we'll drink a cup of kindness yet

I hope all of you have a healthy, happy, and safe New Year's celebration.

 This year...where do I even begin? I started it the exact same way I ended it: in my parents' house, attending their annual NYE party with my best friend.  I've gotten a few invitations to other events, but there is literally nowhere else I'd rather be on the planet.  Not just because it's at my parents', but because it's with people that I love and it's an excuse to wear something pretty, eat great food, and watch my mother make a fool of herself on the dance floor.

2009 was at times the worst year of my life.  There were a lot of low points: That weekend down in New Jersey where I walked along the beach, crying hysterically because I knew I wanted to come home.  The dinner with Mom and Dad where I broke down and admitted I wanted more in my life than a life on the stage.  A struggle with disordered eating that I really don't care to detail but suffice to say I am completely past it and healthy.  And, of course, the move to New York that still feels like a crazy dream to me.  I really don't believe it even happened; when I think about it it's as if I am peering through saltwater.

But then, oh the highs.  Obama's Inauguration.  The trips to Trenton and St. Louis.  Finding out Dad would be the 2012 Olympics head coach and going insane because it was months before I could actually tell anyone about it.  The final countdown to the regional final win when Mom and Nonna smooshed me together in a sandwich hug of three generations.  Winning the National Championship, surrounded by my family, and seeing my sister cry as she hugged Kaili, which of course made me lose it entirely.  Meeting President Obama, a man I admire tremendously (it's borderline obsession), and getting to tour the White House.  The people I met this summer in NYC, and all of the wonderful dinners (obligatory shoutout to the Feast Infection Tuesday Night Dinner), conversations, and thrills.  Navigating my way through the insanity that is the Big Apple and feeling so proud when I actually managed to say to someone "I know the subways really well" and mean it.

And then there's this, this blog I started on a lark one day when I was sick on the couch and wanted to document my travels with the team.  I mentioned it to a friend, she posted it on the Boneyard, and the rest they say is history.  All of my readers: I'm giving you a great big giant hug.  You all made my year enumerably more satisfying.  I cherish the times I've had telling you about my life, both basketball related and non.  Here's to many more stories to tell.

See you in 2010...

ally

atta boy, clarence.

First off, I want you all to ask me questions about anything your little heart desires.  Go to http://www.formspring.me/alysamarsiella for details.

I hope all of you had as great of a week as I did.  What was my favorite part of this past week?

Nonna coming to town and bringing the snow and cookies with her (Monday)?
Having both the 2009 and 2000 National Champions in my house at the same time (Tuesday)?
Watching the decimation of the second best team in the country in an absolutely electric XL Center (Wednesday)?
Christmas Eve party with my family and friends (Thursday)?
Eating cookies for dinner (Friday)?
Spending all my gift cards (Today)?

On Monday we all welcomed the arrival of the hottest woman this side of Philadelphia, my grandmother aka Nonna! She arrived with three bags of cookies including struffoli, an Italian peasant dessert consisting of tiny fried balls of dough smothered in honey and topped with rainbow shots.  She also brought her pineapple cookies, which are like incredibly tiny turnovers filled with pineapple puree.  They're in my garage right now.  I want some.  So bad.

That night, I went to my old stomping grounds at C.A.S.T. (a local children's theatre group I performed with until I turned 18) for the Summer 2010 musical auditions.  I'm helping assist Donna with the line coaching and acting work as well, and I must say we are getting one excellent group of kids.  The show this summer is The Wizard of Oz, and my goodness, our core group of four are going to be phenomenal. It was also great to see my first acting teacher, Donna, who directs the kids every year.  Nobody knows how to wrangle 140 ten-year-olds like Donna.

Tuesday night was the night I had been waiting for.  The night of the humongous party honoring both the current team and the 2000 Championship team.  Everyone from the previous team with the exception of Swin and Tamika (Swin's in China playing ball, Tamika's the ass't coach at KU) came over.  It was fantastic to see everyone, in particular Paige, Kelly, and Marci.  I hadn't seen them in years, and it was great catching up with them.  I had seen Stacey at the Final Four dinner back in St. Louis but it was still wonderful to see her again (especially since I found out she had to get a waiver in order to even attend since we're playing Oklahoma in February!).  A friend of the team, Lindsay, couldn't attend but decided to do something crazy anyway.  She sent a humongous cake that looked like it came straight out of the ovens on Cake Boss, topped with a mini replica of the National Championship trophy.  It was one of those situations where everyone thought it looked so good, it was a shame to eat it.  The next day I had a bite and came to the conclusion that while it looked phenomenal, the taste was the exact same as any other normal looking sheet cake.  Now, had this thing had Snickers bars or cream cheese in it, I would've moved into it.

I wish I'd gotten a lot of pictures from the night, however halfway through cocktail hour my camera decided to have multiple seizures, then die.  I was crushed, but made it a point to go out before Christmas Eve and get a new one.

The night was only curttailed by the fact that we had a big game the next day so it couldn't go on for hours.  Everyone got out of the house by midnight, which shocked me.  I was counting on stumbling downstairs at 1AM and yelling at Dad to turn the music down.  That happens usually every time we have people over.  The best part was that Sveta got to stay over, which thrilled Nonna to bits (Sveta's her favorite of all time).

Wednesday morning I crept downstairs, thinking I'd be the first one up.  Not a chance.  Mom and Nonna were already making coffee.  I dropped something with a loud crash and Mom hissed at me to keep quiet.  I thought it was due to Dad still being asleep, but Mom shook her head and pointed to the couch.  There, passed out in a clump, was my little brother, home from college for Christmas.  It was absolutely hilarious since he never, ever, ever sleeps in his own bed when he comes home.  He always picks a couch and sleeps on that.  It's the same thing at our beach house.   Sveta came downstairs next, and Mom brought her over to the couch to surprise Mike.  His reaction? "HEYYYY...*flump* *snore*"

Then came the Stanford game.  Now, Nonna and I are like two peas in a pod.  Both of us love to cook, and we do not handle close games well.  At all.  As most of you were well aware (due to my Twitter updates) for the majority of the first half and five minutes into the second, I was a total and utter wreck.  I hid in the bathroom for the last five minutes of the first half and put my head in my hands when Stanford made that small run after we had pulled away 19-10.  Maya made some dumb choices in the first few minutes of the game, but she was just trying to win the game all by herself.  Indeed, it felt like for the first chunk of the game everyone wanted to just blow Stanford out by 40 and get it over with.  I felt really bad for Caroline in particular, who was just so nervous and jacked up that it spilled over into stupid fouls and bad offensive decisions.  Dad feels the exact same way.  May I remind you, my dear blog readers, that prior to her injury Caroline had never played in a 1 vs. 2 game at UCONN? The biggest game she participated in was the Oklahoma game and that was a 1 vs. 4 (and that game didn't have nearly the amount of hype this one did).  So give the girl a break.  She'll be fine.

Then the second half, and oh my gosh! The second half was probably the most fun I've had at one of our games in years.  The atmosphere in the XL was pure adrenaline.  Everyone was freaking out and dancing and pumping their fists, and when Maya made that Baryshnikov-esque pass to Kalana it was game. OVER.  I don't know what it looked like at home but I hope it looked like 16,000 people losing their minds at exactly the same moment.

The next morning, I came downstairs and as I put my oatmeal in the microwave, Dad said "What'd you think?" The only thing I could think of to say was "Holy shit."  And Dad just laughed, then made me put the game on.  So I did.  And the bitching commenced.  Ahhh, life with my father.

Christmas Eve was absolutely everything I wanted it to be, however I was exhausted due to all of the stress of the season and just wanted to sleep for most of the day.  I ended up hanging out on the couch with my family as we watched It's A Wonderful Life, an Auriemma tradition.  Mom starts crying right when Mr. Gower slaps George's ear and doesn't stop until the end, and our entire family yells "GARLIC EATERS" right along with Mr. Potter.  My favorite line is one I've repeated many times to my father.  "Oh, why don't you stop annoying people."

Then came Christmas Vigil Mass with our new pastor, a very sweet man from Poland presiding over his first Christmas Mass as a priest.  I couldn't take his homily that seriously, however, as his accent made him a dead ringer for Pavel Chekov.  I half expected him to start talking about Vulcans (or, Wulcans).

Christmas party with our neighbors came next, which I have already talked about in entries past.  This year, one of the families decided to mark the occasion in a very special way.  She gave Mom a photo album containing pictures from the very first Christmas celebration in 1991 all the way up to last year.  It is a gorgeous testament to our amazing night together.  The evening culminated with my father sleeping on the couch, wrapped in a bright purple pashmina, while I watched the second half of the Stanford game for the umpteenth time.

Christmas Day was just as lovely as Christmas Eve, although my damn internal clock woke me up at 8 when everyone else clearly weren't up to the task.  We brunched and opened presents (Dad loved my gifts as his Secret Santa, by the way) and I was thrilled to receive all three things I had asked for, including Rosetta Stones in both Welsh and Italian (I know, I know, Welsh is a dying language, but it's a gorgeous one).

Around 2:00 we all headed to my brother in law's uncle's house (also he's a friend of Dad's, that's how Todd and Jenna met) for a huge Christmas Day dinner.  It was glorious, but it meant I was hungry at 7PM since we had eaten so early.  Cut to me eating precisely eight cookies and calling it a meal.  It's Christmas.

And now all that's left is New Year's Eve.  2010 promises to be the biggest year yet in the life of Miss Alysa Auriemma.  Stay tuned for a final year-end wrap-up and musing...

ally

this holiday season...be italian!

Part of me really, really wants to see Nine simply because that song is so brilliant.

Happy Sunday, all. I hope your day is lazy and filled with football and/or the Iona game on CPTV. I unfortunately cannot go since today is the day of auditions for the C.A.S.T. production of The Wizard of Oz, which i'm helping assist my old drama teacher with next summer. It should be a great few hours, although being on the other side of the table will prove to be intriguing. I haven't been able to watch an audition since my senior year of college when it was part of our final project, but this is an ENTIRELY different beast. I'll be watching 12 and 13 year olds duke it out, so I must be nice.

After a day of hell on Friday that involved long lines and short fuses, I'm officially done with all of my shopping. My horrendous choice in Secret Santa turned out to be in my favor, since the target in question kept dropping hints as to what they would like for Christmas. Like shooting fish in a barrel.

Yesterday was unbelievably lazy. I said 'screw it!' to working out and ended up heading over to the bank to open a savings account. At 24, I should've done this quite a long time ago, but I didn't have enough money to do so. With my steady job, I now have the funds, so into the bank they went!

Last night, Jenna and Todd came over for dinner and ended up spending the night since we got so much snow. We ate spaghetti and forced Mom and Dad to watch The Hangover, which is easily my favorite comedy of the year and not just because I have the world's biggest crush on Bradley Cooper (from Philly and Italian? Yes please!). This morning, we also watched the parody of Jersey Shore on last night's SNL, and can I just say the following things about that show:

1. Snookie is the most disgusting person I have ever seen in my life. Is that tan supposed to make her resemble a greasy Cheeto? And also, what is the ratio of Really Italian Names to Automatic Guido? It seems like I've met so many people with very Italian names, and 9 times out of 10 they're potential castmates on Jersey Shore.

2. Real guidos/guidettes don't have nicknames. They also know that 'guido' should only be used when you're yes, Italian, but also being gross. For example: my brother put the Italian horn in his car on the dashboard. He also wants to get a cross tattoo. Typical guido behavior.

3. On the journey to real Guido-dom, you clearly have to take as many steroids as possible until your head threatens to consume your body.

4. That is not the real Jersey Shore. The Jersey Shore I go to involves mini-golf, porchlight dinners, games of charades and bodysurfing. I don't go to the Jersey Shore to get plastered in a tube top. I save that for the privacy of my own home. What, you don't eat dinner in a tube top?

5. Muscle tees are gross. If I'm in a bar and I see you and you're wearing a muscle shirt, don't even think about talking to me. You clearly lack the chromosomes to discern your bad decisionmaking.

There is a difference between being a Guido and being Italian. Every Guido is Italian but, thank god, not every Italian is a Guido. Signs of an Italian include

1. Having a grandmother that has, at one point, threatened you with a shoe or wooden spoon.

2. Knowing what a stronzo is, and calling someone it when they're acting like one.

3. Having respect for The Horn but knowing it's not a required element.

4. Having one or two 'off the boat' parents. In this regard, I'm more guido than any of those freaks.

5. Hair that grows faster than a frickin Chia Pet, but never taming it with gel, just brushing it and hairspraying a bit will do just fine.

6. The ability to watch Jersey Shore and say 'WHAT THE HELL IS THIS? WE DON'T ACT LIKE THAT.'

7. Knowing what a zeppelin is, and no I don't mean the Nazi plane. Actually, this might be more of a Norristown, PA thing

8. Knowing the difference between fra diavolo and penne a la vodka.

9. NO MEAT ON CHRISTMAS. Only fish! However, our family doesn't do the seven fishes because baccala, for those of you who aren't aware, is really gross. Dried cod? no thank you.

10. Struffoli. Fried balls of dough dipped in honey and covered in rainbow shots. Yes.

11. Eating food is a competitive sport.

12. Having relatives that are Guidos.

13. Calling yourself a Guido when you do something that is Guido in its essence.

Actually, my family acts perfectly Anglo when we're possibly the most guido family on the planet simply in regards to our heritage. Both sets of great-grandparents lived in Italy (Calabria on Mom's, Naples on Dad's) and I grew up in a fiercely devoted family. I have lots of relatives in Italy that I have yet to meet.

In short, being an Italian is a grand and fantastic thing. Being a Guido leaves you up for public ridicule. I know every Italian I'm friends with watches Jersey Shore for, yes, the entertainment factor, but also so they can be secure in the knowledge that they will never, ever be like that. Because that level of Guido is also known by another name: Douchebag. And let's face it, Douchebag Shore wouldn't pull in ratings...

ally

it don't break even.

So, there has been a lot of hubbub over the lack of attendance at the games this year. I've noticed it. We've all noticed it. I think Barack Obama, when he's not making a speech on health care, has noticed it. Even Sarah Palin's noticed it (of course, then she gets right back to shooting wolves from helicopters or whatever she's doing now that she's not the Alaska governor).

The crazy dedicated fans, however, are still there. I applaud you!!! You know who you are.

There are many factors that contribute to the rest of CT not showing up, and some people have poo-poo'd the idea of it being solely the economy's fault, but I will say this: The prices of tickets, depending on where you sit, have gone up considerably. We don't do a lot of promotions anymore, so there aren't a lot of opportunities to win tickets or get them cheaply. We win a lot of the early games (at least, it's been that way for a while) so people feel more comfortable at home watching blowouts. And with Connecticut weather patterns more unpredictable than Tiger Woods' love life, it's impossible to know if you'll have a safe ride home sometimes.

Simply put, we've gotten so good, people don't find it ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY to show up anymore. Which is sad, but understandable. The other night out of nostalgia I popped in 35-0 and was simply blown away by the ferocity of our fans at that first Tennessee game. At some points you can't hear the whistles of the officials!

I usually don't get very mad about articles about the team. However, I don't think I've been this pissed off since the infamous "Soupy Sales" article back when I was 12. I won't say who wrote that one, but I'm still peeved!

Mike DiMauro wrote a very nice article about me when this blog was a wee blip on the the radar. For that, I thank him. However, Mike wrote in The Day this week that people aren't coming to see us play because we're made up predominantly of black women. Simply put, he accuses CT fans of being racist and not attending games because now the players 'don't look like them'. He also implies that on previous teams, fans liked Shea, Kara, Jen, Rebecca, et. al more than they liked Tamika, Aishja, Swin, and the like, because they were white. I think I speak for all of us when I say...OH NO YOU DIDN'T.

Not only is that wrong (insanely so), it's humiliating. Humiliating, embarrassing, mortifying, yada yada yada.

I wish that Mike would think about how Tina Charles must've felt when she read that article, to think that she's not getting watched at games not because of her skill set or the team she contributes to, but by something so base as her skin color. Maya Moore, easily the best player in the country by a wide margin, is not being watched because she's black? What is this, 1950? Is UCONN going to have to have segregated fountains? Are people really sitting at home going "Nope, we're not going to that game. Not enough white people!"

Have we really made no advance at all as a species?

Give the people of CT a little more credit, Mike. Let's not go digging for dirt in the Taj Mahal. To imply some deep-seeded racism in the psyche of all of us in CT is not only upsetting, it's dangerously incorrect. If anything, people are more appreciative of this team because they look MORE like them. In his interview on the Witness To Perfection DVD, Dad spoke at length about how excited he was that this team, more than any other team, was a team that won for the entire state. "Back in 1995 I turned to Jamelle and said 'My God, you're the only black person here!' Now, I look around, and it's the entire community, not just one part of it. And then we go and meet the first black president in the history of the country. We won for the entire state."

When Barack Obama spoke about our team, he spoke of the significance of women's sports, and how our girls are a great role model for his daughters. I can only hope Malia and Sasha grow up to be like Tina, KG, Maya, Lorin, Tiffany, Kaili, and all the rest, regardless of what they look like.

I wish more people would realize the significance of this team and what they've accomplished on their merits as players and as people. To bring it down to base matters like skin tone not only sets us back 60 years, it strips the importance of the team accomplishments and makes them look foolish and unworthy.

And that, I think, is the biggest injustice of all.

ally

PS. Mike failed to mention that in spite of the slower ticket sales, the student section for women's games is the best it's been in YEARS. I was shocked at how full and energetic and excited it was at the Vermont game. Absolutely awesome. Although it's still a little disconcerting to see three hundred kids wearing tshirts with Dad's face on it.

55.

Happy birthday to a very special lady.

"All that I am or ever hope to be, I owe to my angel Mother."
-- Abraham Lincoln

fragile...it must be italian.

In the heat of battle my father wove a tapestry of obscenities that as far as we know is still hanging in space over Lake Michigan. - a christmas story

It's the most wonderful time of the year, or the most horrifying time, depending on who you are (or who your family is). For me, it's beyond wonderful. It is THE time to be with family. I've spent the last couple of days baking, watching Christmas movies, sending out holiday cards, and snuggled up in bed eating ginger chocolate cookies and reading The Lovely Bones (not exactly something that'll get you in the Christmas spirit, but the book is brutally radiant).

A few days ago, a dear friend of mine asked me if my family has any great Christmas traditions. I have two that are of the utmost importance. Christmas is a huge, huge deal to my parents. We were never spoiled as children when it came to presents, but the entire experience of Christmas is something that I hold very dear to my heart.

The first one occurs usually December 23rd. After dinner, we settle into the living room with coffee and cookies and watch It's A Wonderful Life. I refuse to watch it at any other point in the calendar year, not even when it's on TV. It's become so much of a tradition to have all of us watch that if one of us can't make it we push the entire thing back another day or two. Last year my brother couldn't watch it so I spent December 23rd buried on the couch fighting off a horrible sinus infection, watching How The Grinch Stole Christmas and saying the lines along with Dad. "And they'll feast, and they'll feast, and they'll feast feast feast feast!" This year, obviously we have the Stanford game on that day so I figured we'd have to do it another time. Nope. I asked Dad what other day we could do it and he looked at me like I'd lost my mind. "The Stanford game is at 5:30! We'll be able to do it, trust me." It's become almost the grand tradition of the Auriemma house to watch that movie, and the lines have become almost biblical in their status. The other night at dinner, for no real reason, I blurted out Mr. Potter's legendary line "SENTIMENTAL HOGWASH" in response to a bizarre claim my mother made, and my sister and Dad burst out laughing. We've referred to ourselves as 'garlic eaters' more times than is really necessary because of that movie.

When I was a child, every single year on Christmas Eve I'd go with my brother to our local Y to eat a bagel breakfast and shoot hoops. Then, I'd put on a party dress (usually constructed of taffeta and velvet, ahhh 90s fashion) and go to Mass. Aside from the bagels and Y trip, this has not changed one iota. We always go to the Christmas Eve 4:00 Vigil Mass at my church down the road, the same church I've been going to since I was born and the church my sister was married in last year. Someone always has to go early and save seats (usually it's me and Jenna), and it gets incredibly hot and close.. And I must admit to all of you that the Auriemma family is not the most well-behaved at Mass. Telling a family of talkers they can't talk for one hour is like Chinese water torture. Usually about ten minutes in we all get 'the church giggles'. There are some horror stories involving Vigil Mass that I cannot talk about out of the goodness of my heart (plus my parents would murder me).

After Mass we head home and get the house ready. Every single year, we have the same three families come over with their kids for a Christmas Eve party. There is no invite necessary, because it is simply expected that if you are from one of those three core families you are at my house on Christmas Eve for dinner. It is a HUGE deal. Once my sister told her husband "You can have every other holiday on the Roman calender, but Christmas is mine and it's at my house." She's kept true to her word, doing Easter and Thanksgiving with the Stiglianos, but on Christmas Eve, Todd's at our house!

My mom's friend Laura has twins that are ten years younger than the rest of us, so up until around four or five years ago one of the dads dressed up as Santa and gave them presents. One year Dad did it, and we all voted to never have him play Santa again. When the twins hit that age where they don't need a Santa at the party, a friend brought her little girl and boy over and Mike went outside and rang some sleighbells, alerting the children that someone was outside with presents. Lately the dinner party has become hilarious since almost all of us are in our midtwenties yet Mom insists on having a 'kid's table'. It's very strange having wine and beer at a kid's table, I can tell you.

After the party, there's always a huge letdown. We clean, hang out, and go to bed. When I was a child I'd hear thudding downstairs and know in my heart it was Santa Claus. I'd insist on leaving a ton of cookies and milk for him as well as carrots for the reindeer. When I got up, there would be no trace of my gifts, and always a little note thanking me for the delicious food. Up until two years ago my mom insisted on writing "love, Santa" on a few of our presents, which always made me feel special when I was a kid but when you're twenty-two and a college graduate it can be a little odd. The last time it happened we gave her hell for it. "I'd thank you for the DVDs Mom but clearly you didn't get these for me!"

On Christmas morning we keep things lowkey: Open presents, eat breakfast, dunk Stella Doro cookies into coffee, and watch Christmas Story marathon on TNT (25 hours, oh hell yes). I try to go to the gym and work out, then we all head over to my parent's friends house to watch NBA games.

This year will be a little bit different. Because of my pagan tendencies, I will be honoring Yule as well. Yule occurs the day and night of the winter solstice, the shortest day and longest night of the year. It is a time to reflect on the sun going dark and the rebirth of nature. I don't do anything huge for pagan sabbats, but I will attempt to do it justice in some way.

Sometime later on this week I'll be posting my favorite holiday albums. Be warned: Celine Dion makes a cameo appearance...

ally

PS. I will be attending the game in Hartford tonight, feel free to say hello if you see me!

I really hope that everyone else had as great of a Thanksgiving as I did.  Mike (my brother for those unaware) was able to come home from school and spend Thanksgiving with us for the first time in two years. Actually, this was the first time in years we've all had Thanksgiving together. Last year, no brother. Two years ago, Dad and I were in St. Thomas for the Paradise Jam and the team played on Thanksgiving.  My dinner consisted of a turkey sandwich and Diet Coke.  Three years ago, Dad was in Italy with the team. Four years ago, some other trip. So this is the first one in a while that we've been all together, celebrating the day.  

And as most of you are aware (or at least those of you who read Rich Elliot's blog), we were not alone this year.  About half the team came to our house for the dinner, which really made me happy.  Last year, simply because there were more people who couldn't get out of CT in time, we ended up having the entire team over for Thanksgiving.  This year we have a couple people who live close, so it ended up being Caroline, Kelly, Kaili, Tina, Tiffany (along with her mom and brother), and Kalana.  A few people over on the Boneyard expressed surprise at Dad's willingness to let the team come over, or surprise at the team's acceptance of it.  In fact, this is a common occurence.  Dad has a great saying: "If I can't have you over to my house with my family for dinner, then I can't have you playing on my team."

Last year was a ton of fun with only one scary moment.  Nonna came up from Philly to spend Thanksgiving with us (she alternates, this year she'll be here for Christmas and New Year), and while she was doing the dishes (after kicking everyone out of the kitchen because she insisted on doing it herself) a plate broke and cut her hand open.  It was pretty deep and she ended up going to get stitches, but thankfully she's fine out.  It's turned into a bit of an inside joke...this year I texted my cousins, "Happy Thanksgiving, hopefully Nonna didn't bleed on anything."

After about an hour of socializing wherein Kaili and Kalana tried to fix my iPod (and failed), we were ready to sit down for our first course, manicotti.  I'm slightly lactose intolerant so I passed up this option, instead giving my piece to Mike, who ate it (and everyone else's).  Dad made everyone hold hands and asked for a volunteer to say grace, and ended up picking Tina.  Tina then looked around and said "Kaili, you do it."

Along with the manicotti, Mom served Nonna's antipasti plate: peppers, celery, olives, and anchovies in a sort of ceviche, olive oil/vinegar reduction.  I hate anchovies so I had to pass this up too.  I was beginning to wonder if I would ever eat again.

Now for the piece de resistance, the big Kahuna of all birds.  I came into the kitchen to help Dad out (Dad ALWAYS carves.  If you get the in the way, God have mercy on you), and Mom and Dad were poking at the bird with forks and knives (BUT THEY JUST CAN'T KILL THE BEAST). 

It looked gorgeous and crisp but...bony.  Really bony.  Whenever Dad put a knife on it, all you could hear was the clack of knife on bone. Bones and skin, everywhere! Dad was so confused. "This thing is all bone! Where's the meat?!"

Right at the moment where I nearly erupted into a panic attack the size of Mother's in A Christmas Story ("No turkey! No turkey sandwiches! No turkey gravy!"), Dad looked at the underside of the bird.  I did too.  We both looked at Mom, an incredulous look on our faces.  Slowly, Dad asked the question that we both had in our minds.  

"Did you cook this upside down?"

"No!...Did I?"

Yup.

Naturally, I fell on the floor laughing.  After realizing her mistake, Mom mentioned she had actually seen an article where cooking it upside down helps the meat get juicier, but Dad brushed it aside.  After my laughing fit, I began praying that we'd have a cooked turkey!  We crossed our fingers and flipped it...and by God, Mom was right.  It wasn't brown on top, but by cooking it upside down the turkey's juices stayed where the bulk of the meat rests, making it incredibly tender. I think we're going to cook it upside down every year.  I had mine with green beans and roasted carrots, and it was absolutely delicious.

After dinner, Jenna and Todd came by from Todd's parents, where they had already eaten.  Jenna said she was nervous about her wisdom tooth operation the next day, and I tried to make her feel better by saying she wouldn't feel a thing and that the aftermath is usually worse than the actual operation.  Needless to say, I didn't help her at all.

Dessert was an assortment of pies from a local bakery we love, but I skipped them.  There was only one thing I wanted for dessert: Mom's sweet potato pie.  It's not the kind you see magazines with the marshmallows, pecans, chocolate chips, peanut butter, whatever crap else they throw on it.  I'm always surprised (and a little grossed out) when I see that stuff, because that's not the pie I grew up with.  My mom's pie is almost like a a pureed sweet potato souffle, and it's the simplest thing in the world to make (sweet potatoes, butter, sugar, tada!).  Every single year I have it on the side of the turkey but I end up being stuffed with no room for any other dessert.   This year, by forgoing everything I could normally have at any other time of the year, I could concentrate on the one thing I really love, which is this pie.  And it did not disappoint.  It was a glorious concoction, made only better with some ice cream I had had stocked in the fridge.

After dinner, the girls were heading back to school when Mom suggested I drive Tina and Tiffany back up to the apartments, making it easier on Tiffany's mom.  I obliged...it's a good way to get me away from all the leftovers.  The girls did take a lot of it.  I'm guessing most of it will end up with Maya.

Yesterday I got up around 8 to see Mike off on his trip back to school (and I forced him to pick a name from the hat, so he'd know what Secret Santa mark he got for Christmas.  Every year, instead of Mom and Dad doing the stockings, we draw names, including Todd, and just stuff their stocking.  Some years I hit paydirt with my picks (Jenna!) and some years I bemoan my existence (Dad!). 

Also, Black Friday is our annual "Christmas Decoration Day", so after saying bye to Mike and making him stick the angel on the top of the tree, I went to work.  While mom put up the rest of the house decorations, I blasted Christmas music to keep me awake and danced around the tree, hanging up our ornaments.  I still haven't quite forgiven Mom for switching out our homemade decorations for the really nice Pottery Barn ones, but some of them are so darn pretty I can't help but acquiesce.  There's a few shiny gold ones that turn me into the crow from The Secret of NIMH when I see them.  "Sparkly!"...

ally

PS.  No I was not at the game last night, I had work.  But I hear it was a nailbiter.

in a certain light, when it's kinda dark...

It has come to my attention that I have received a lot more followers on Twitter over the past few days, and they have been led here from my Tweets.  First of all, welcome!

Secondly, I thought it would be fun (or time-consuming) to do one of those Facebook '25 Things You Didn't Know About Me' things for the blog.  Since most of what you all know is that I'm a performer/writer who lived in New York for a few months and then crawled back home, tail between my legs, to live with my parents again, I figured it'd be nice to know some things about me that are not basketball or drama related.  So, here we go.

1.  I buy cooking magazines all the time, yet when it actually comes down to it, I barely ever cook and end up heating an Amy's Organics frozen meal.  My New Year's resolution is to cook more dinners that don't require a microwave.

2.  The first song I ever learned to sing on my own "The Greatest Star" from Funny Girl.  The first song I ever learned in a voice lesson was "Edelweiss."

3.  At 19 years old, I weighed 202 pounds and wore a size 18.  Today at 24 years old, I weigh 135 pounds and wear a size 4.  It was incredibly hard and maintaining it will be a choice I make every single day for the rest of my life, but it gave me back my life.

4.  I have to start every single morning by eating an apple.  I HAVE to.  If I don't, I feel all weird and out of it.  It's Pavlovian.  Doesn't matter what kind of apple it is (although lately I am all about Honeycrisp, those suckers are huge) as long as it isn't Red Delicious, which should be renamed Red Juicy Cardboard.

5.  I took tapdancing for seven years and gave up right when we graduated to high heel taps, a decision that has irked me ever since.

6.  I read my first Shakespeare play when I was nine.  It was Romeo and Juliet.

7.  When I was five years old I sabotaged my sister's CCD Christmas concert by running onstage and singing "John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt."  There are pictures to prove that I did this.  Jenna is standing to the left of me, and if looks could kill, I would have been on the floor bleeding.

8.  I wore braces for a year, and it left me with a calcium deposit on my left incisor, a situation I am still self-conscious about.

9.  I could eat sushi every single day.  But then again, those familiar with my blogging will know about my sushi love.

10.  I am a HUGE Lord of the Rings nerd.  Read the books when I was sixteen and I watch the movies once a year in a caffeine fueled marathon that usually reduces me to a pile of sobby, snotty Kleenex.  Indeed, I think I qualify as a "Ringer."  It is a dream of mine to learn Elvish, and I have begged for Arwen's Evenstar necklace and the Ring of Adamant for the past six Christmases.  One year mom got me the One Ring in silver, which I thought was pretty badass.

11.  Everything I thought I knew about sex when I was younger I learned from Judy Blume novels.  Not Superfudge or Starring Sally J. Freedman..., obviously. No.  I learned it from Wifey and Straight Talking and most of all Forever.  My mom didn't buy me these books...I read them in the aisles of bookstores when she wasn't looking.  Scandalous!!

12. When I shop at Whole Foods I try to bring one thing home that I've never had before.  Today, it was LaLoos goat's milk ice cream.  A few months ago, it was raw honey.  It's usually something sweet!

13.  I eat baby carrots like it's my job.  I go through a few 1-pound bags a week.  I eat them with lunch, I snack on them with hummus before I work out, I eat them with dinner, I EAT THEM ALL THE TIME.

14.  Despite what people insist, I do not think I'm funny.  I'll write things down sometimes that will  make me laugh, but usually I don't do it to get other people to laugh as well.  My dad thinks I'd be a great comedian, but I am seriously not funny when it's just me talking.  My best material comes from when I'm talking to someone and building from reactions to situations.

15.  I love artsy independent films as well as big-budget affairs.  This summer my three favorite movies were The Hangover, Inglourious Basterds, and Bright Star.

16.  There are 20 flavors of Ben and Jerry's I know for a fact I have eaten an entire pint of. 

17.  I asked for a Rosetta Stone in Italian for Christmas so I can finally speak my dad's native language.  One of the first things someone asks me is if I speak Italian, and it always breaks my heart a little bit to tell them that all I know are dirty words.

18.  I can pull my lip like Elvis but to an extreme degree, to the point where it freaks my friends out.

19.  I compulsively buy books and then forget to read them.  I'm easily seduced by a gorgeous cover and thick, heavy pages.

20.  I'm in the process of writing my first novel.  It's a sprawling fantastical epic in the vein of George R.R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire, still lacking a title.  I got the idea after spending six years writing with a group of friends who are, in all respects, much better writers than I am.  I'm just a blatant ripoff artist.

21.  I still play dress up.  Don't judge me.

22.  I am, to coin a phrase, a Goddess-loving Christian.  I was raised Roman Catholic and am confirmed into the church and I still consider myself part of the faith, but in my everyday worship I also give respect to the Goddess.  If I were to wear religious iconography, I would wear a chain with a cross and pentacle on it.  It really does depend on the day.  Some days I see a male in my head, other days I see a female.  When I think of the Goddess she usually takes on the form of either Arianrhod (Welsh goddess of fate) or the Morrigan (Irish battle goddess, similar to the Norse Valkyrie).  Like I said, depends on the day, or my mood.  Also, depending on what Sabbat it is, I'll see a specific female entity.  I'm of the opinion that it's not what you worship, it's how.

23.  I have programmed myself to get up at 8 AM.  I can do it without an alarm.  I could stay up all night, my eyes will be open at 8 sharp.

24.  I dye my hair compulsively.

25.  The one thing I really want for Christmas? A pair of Christian Louboutin shoes.  It will never, ever happen considering some of his shoes cost more than a month's rent in my NYC apartment.  But I can't help but dream!

I'm almost falling asleep here, so I must close.  Thanksgiving draws near.

i want everything that i can't have

San Antonio, Part Two!

Tuesday I woke up at 7:30 without an alarm, still unused to the time change from CT to TX.  I usually get up at 8 here, and with breakfast at 9, I laid in bed starving for about twenty minutes before I realized that CD had eaten breakfast before the team had gotten down there, so if she can do it, I can too.  

I dressed and made my way down to the hotel restaurant, called Achiote.  I greeted the very sweet omelette stand man and turned to face a veritable sea of orange uniforms.  Apparently Tennessee's breakfast time was earlier than ours to accommodate everyone on equal time.  I didn't mind this, but it was slightly strange to see them and us in the same room again.  The only slightly scary moment came when I went to get my omelette and realized that I wouldn't be able to reach the salsa without knocking directly into Pat Summitt.  I decided to wait.  I may be a UCONN Husky but I am also polite.

After breakfast, the team and I went on a walk (led by CD waving a banana of all things) to see the Alamo.  It is a gorgeous building, one that everyone should see eventually.  However, it is a lot smaller than I thought it would be.  I imagined this gigantic structure out in the middle of a field.  It's located across the street from a Ripley's Wax Museum and a Fudrucker's, so the romance and magic of the place is kind of killed.  But it was still fascinating to walk into the makeshift museum and see the different forms of weaponry, and read about the history of the battle of the Alamo.  CD had the great idea to tell the team, "I want all of you to pick up a fact about the Alamo." Now, CD is famous for her pop quizzes, so the team took this to heart.  I decided to do it too.  My fact is pretty simple: The Alamo's original name was the Mission San Antonio de Valero.  Others had more interesting facts; Kaili told me hers was that Texas is the only state allowed to raise its flags the same height as the Capitol because at one time it was its own country.

After the trip and a short walk around the river (where Tiffany purchased a cowboy hat for eight dollars and wore it the rest of the trip), the team went to film and shootaround.  Now, you all will stone me for this but I decided to opt out.  I knew that I wouldn't have time before the game to work out, so I took this time to hit the gym for a little bit.  Afterwards, I ate lunch, and headed back down to the fitness room to lift.  Dad was in there running along with our trainer, Rosemary, and he kept distracting me by waving his arms in the mirror.  Most immature!

After a pregame where Maya did a flawless impersonation of MadTV's BonQuiQui ("Don't interrupt! RUDE!"), we loaded the bus and headed to the AT&T Center for the game.  We watched a little bit of the TX Tech/Tennessee game and it was a combination of Tennessee being a better team, and TT playing lousy.  Taber Spani is a very good player and it's a shame she didn't come to play here.  But then again you can't get them all.

Then our game started.  We played well, but not flawlessly.  There were a few points where we played fast, not quick.  Dad is always quick to point out the differences between those two.  When you play quick, your mind is where it needs to be and you can make smart decisions.  When you're playing fast, you get desperate and make stupid mistakes.  However, when Maya got into the groove and Kelly got into our offensive sets, we settled down.  And it wasn't until later that I found out someone had gotten thrown out of the game for heckling! Who the heck does that at a women's game?

How good is Kelly Faris? As good as she is on TV that is nothing compared to how strong of a player she is to watch in person.  She reminds me of Jen Rizzotti, with a little bit of Shea thrown in (although Dad is of the opinion that Kelly is a better passer than Shea was as a freshman).  Some of her steals were plays that most freshmen don't have the guts to pull off.

I was sitting extremely close to the bench (but not on it directly, Dad hates it when coaches put their kids on the bench).  Indeed, at one point Dad turned to yell and I thought spit was going to come flying at me like at a Gallagher comedy show.  He's the only coach I know of in women's basketball (and I include the men's coaches I know and love) that drops that amount of F-bombs.  Most people find him a bit shocking to listen to when they sit behind the team.  He is constantly coaching, constantly pushing, and constantly a perfectionist.  When Kaili came out of the game for the last time after having fouled that kid, Dad did not yell, because she was doing the right thing and the ref had called it unfairly.  He gave her a little encouraging slap on the back and said "It's okay, that's better.  That's better!"

At one point during the game I was compulsively Tweeting and saw that Rebecca had Tweeted at me saying Dad had fixed his wedgie during their halftime interview.  I was entirely grossed out but also really amused.  Then my phone began to vibrate out of control.  By the end of halftime, I had 50 new followers on Twitter, all because Rebecca had told me about Dad's wedgie.  The power of the Lobo Tweet is a mighty power indeed.

Also, that block by Maya was even more epic in person.  I believe I stood up and fistpumped.  If it was caught on camera I may relocate to Guadalajara.

After the game I visited with Kelly's parents and Meghan's Mom, and went to wait for everyone.  Since it wasn't a tournament game, there were only one or two journalists waiting to interview Dad so it wasn't a long time before everyone was ready.  Still, I decided to walk back to the bus before the team majority, and I was joined by Jacquie for that little trip.  Once we got on the bus, she received a call from Lorin (Lorin did not make the trip as she had to study for a midterm that day).  

We got back to the hotel around 11:45 and I skipped pregame to head upstairs to pack and sleep.  I whiled away the time by watching youtube clips of the new season of So You Think You Can Dance.  I like that Ryan, the ballroom dancer.  Big muscles, and he can move like a dream? Sign me up please.

4:15AM came way too soon.  I stumbled out of bed and brought my stuff down to the bus.  Dad was leaving on a later flight to go recruit in Chicago but he had told me the night before he would get up anyway to see us off.  I didn't exactly believe him.  Dad's the type that when he says he'll be ten minutes early, he's five minutes late.  So you can imagine my surprise when he popped up on the bus before we left, Starbucks coffee in hand, wearing Tiffany's cowboy hat.  He came and sat with me for a little bit before he left, giving me his car keys and a kiss on the head.  I didn't want him to go, as his shoulder was a much better resting spot than the side of the bus window. 

I wish I could tell you that I passed out during the two flights, that my trip back to CT was spent in dreamland.  This is not the case.  I cannot sleep for the life of me on flights.  I used to be able to; when we traveled back from Hawaii in 1995 I sat down on the plane and woke up in Chicago with my head buried in Nykesha Sales' shoulder and Mom offering me orange juice.  Therefore, I spent the entire first flight (and much of the second) watching the recent BBC adaptation of Jane Austen's Emma starring Romola Garai and Jonny Lee Miller.  I loved Miller's interpretation of Knightley, who is my favorite Austen male (sorry, Darcy fans, I like my men more effusive!).

Once we got to Charlotte we all split up looking for something to bring on the second flight as our lunch.  I ended up going with Meghan and Jacquie, and after a few minutes of wandering, they decided on Starbucks while I got the same lunch I had bought there on the way to San Antonio.  I got back to the team and found them hunkered against a standing column at our gate, desperately trying to get more sleep.  Only Caroline was succeeding, as she had brought one of those stuffed animal/pillow things.

The second flight was just as uneventful as the first.  I attempted to sleep and failed miserably.  When we landed I texted Mom that I was back in CT and would be home shortly.  She, of course, texted back a request to pick up soup from our grocery store.  I bet Kalana it would not be the only thing she wanted.  Sure enough, ten minutes later Mom texted a whole grocery list.

Now, I must close.  I have work tomorrow, and I can hear Dad watching game tape downstairs, grumbling and mumbling about everything on it.  It's a far cry from earlier when he was complaining about the lack of believability on Grey's Anatomy.  "He's going with Yang?! This is why this show is fake! No way would that guy pick Yang over that other chick!"

Keep in mind this is a show where a doctor didn't get her license stripped for cutting a man's LVAD wire, yet this he finds faultlines in...

ally

PS.  On this day five years ago, the infamous Pacers/Pistons brawl colloquially known as the 'Malice at the Palace' took place.  Ron Artest starred in the shenanigans, charging the stands after a cup was thrown at him.  My face watching that was akin to Sebastian in The Little Mermaid when he sees Ariel singing to Prince Eric. *JAWDROP*

PPS. The above event is not to be confused with the 'Malice at the Palace II' that occurred last year at the same place between the LA Sparks and the Detroit Shock.  Apparently there is something about the Palace at Auburn Hills that makes people want to start throwing punches.

 

Oderint dum metuant

Man, just when I wanted to go to bed, they start airing an episode of Intervention I haven't seen yet.  Crap.

Yesterday was a blur of travel.  I haven't gone on a commercial flight in quite some time, since every time I've traveled with the team the last few times, it's been on a charter.  I wasn't quite prepared for the cramped conditions of a normal airplane.  It smelled like cat food on top of garbage for most of the trip.  That, combined with the guy across the aisle who wouldn't stop staring at me (and he wasn't even cute, so it was a complete bust), and it was a long, long flight to Charlotte.

Once we got to North Carolina, we all split up in search of food.  After perusing the fare, most of the team along with Shea and Marisa got Sbarros while I bought a salad from a local deli to eat on the connector flight.  I complained to Dad that my bag straps were breaking.  He told me "You shouldn't have taken all that stuff on your carry-on!" But I needed my computer! And my books! And...magazines.  And...lots of other things that I ended up never using on the flight because of the lack of space.  

On the second flight, I was placed next to a man who kept turning his phone on to play Fantasy Football after the flight attendant had expressly advised us to keep them off throughout the flight.  He also had a scabbed over piercing in his ear, which wasn't so much gross as it was totally repulsive.  There was a brief moment of hope when I looked down a few seats and saw a completely vacant row! Victory! I had just grabbed my bag to make the move when who should swoop in and steal my seat but Miss Heather Buck.  Her defense of "I'm taller!" won out. 

After a little bit of turbulence (although someone could open their bag of peanuts loudly and I'd mistake it for engine failure), we arrived at San Antonio Airport.  The air was hot and close.  The airport bars blared mariachi music.  The intercom announcements repeated in Spanish.  And I was starving.

We arrived at our hotel, an absolutely beautiful piece of modern architecture located smack dab on the Riverwalk.  Our first dinner in Texas was everything that a good Mexican meal should be: jicama/mango salsa, salad full of black beans, and cornbread studded with jalapeño pieces.  I drizzled some honey on top of mine.

Today, after an amazing breakfast (I think I'm going to become best friends with the omelette man in the restaurant buffet), the team had film and practice.  I was pleased to find out that Kaili is back to practicing and should be clear to play for tomorrow's game.  The practice went according to plan, judging by Dad's reactions.  He did try to rile Tina up after practice and commented on her tendency to check with him after every good or bad play.  When Dad gets angry I tend to put on my iPod, so I don't know exactly what was said.  I was too busy getting blissed out by Lady GaGa.

After practice, I got lunch and went to the gym, and hung out in my room for a little while.  Tonight we had our welcome dinner/riverboat tour for the Road To The Championship special, sponsored by ESPN and the San Antonio Silver Stars.  It was great fun, if a little freezing cold, to go on the Riverwalk boat tour and see all the old structures.  I was in particular taken by the Selena bridge, named after the Tejano (or Tex/Mex) superstar tragically killed in 1995 by the president of her fan club.  As we passed under it, Kaili and I started singing songs from the movie and I attempted to highfive her from across the boat.  The only hiccup in our plan was halfway through the trip, our boat's power went out and we had to load another boat! Shea was convinced we were the victims of sabotage.

After that little drama, we went back to the hotel for the welcome dinner, which was absolutely delicious.  I must admit it was a bit awkward...for the interview portion, Dad was sitting up on a podium with Gail Goestenkors, Kristy Curry, and Pat.  I was terrified it would be unbearably awkward, but Dad and Pat both handled the situation quite well.  Dad knows when to be gracious under fire.  Besides, had he put one toe out of line, I would've given him hell.  

I can't exactly talk about how this conversation came about, but I can tell you the bare bones, and the fact that it occurred between bites of flourless chocolate cake.

Shea: Man, they hate us.

Me: There was a Roman Emperor named Caligula, and he once said, 'Let them hate me so long as they fear me.'

Shea: Yes!

Oderint dum metuant..

ally

well i have the microphone, and you don't

In the past eight months (my God, has it been that long since I started blogging?), I have tried to be as eloquent as possible about the various highs and lows that come with being a coach's daughter.  In my attempts to make the unexciting more thrilling, I have been rewarded with your readership and support.  With that in mind, I have really only one thing to say about today's game.

Holy.  Crap.

I expected a beating.  I expected, even, a blowout.  I did not expect a 28-0 lead with 15 minutes remaining in the first half.  I did not expect every single one of our suited players scoring (a banked three, Meghan? REALLY?).  And I did not expect to see the student section wearing shirts with my dad's face emblazoned on the front.  There's Twilight Zone, and then there's Gampel Pavilion.

I had planned on attending today's game to bear witness to the unveiling of the championship banner, unfortunately my game partners Jenna and Todd couldn't make it because Todd was feeling ill.  I decided that as much as I love my dad, he really didn't need me there.  Plus, I'd be sitting by myself in a blocked off row, which could give others the impression that I was there strictly to view the game as a blogging opportunity and not as an actual chance to see the team play and connect with friends.  Besides, sitting through blowouts is boring.

You heard me.  After 24 years of watching Dad's players beat other teams into oblivion, I am here to state fact: Sometimes it's boring to watch so much talent kick the crap out of another team.  When it's fun, it's incredible; i.e., if another team has been talking a lot of trash about our players and our program before the game to rile us up.  When we go out and beat them by 50, that is one fun game to watch.  But when it's a team like Northeastern, who never really even did anything to deserve a 70 point throttling, it can be a little uncomfortable to watch.  By the 18 minute mark in the second half, Todd stood up and announced "I can't watch this anymore!" and walked out.  Jenna and I flipped between the game, 100 Greatest Songs of the 90s and The Wedding Singer before giving up entirely.

It sounds like we're spoiled.  Which we are.  We're just used to winning like this.  It's the way we were brought up.  When the game is close, Jenna handles it a lot better than me.  When we were down 14 to Rutgers two years ago in the Regional Finals, I stood in front of the TV waving my hands like a madman and Jenna compulsively washed the same spoon over and over again until the game was over.  Then minute that buzzer went off we conga'd across the kitchen, drunk with joy.

When we lose, it's a shock to the bones of our family.  The last time we lost in the regular season was to Rutgers.  I went to that game and I hate games down there.  Not so much when we win, but when we lose it's quite painful.  The fans are...well.  I won't go into exact detail as to what I think of the fans down there.  But suffice to say that when a school's band is yelling "Ha ha, you lost your last game here" to an injured Mel Thomas as she walks off the court, there's a good chance that I won't be singing its praises.  

Sometimes outrageous fans come from the unlikeliest of places.  I remember one time when the team played at Holy Cross, someone held a sign up in back of Dad's head that announced "He Just Farted."  Now, as a person, I found this out of line.  As a daughter, I found it hilarious.

After the game, I managed to talk to dad for a few moments.  I told him the team he's got this year is absolutely ridiculous.  And he just laughed.  And kept on laughing.

All the way to the Alamo.

It should be quite a season.  Hold on to your hats...

ally

you owe me restitution

Aside from the fact that I ended up passed out in a chair before midnight due to a raging headache, I had a great Halloween. I spent the entire morning of Samhain watching It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown over and over and over again.  Sally's harangue in the pumpkin patch and Linus' shriek of "I'm doomed!" will never fail to make me laugh.

For our guests, Connie and I made multiple kinds of popcorn along with our Pumpkin Ziti with Caramelized Onions.   It was a gigantic hit.  Dessert was supposed to be s'mores on our fire pit but the wind kept blowing it out, so we transferred the chocolate to the stove and dipped marshmallows into it while it melted.

I dressed as Sarah Sanderson from Hocus Pocus.  She will always be my favorite film witch.  I did not win the costume contest, sadly. That went to Connie and her 'bag of Jelly Belly beans" outfit, complete with a garbage bag stuffed with balloons.

As far as trick-or-treaters went, my favorite was a small white Irish boy dressed as Michael Jackson, complete with sparkly glove.   At one point Connie came running into the kitchen with a gleeful shout, "I just saw a Steve Urkel costume!" Apparently the kid was around twelve years old so I give him props, considering nobody his age would know what he was dressed as.

Now comes the Christmas season on swift wings, and I'm trying to avoid listening to all of my Christmas CDs until at least the day before Thanksgiving, however a few of my favorite songs have slipped through (you can't stop me from listening to "Les Cloches du Hameau" before Thanksgiving, it just won't happen)  My basic fall rituals of pumpkin patch-ing, apple cider making, and chocolate eating are all accomplished.

Of course, one other season is starting up: Basketball!  Like all of you, I am beyond thrilled that we got every recruit to commit for next year.  It is a truly stacked class and we are going to be spectacular.  Of course, that's thinking ahead.  Now to address this season.

In Dad's words, everyone has improved.  Everyone has improved on a team that went 39-0 last year.  That is scary.   He's pretty happy with everyone's progress but I can tell he's really pleased with Tina and Lorin.  Lorin, he says, has been making tremendous improvements.  I think she'll be really fun to watch as our point guard.  She's like watching the Road Runner if you pressed the fast-forward button on your remote.  And of course, Caroline and Heather are back and ready to play.  It should be a very fun, crazy season.  

At the begging of Kaili, I will be attending the game in San Antonio.  I haven't been to that city since we won in 2002, and I've been meaning to go back.  It is a gorgeous town.  The one thing I regret not doing when I was there was visiting the Alamo.  My sister went and apparently this proud example of American fortitude is about the size of a 7/11 and located next to a Walgreens.  I really hope she's wrong on this one.

Now, off to the gym and a friend's house for the night.  I have lots of catching up to do on It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia.  

Oh, and congrats to the Yankees for their billionth world series.  Apparently money can't buy you love, but it can buy championships.  *innocent face*...

ally

answer time!

A few days ago, user btbrown1 asked me a question about dad's team practicing against WNBA players and whether or not this was legal.  After consulting people about the bylaws in order to get the best answer possible, I was going to address his question in the next blog I wrote. When Jasper Howard was murdered I put my answer on the backburner, feeling it more pressing to honor Jazz.  That done, I will now answer BtBrown1's question to the best of my limited ability:

Practicing with alumni, provided it is of a sporadic nature, was and is compliant with NCAA rules.  The times UCONN players practice with WNBA players are rare and the pro players are always alumni of the university. We have always operated within the laws set down by the NCAA.  

Thank you so much for your question, BTBrown1.  I read you were a fan of the team and I'm glad you came to me with this query.  As a father yourself you obviously wanted to know if mine was behaving ethically, and I respect you for that tremendously.  If you have any more questions about this or any other topic pertaining to my Dad or UCONN girls basketball. please feel free to ask.  I will gladly answer.  

I will leave it at that, and hopefully that clears up any confusion that any others would have.

Ally

PS. I will be updating tomorrow about the already epic class of 2010.  Hartley and Engeln and Dolson, oh my!

Jazz.

I wish I didn't have to write this entry.  

I wanted to talk about my great time at the UCONN/Louisville football game at homecoming, all of the funny things that occurred while attempting to score a ticket from the box office when it was discovered I lacked one.  Watching the student section go nuts every time we got near the end zone and chanting "Stick it in!" and "That's another UCONN...FIRST DOWN".  I wanted to talk about how by the end of the day I couldn't feel my fingers from the cold, and how I went home and had dinner with the team and had a truly wonderful time.

But my mind is, of course, elsewhere.  I can't believe the idea that I watched someone play a tremendous football game, only to discover this morning that he was dead.  I didn't know Jasper Howard, but the team did.   He played pickup a lot with the girls during the offseason, when the football team was in training camps and Dad's group was in summer school.  They were a close bunch.  They are all devastated at the news of his death. 

I am horrified by this senseless act of violence, and how it happened at the unlikeliest of places: The Student Union.  For those who aren't aware, the SU at UCONN is basically a glorified food court and about as threatening as a Care Bear doll.  Indeed, it was a second home for me.  Before shows at Jorgensen I would walk through the Union and grab a sandwich and juice, and stop to talk to friends who worked at the movie theatre.  And before the old SU was torn down, I spent a good deal of my Husky Bucks at Jonathan's, our excuse for a fast food burger joint.

If people want to drink and make a general mess, they don't do it at the Student Union.  Because it's forbidden, of course.  They do it off campus at the myriad of apartment complexes that become famous during Spring Weekend.  The Student Union is a safe haven, a place for the good kids to have fun and sing karaoke.  Nobody goes there expecting debauched violence.  And certainly nobody goes there expecting death.

I watched the press conference today with Randy Edsall and Jeff Hathaway.  Jeff's been a friend since I was a child, and he looked like a man with a world on his back today.  I felt for him, and I felt for Randy.  

Watching the tapes, however, I felt the most for Desi Cullen, the senior punter from the team who was as captain required to make a team statement.  I knew Desi my senior year of college.  Due to theatre commitments (and overall procrastination) I was forced to complete my Biology credit during the summer of 2007, two months after I had officially graduated.  Desi had just finished his freshman year at the time and my friend's lab partner, so he sat at my table.  Over the course of the month, as we went on field trips and we got to know each other a little bit and I liked him.  He was a good kid.  I never dreamed the next time I heard of him would be his devastating speech to the CT press corps.  He handled it with tremendous courage and class, and should be commended (although the sound of the cameras clicking viciously every time he got emotional made me physically ill.  Shame on you for exploiting his pain).

I hope whoever stabbed Jazz (and the other victim, who remains in critical I'm told) is caught and prosecuted to the fullest extent.  If not for Jazz's sake, than for the sake of his mother, sisters, girlfriend and unborn child.  It may bring a sense of closure to this horrendous situation.

The worst is knowing how young he was.  He was a year younger than my little brother, who is also an athlete.  To think he could get mixed up in a conflict that could end in something like this is almost more than my heart can stand.

RIP, Jazz. 

ally

this is uconn country

How about this whole "boy in balloon" thing?  First of all, I gotta say that with a name like Falcon you hedge your bets.  He probably learned what a falcon was in school and realized that he was destined to fly.  Or maybe he heard that R. Kelly song a few too many times.  Second of all, HOW CRAZY IS THAT FAMILY? They were on Wife Swap, a show in which crazed hippies swap lives with people who shoot wolves from helicopters.  They subjected themselves to this insanity twice.  And then the CNN crew asks Falcon why he did it and he accidentally lets slip that it was for the show they were filming.  Oh, Falcon.  It's like the Emperor's New Clothes, except an entire country who thought they were watching you in a balloon for two hours and then realized they had spent two hours of their lives watching a balloon.

 Maybe it's because I grew up in a Roman Catholic, Italian, Philly-centric family (my dad can use that reasoning for saying jackass-y things, I think I can too).  But had that been me hiding in a box in my attic, I would've gotten my ass handed to me in a cheesesteak (although if my name were Falcon I'd be getting my ass handed to me in school on a regular basis.  Ahhh, public schooling).  Had that been my kid, I would have said something along these lines: "Oh my God thank goodness you're okay we were worried sick about you IF YOU DO THAT TO ME AGAIN I SWEAR TO GOD OR WHATEVER'S UP THERE YOU WILL BE GROUNDED FOR ALL ETERNITY OR UNTIL THE CUBS WIN THE PENNANT. *SMACK*"

Third (and this is the most important part)...WHO OWNS A GIANT BALLOON? Unless you're Willy Wonka and your Great Glass Elevator is in repairs, no one in their right mind should own a gigantic balloon.  I don't care if you chase storms and believe in aliens, Heene family.  No balloons should be on your property except in the case that you got them from a county fair and they come with a loop to fit around your wrist.

Anyway.  On to other topics and other pastures...that aren't in Colorado.

A show of hands (or a show of comments): Who here is so excited that bball season is once again stamping its foot on our  mighty shores (well..the Sound isn't too mighty but it's pretty)? I'm pretty pumped, to say the least.  Although now that my face and name are more prominent, you all may be subject to my antics in the stands during close games.  I tend to be rather...um...the opposite of complacent.  

I will be at the Supershow tonight.  I can't wait to meet the recruits and committed freshmen for the class of 2010.  I'm not sure if I've met any of them already but it'll be great to meet the rest.  If you see me, please feel free to say hello.  My pen is mightier than my sword.  And I'll be leaving my sword at home anyway.

Also, one more thing that I thought was kind of funny: the other night my sister came over to the house for dinner, as she is wont to do several times a week when her husband, Todd, is refereeing soccer for the night or coaching basketball.  After greeting me, she then pulls out this doozy.

Jenna: So someone thought I was you at the National Championship dinner.

Me: Really? Even though we look nothing alike and you're three inches shorter than me and completely different looking complexion wise? (NOTE: I wanted to add 'and you're totally prettier than me!')

Jenna: Yeah! He walked up to me and was like "Are you the one with the blog?" and I said "No, actually, I'm her sister." Before I could finish my sentence he had already walked away.

Me: *JAWDROP*

Guys, Jenna's a pretty cool cat, and she's actually a lot funnier than I am.  If you walk up to her thinking she's me, don't just walk away.  Take the time and talk to her.  In a lot of ways, she's just like me.  She may lack my bodacious blogging skills.  But she's actually awesome and in many ways much more interesting than me...I just write down my funny...

ally

PS.  If you're on Twitter, I urge you to follow Simon Pegg, the actor from Shaun of the Dead.  His tweets about Twilight are GOLD.  

has anyone ever told you about...witches?

October.

God, I love this month.  Playoffs for baseball (go Phillies!), Honeycrisp apples, tailgating, autumn leaves, the crispness in the air, and of course pumpkin spice lattes at Starbucks (well, anything is improved with the addition of pumpkin).  This entire month is a warmup.  This month, I restrain myself from listening to Christmas music (although the Josh Groban CD is whispering to me from my iPod, I know it) and scare myself silly with the watching of numerous disturbing and freaky movies in the attempt to get pumped for my favorite holiday of the entire year.

I am a freak for Halloween.  Now, I will never be that girl who insists in dressing like a prostitute.  October 31st is like my high holy day, and the costume is my priestess robe.  I have never shirked when it comes the greatest dress-up day on the calendar.  My favorite Halloween costumes over the years are varied but they seem to centralize on a main theme: In my head, I am either a Disney princess, or the villain.

1991: I beg my mother to buy me Cinderella's ballgown for three months.  One morning I wake up and turn over in bed, and there it is, hanging in all of its beautiful, silvery-blue glory from the knob on my closet door.  I don't take it off for three years and I use it for my sixth birthday as an incentive to force all of the kids in the neighborhood to dress up.  Years later I would discover my beloved ballgown in shreds at the bottom of my old dress up drawer.  I attempt to put it on and I can't get it past my thighs.  The same year I got that dress was when my sister went as Captain Hook for Halloween and my brother went as Smee. 

1993: My mom gives me a pink poufy ballerina costume for my birthday and I wear it for Halloween for two straight years.  Unfortunately I couldn't wear it by itself since it's almost November after all, but I do have a killer photo of me standing on our staircase proudly displaying the dress.  You can't even notice the giant turtleneck shoved underneath the bodice.

1994: I'm so done with the whole "Disney Princess" thing.  Fourth grade is all about the villains, baby.  I score with the Evil Queen from Snow White.  This costume is awesome.  Long purple skirt, high neck, crazy cool medallion on the neckline, and a shroud! I was ready to rock Knollwood Road.  And then I got sick and couldn't go out on Halloween.  My brother took up two pumpkin buckets and collected candy for me.  This was a few years before I would graduate to a pillowcase.

1998: Thirteen is a good year to start showing some leg.  My beloved group of friends from middle school (Silver Sistas, what up?!) decide we'll all go as the Spice Girls for Halloween.  Of course, I was Posh.  I traipsed around my neighborhood (along with some other streets) dressed like a hooker in high heels, a tight black dress, and black hair (courtesy of a spray bottle).  

1999: Continuing the hooker trend, I went as Felicity Shagwell from Austin Powers.  Why I subjected my neighborhood to the sight of me in a velour minisuit with thighhigh boots is BEYOND MY COMPREHENSION.  I eat so much candy I spend the next day home from school, violently ill.  

2003: My Lord of the Rings obsession goes full tilt.  I purchase a gorgeous medieval gown from Hot Topic (back when they were actually goth!punk, not Avril!punk) and black wig, and spend the entire night forcing my best friend to take pictures of me reclining on a chair, trying to recreate Arwen's dying pose.  That year, I also attempt to find someone on UCONN's campus with half of Aragorn's integrity and moral compass.  I stay single for six years.

2005: Junior year of college.  Now I gotta start being creative.  I buck the "whore/madonna" thing I've had going for the past few years and appear at my school's Halloween party as Willy Wonka (Johnny Depp's incarnation because the movie had just come out).  All I need is an Oompa Loompa and Christopher Lee yelling at me.

2006: Senior year, my first school year post-obesity.  Everyone in the room knew that I was ready to party.  My Bettie Page ensemble is a big hit, particularly among the boys in my class (I think it was the corset and fishnets).

The last two years I've gone the safer route.  2007 I did the flapper thing, and last year I couldn't have a party because it was opening night of my show but I did show up at the opening night dinner dressed as Mary-Kate Olsen, Starbucks cup and all. 

This year I'm going to a party and I'm throwing one, so I'll be going as two different creations.  The first is Zombie Lady GaGa...which I must admit isn't so different from just regular Lady GaGa, but I'll work on it.  The second is Sarah Sanderson from my favorite Halloween movie of all time.  But more on that below, where I've compiled a Greatest Hits of Halloween films.  These are the movies that I must watch in October, or else it just isn't Halloween.  Of course there are Halloween TV specials that have a dear place in my heart (It's The Great Pumpkin,br Charlie Brown being one of them), I'm reserving this list for only the films released to theaters.

1. Hocus Pocus.  Starring Bette Midler, Sarah Jessica Parker and Kathy Najimy.  This film is the one that I MUST watch every Halloween.  The tale of the wicked Sanderson sisters and their rise from the dead in 1990s Massachusetts (thanks to an airhead virgin who lit the black flame candle) is nothing short of a classic.  Despite being a bit goofy, the movie possesses some genuinely creepy and ethereal moments, such as Sarah's song to lure the children to their deaths.  An interesting sidenote: Kenny Ortega, the director of this film, went on to direct the  High School Musical series as well as the greatest movie musical of all time, Newsies.  CARRYING THE BANNER.

2. Dawn of the Dead (2004 remake).  One of the best remakes of all time, Zack Snyder's post-apocalyptic vision of a group of survivors in a mall trying to withstand a zombie takeover is alternately gross, freaky, heartbreaking, and pulsepounding.  The best invention of Snyder is to make the zombies fast, so you can't really outrun them.  I admit, I originally saw this because Sarah Polley is in it and I was a huge fan of her in the Ramona Quimby TV show.  But then I got into it because of how original it is (despite it being a remake) and the overwhelming feeling of "you cannot escape".  Futility is a great tool in horror.

3. The Descent.  Neil Marshall's opus, which freaked audiences in Britain right out of their chairs in 2004, sounds a bit thin at face value: A group of female thrill-seekers find a hidden cave in the Appalachians and attempt to spelunk through it.  Sounds dumb and an excuse to show boob, right? YOU ARE SO WRONG, MY FRIEND.  This movie is white knuckle at its very finest.  You care about these women and where they've come from, and you see their foibles and feel their pain.  These are real, painfully flawed women.  When they get down into the caves, before anything supernatural started happening, the claustrophobia factor is so high that you feel yourself curling up into a little ball.  And that's even before strange creatures start to terrorize them...

4. The Blair Witch Project.  Everybody knows the synopsis of this film: Three people go into the Maryland woods to shoot a documentary about a witch.  They are never seen again, and a year later their footage is found by the police.  We watch the found footage.  Now, this movie gets a bad rap, and undeservedly so.  This movie is terrifying to me.  Then again, I'm the chicken who jumps when our ice machine turns on, so I'm not the best judge in what's scary and what's not.  But this movie puts blatant emphasis on everything I'm terrified of, most of which is after dark.  The scenes in the daytime aren't too scary to me.  It's the scenes in the tent, with the clawing sounds, and the final denouement at the cabin.  Freaky, freaky stuff.  And I get grossed out by snot, so if I can handle a movie with five minutes of extreme closeup into Heather Donahue's mucus membranes, it's worth a look.

5. Shaun of the Dead.  Shaun is not having a good week.  First, he's working in a dead end job at an electronics store.  Second, his girlfriend has dumped him.   Third, he has a nonexistent relationship with his stepfather.  He finally wakes up after a night of drinking with his dead weight roommate, Ed, and decides he will change and get his life back together, on the same day as a full scale zombie invasion threatens to overtake London.  Now, this isn't technically a horror film.  It's more of a romantic comedy with a zombie attack foiling the plans of our heroes.  But this film is must-see viewing for anyone who cares about horror movies.  It's got all of the great moments of any scary movie, and what's great about this film is the zombie moments are played completely straight.  The comedy comes out of the reactions of Shaun and Ed, as well as their friends.  But don't be fooled-there are some jump moments, and some of the things Shaun must do to save his friends are pretty devastating for a comedy.  Another great move of the director (Ed Wright) was to shoot it in random, unseen parts of London, like Crouch End, to emphasize the Everyman aspect of the film.  Plus, it's hilarious.

This week I'm adding to my list of scary classics.  A few days ago I watched The Ruins (not too bad, more gory than anything, but much better acting than I expected), and last night I watched the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre.  Brutal, but not scary per se.  I didn't have any problems going to sleep that night.  It was more funny to me than anything, and Marilyn Burns can scream and twitch in fear with the best of them.  It's interesting to see how low of a budget the film had...sometimes it looks as if it was shot through a lens smeared with Vaseline.  The beginning is the freakiest bit, with the whining camera capturing the gore found in the basement.

Now, I go off to watch The Evil Dead and [REC], which according to my friend Lindsay will make me want to cry with fear.  I can't wait.

ally

God, I love Halloween.

things still look the same

Well, I'm back.

(anyone who guesses where that's from, you get instant geek cred)

Tuesday night, I had an incredible last dinner at Angelina's on the Upper East, where I feasted on roast chicken and wild rice, finished off with mandelbrot topped with ice cream (mandelbrot, for those of you unaware, is a Jewish biscotti with olive oil replacing the butter in the recipe.  It is DIVINE).  They toasted to me and everyone wished me a happy life.  Little do they know that I'm planning to come back pretty regularly if only to submit myself to Angelina's creations.

The goodbyes were casual.  I knew I'd be returning soon, so there were no tears and no regrets.  Just a buss to the cheek and a "See you soon!" Which is how all goodbyes should be.

On Wednesday, after waking up at 8, I found myself drinking a quick protein shake and cleaning the apartment thoroughly to prepare for the movers and their arrival at 9.  Thanks to faulty directions that waylaid it in Brooklyn, the truck pulled up in front of my apartment building at 1:30.  I was only irritated by the fact that I could have gone to the gym with my final morning.

As the movers cleaned my apartment and took out my stuff, the space seemed to get smaller and smaller until it shocked me that I even lived there.  I couldn't see my personality in the space at all.  Except in the kitchen.  It may have only had room for one dish at a time and the microwave got more love than my oven, but damn I loved that kitchen with its marble finishings and stainless steel.

After about two hours, my driver pulled up to the curb just as I was lugging a box filled with pans to the truck.  Yes, my mom ended up calling me a driver from our former bus drivers' company when it became clear I would not be making the train.  Sometimes, the perks are just too good to be true. 

We pulled out and made our way to 12th avenue, to transfer to the West Side Highway.  I watched the city peel away from my line of vision, then spent the two hour drive attempting to read Edith Hamilton's Mythology for the GRE (I've decided my concentration will be in World Mythology and Folklore), but my stomach rebelled about forty-five minutes in.  Clearly, my superb car-reading skills when I was a tween have not passed through to my adult years.  I tried for another twenty minutes but decided that Edith could wait.  After all, puking all over a town car would not have been appropriate for my CT homecoming.

As we passed into Greenwich I started leaning towards the windows of the car, eyes opened like they never had been before on 95.  The leaves were changing at different paces.  Some trees were just barely speckled, others were completely bare.  One huge tree had just a red smear in the middle, as if someone had been assigned to paint the leaves red but had been called away suddenly, leaving his work undone.  I started feeling the newer chill in the air.  The sun split the trees and shone to the ground in crackled rays.  We were getting close.  The streets turned quiet and twisting.  I could hear crickets (CRICKETS) instead of cars and constant ambulance horns.

We pulled up to my house and after I thanked the driver, I took the steps into my garage and opened the door.  Mom was standing in the kitchen putting on her earrings.  She looked wonderful.  "Welcome home!"

One two three steps and I was hugging her and then the tears came and they crashed down like rivers onto her shoulder.  

I breathed in.  My lungs swallowed more than they had in months.

After that little incident, Mom directed me to the kitchen stove, where a huge pot of pasta fagioli was steaming and waiting for me (ironically, Mom's version of this soup has zero pasta in it, just veggies and broth).  I had two bowls of it.  She then told me about an invention of hers where you take whole pecans, smother them in honey, and roast them.  I ate some of those, too.

Friday night I went to Kelly Clarkson at Mohegan Sun with my two best friends, and then yesterday I went to the Big E and ate my weight in cream puffs.

Yup.  I am home.

- ally

PS.  I have not seen Dad yet.  Clearly he has bigger fish to fry down in Washington than welcoming me home.  And I don't say that in a sarcastic, "Daddy never loved me" way.  I'll be seeing him on Wednesday before he heads off for Siberia.  Insert your own borscht joke here.