Life's Little Victories

"I accidentally made you a large," the girl at the Tim Horton's window said, handing across a huge iced cap. "But we're only charging you for the medium."

Must be a Friday. Mondays never start like this.

Watched the men's free skate last night, which was kind of fun. Pleshenko came into it so far ahead from his short program scores that he could have walked off the ice halfway through and spent three minutes playing jacks in the hallway and still gotten the gold. Johnny Weir looked stupid and then suffered the indignity of being described by my mother as "that little American fruitcake." Plus, I love the CBC figure skating commentators. I think they held some kind of nationwide search for the meanest people in Canada. I'm not kidding. Do not fall while these people are watching. You plotz the landing of a triple and over on NBC, Scott Hamilton will talk about how sad it is and how disappointed you must be, but man, the Olympics . . . so much pressure, you know, he's just got to feel for you. Not on CBC. No, in Canada, Paul Martini will say that you have a history of tragic performances (and he will not say this with any kind of sympathy whatsoever) and that catty chick whose name I never catch will make a few pointed comments about your lack of training and fortitude. And it's worse if you are a Canadian, too. If they think you are a choke artist, Emmanuel Sandhu, then dammit, Brian Williams will not let up until Kurt Browning says, in the studio, in front of the world, that you are a choke artist. Then they will compare your cute, Bronze-medal winning competition to all that is beautiful and great about Canada.

Out of town saps stuck with NBC coverage: yet again, the best part of CBC is the commercials. Tim Horton's has one about a dad and grandfather and hockey that never fails to make me cry, but this year's Men With Brooms award goes to the Bell Canada spots with Frank and Gordon, the best spokesbeavers ever. Be sure to read that list of "10 things about Frank and Gordon," by the way.

While we are on the subject, the New York Times had an article yesterday about the fine and noble sport of curling. How they managed to do this without interviewing local curling convert and prodigy NJ is a mystery to me. Curling is perhaps the most hypnotic and entrancing sport ever. Flipping past it quickly you may think "okay, weird" and then move on. . . but be careful my friend. Many the viewer has paused for just a moment to try and figure out this whole rock-and-broom strangeness and found themselves captivated for hours on end. It sucks you and it doesn't let go. Be warned.

One final note--the blogger spellchecker suggested that I replace "fruitcake" with "britches." I hope this amuses you as much as it does me.