Okay, that wasn't even CLOSE.

That shattering noise you heard at 6:17 PM EST was the sound of Smarty Jones winning the Preakness by TWELVE LENGTHS-- a record-breaking margin. Gary and Rock Hard Ten ran second, and honestly, I cannot be upset about this. A sweating and stunned Gary after the race: "I went to another gear, but Smarty Jones had four more." RHT was an SOB at the gate, absolutely refusing to load to the point where Gary actually had to climb off until after they finally got that monster in, something I've never seen him do before. (These post-time hysterics prompted a telephone call from Flipper and Gail: "Is this somehow your fault too?") By that time he finally loaded, the Rock was washy (sweating) and generally agitated, so I think that little to-do took something out of him, but there was still no WAY he was beating Smarty this afternoon. Final word on this one: DEAAAAAMMMMMMMMMMMMMMN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

WORST. SPELLCHECK. EVER.

I'll have you know, Blogger's spellcheck just yelled at me for incorrectly spelling "WaterCannon" in the previous post. Surely, said the spellcheck, wringing its hands, I meant to type "heterogamous." Oh thank God you caught that one, Blogger.

Also? It thinks the word "spellcheck"--no, really-- should be spelled "splices." WORST. SPLICES. EVER.

Who To Root For, Part II: Preakness Edition

Best Pre-Preakness Slam goes to New York Daily News, on 30-1 shot WaterCannon: "More like a squirt gun. Good luck."

Now my Gary is coming in from France to ride Rock Hard Ten in this thing, so you know where my loyalties lie. Stewart Elliott? It's been fun. We had a hot and heavy little fling, you and I, but once word got out on the fact that you pled guilty to simple assault on your ex-girlfriend, we were hella-through. "That was not a good part of my life," he told the press. Yeah, I'm sure it was a total blast for her too, Stuey. Elliott says he's now living clean and sober, and props to him for it, but it's going to take more than a blanket of roses to tear me from the orbit of the mighty Stevens. Nice try, kiddo.

Gary, for his part, was recently in the news when he got in trouble for trying to be nice. He wore patches of the American and French flags on his riding breeches and was, in full French fashion, rather rudely told to take 'em off. (The patches, not the pants. I would hereby like to officially recognize this post as the very first time I have openly admitted to being fascinated with what is going on below the waist of Mr. Stevens.) Gary fought back with a marvelously Euro-fit temperstorm, threatening to leave the continent altogether until France-Galop officials pulled their surrender-monkey heads out of their asses and--guess what--surrendered. Gary was apologized to and sulkily told to go get back on his horse. "Yeah bitch," said Gary, and proceeded to win approximately fourteen thousand races in a row until I accidentally jinxed him.

Will Smarty Jones pull it off again? 'Tis in the hands of the racing gods. We shall see. Bob Costas starts coverage at 5 PM on Saturday EST, in which he will hopefully look less precious than he did in the Derby broadcast, wherein he opened the show half-leaning into the frame with some kind of fey umbrella over his head. Eighteen jockeys going to the post to hurtle forty miles an hour on the top of a half-ton racehorse, and he can't get his hair wet. You're the MAN, Bob. Twirl that parasol, baby. Twirl it!

Bets on the condition of Bob's umbrella, Gary's pants, and Stewart's rap sheet may be sent to: blondechampagne@hotmail.com

Oh thank God. Thank GOD.

Such a tiny little news item. Such happiness it brings:

"Fox officials say they are not interested for now in Deion Sanders, who left CBS in a contract impasse."

OH THANK YOU LORD. THANK. YOU. LORD. I may now watch my man Boomer in peace on Sunday mornings without the incessant self-loving of The Human Suit of Horror.

Sorry 'bout that, Gary....

I seem to have inadvertently jinxed Gary Stevens. He's currently riding in France, and lately he's been on an absolute tear. Win! Win! Win! Win! Get the hell out of my way, you with your frog horses! There is no stopping The Iceman! It has honestly been weeks and weeks since he's not at least finished in the money. (Granted, all this winning has taken place largely against French jockeys. I don't know if they have been just surrendering to him immediately in the paddock, or if they wait until they get all the way to out the starting gate to do it.)

Now, I do PR writing for Gary's website, and the other day when I checked his results out of Saint-Cloud I actually threw up my hands and cursingly broke out the thesaurus because I was literally running out of ways to type, "Gary Stevens won... again... some more." Damn you, Gary Stevens! Damn you and your victorious ways!

Well. Yesterday he actually did NOT post a win. A show, yes, but nothing more.

Whoops.

Ah, he'll pick it up again in the Preakness on Saturday. I hope. My thesaurus and I, we were enjoying the challenge.

Full Participation

I LOVE participating! Except in group projects! And icebreaker games! And brainstorming sessions! Also riots. Anything, really, involving other people.

But I got to participate in Mother's Day! This is the very first Mother's Day in which I was actually on the receiving end of something: My baby nephew sent me a card. *tear* But all general adoration of babies and the Joy of Getting Things aside, I strongly prefer to maintain my Mother's Day participation at this level for the time being.

My sister traced Jim's tiny little hand on the inside flap (this was a three-person project, I am told-- it took my dad to hold his hand down flat, my sister to do the tracing, and my mom to distract him with a gigantic mylar balloon shaped like a bumblebee. I NEED one of these balloons to bring to business meetings.) I brought the card to the Evil Boring Day Job and propped it up on my desk so I can see it all day long and have concrete evidence that life is not all engineers and windowless offices. See, this is one talented child. He can already make hand turkeys, which are frankly beyond his godmother.

I got to talk to Jim on the phone last night. He was winding up a very productive hour of nonstop screaming ("There are other ways to say hello to your aunt instead of yelling!" my sister pointed out, to absolutely no effect.) So I got him on the horn and told him to suck it up. "NASA doesn't like whiny commanders, Jim, so you'd better get your shit together if you want to get to Mars," I said, and you know what? He stopped crying. See, it's all about the threats and the fear, properly applied. I am the BEST AUNT EVER.

In other news, Jim hurled all over himself and the interior of my sister's car yesterday. Come to think of it, I could totally use him to ride around with a couple ex's of mine.

"She should've stayed on the plane."

Thus spake one of the guys in the bar where I was watching the Friends finale. See, I would have paid to see that.

One of my worst fears about the Friends finale was not realized: It did not, in fact, suck. Given the toilet quality of the past season, the entirety of which was apparently written in as much time as it takes to do that clap-thing along with the theme song, I expected something monumentally awful, perhaps even on a Seinfeld level of mass self-implosion. Instead, the finale was funny and even a little twisty. I laughed more during this episode than I have all season-- which, obviously, isn't saying much. (Granted, I was also drunker during this episode than I have been all season.)

This show jumped the shark when Chandler married the highly obnoxious Monica, and it leapt the entirety of Sea World when Emma was born of Ross and Rachel-- then summarily vanished. It's been a chore lately, follwing these people. This year's Thanksgiving episode, for example, in which hippie Phoebe entered li'l bastard Emma in a baby beauty pagent--Pheobe! Competitive! In a beauty pagent!-- made me want to start turning over cars.

(Speaking of vanishing babies: Remember when Ross' first child, Ben, was born? And Monica cried, and said, "I will always have gum"? And you know desparate she was to have a baby? Why then did we immediately not see her lavishing attention upon her nephew? Did Ben fall down the same black hole as Emma did? Where the hell's the gum, Auntie Monica?)

I must applaud a stab at symbolism in which Joey's foosball table, which represents the character's immaturity and collegiate-style lives, was destroyed to save two baby chicks trapped inside. It was especially fitting that Monica, whom I have long despised, did the actual chopping. It's Monica! Fun's over!

I must BOOOOOOOOOOOO, however, Chandler becoming completely unChandlerized in the following speech to one of his twins: "This was your first home. It was a happy place." Okay. Stop there. Just stop. There. That's fine-- simple, understanted, nicely done. But THEN the script goes, "Full of--laughter, and-- LOVE!" I about spewed my island colada. Come on, Chandler. Could you BE any more dorkified?

I felt it really wasn't necessary for me to even watch the episode, given that NBC gave the entire thing away two weeks ago when they promoed a clip of Ross bleating "I love you!" to Rachel in the middle of an airport. Indeed, in the show's final moments, they weep, "It's you and me!" Uh-- and-- and the baby you made together out of wedlock? Remember her?

But I watched anyway, and YES I cried, and to the guy down the bar staring at me as I wiped away tears, I AM ON MY PERIOD, OKAY!?!?!!