and TV in optimal viewing angle: you got it.

My mom was saying earlier today how neat it is that I still get as excited for the Olympics as when I was a kid. To which I say, indeed. Let the Games begin.

On reviewing a movie when he should be sleeping.

So I realize I'm a little late with this, but Cidade de Deus (City of God) might be about the most amazing feature film I've ever seen. It didn't take my breath away like Diarios de motocicleta (The Motorcycle Diaries), but I set that standard pretty high when I walked out of Liberty Hall, turned to Tom, and said 'That's the greatest movie I'll ever watch.' Greatest, most amazing: there's a fine line there, even if only I can see it.

City of God was just flawless in its execution, in every way including the innovative flashbacks to tell the story (normally they can bog down, but the piecing together was fabulous). The acting, the cinematography, even the typography (nerd!) used for the chapter headings were all inspired. Well done indeed.

Alright, now it's off to bed. Almost fourteen hours until the opening ceremonies start in Torino! (Nineteen hours until the broadcast; damn NBC.) If you need me, you can find me in 17 days.

Record breaking, Pt. 2.

And as if the TV wasn't bad enough, I'm addicted to a computer game too. Nikefootball.com has this game called Upgrade where you pilot a vehicle that is shaped like a soccer boot through obstacles to score as many goals in a minute as you can, while also picking up time and point bonuses. I routinely place in the daily top ten, mostly in the top three, and I've been keeping track of my own records. A week ago my personal best was 31 goals and 4276p., which I thought to be damn good until I had the game of my life last night with 34 goals and a whopping 5222p., including 1600p. each for levels 2-4. Tonight, I couldn't play for shit, and only had 31 goals for 4506p. That's the problem with stellar, MVP performances; they weigh down on you every time you take the field of battle afterwards.

Goddammit, I'm serious about this.

I have TV again.

Yes it's only basic cable, but it still sucks you in sooooo fast.

On reading the very first issue of 'Play', the Times' new glossy sports magazine.

SI and ESPN should be thanking God that this is only a quarterly.

Cause the NFL can suck it, that's why.

I chose not to go somewhere to watch the Super Bowl this year, because I didn't want to be lambasted by the commercials and the pre-game and the pre-pre-game and the halftime show and everything that helps hide the fact that there is, in fact, a football game being played. I was hoping to listen to said game on the radio, but the NFL in its infinite wisdom has apprarently given the radio broadcast rights to Sirius and Westwood One; I don't have the former, and the latter has no stations near Lawrence. So congratulations to the National Football League: I'm going to spend this evening reading and listening to podcasts about anything other than football. Well, at least your kind of football.

"Bill made a funny. Hee!"

I used to think the biggest loss I suffered when I shut off my cable was 'The Daily Show.' Lately, though, I'm thinking it might be 'The Countdown' on MSNBC. Watch Olbermann destroy O'Reilly. And then watch it again, simply because you can't stop yourself.