My Bologna Has A First Name

"Was that a six-legged, fire-breathing dog?"

In a word...yes? That, among other things, will be explained as I go through my travels through one of my list-toppers: Italy.

You'd think that travelling through Italy for work would be awesome. And it was...for a while, during my first visit. My boss was nice and let me go a few days early to enjoy myself before the work part started. My choice was Venice (Venezia). I wanted to see it before it becomes swallowed by the sea. I was alone but I never felt nervous about it. You know how most people would tell you that you shouldn't walk down dark alleys at night by yourself? I guess they didn't consider Venice, which consists of nothing BUT dark alleys at night. The only thing you can do is choose the slightly wider, slightly better lit, more pedestrian-travelled alleys.

As with all of my travels, I packed it in. I saw Piazza San Marco, the Rialto Bridge, the island of Murano, as many museums as I could pack in (my favourite was the Doge's Palace), and I became an expert in the vaporetti system along the Grand Canal. No, I didn't take a gondola for two reasons: 1) it's STUPIDLY expensive, and 2) it would have looked horribly, horribly sad for me to be in a gondola by myself.

The most fascinating aspect of Venice stumped me until my last day in the city. I couldn't figure out why there were so many heavy tables stacked up in the middle of the streets. They got in the way and increased the congestion on the busier routes. At first I thought they were used for street markets on the weekend or something, but it didn't explain why people just left them there during the week. It wasn't until I saw them all over Piazza San Marco that I realized why they were there. Parts of Venice are flooded at least 100 days out of the year, including the Piazza. The tables are set up so that people can walk on them, above the floodwater. Given that it was November, it was probably prime flooding season. Luckily, it didn't happen while I was there.

From Venice, I went to Bologna, which is where our equipment vendor was located. I didn't know much about Bologna, other than the fact that it's the origin of the deli meat (the proper name is mortadella) and it's where they make the awesome meat sauce for pasta (ALWAYS tagliatelle, NEVER spaghetti), but it's an incredibly interesting city historically. The oldest university in Europe is located there. The arches that are found all over the city started off as a method of property tax evasion, and then became a mandatory building code. The wall that once surrounded the main city centre is gone, but the 11 gates are still standing. Plus, their regional pasta is the tortellini. I tried every version, from tortellini to tortelloni to tortellaci (monstrously huge).

I took a day trip to Florence (Firenze) to meet my colleague and to see one of the most beautiful cities in the world. The art and the architecture were mind-blowing, and far beyond my capabilities to appreciate properly. I had to take a moment when I sipping a cappuccino, sitting in an outdoor patio in the Piazza del Duomo, staring up at the iconic Brunelleschi's Dome of the Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore. I couldn't believe I was there. Unfortunately, our shortage of time meant that we couldn't go to the Uffizi to see the masterpieces of the Renaissance, or to the Galleria dell'Accademia to see the real David, but we were able to check out numerous churches, and the Ponte Vecchio. We even saw a bunch of fake Davids, like the one on the back of a truck that moved from place to place, and the gigantic one at the top of the hill at Piazzale Michelangelo. So I can't say that I'm done with Firenze just yet. It will have to stay on the list for now.

Back in Bologna, it turned out that our equipment wasn't ready for us yet. So for two days we were treated to guided tours of Bologna and Ravenna, which is renowned for its mosaics and was an important city in the Byzantine Empire. Who knew? At the end of the trip, it was determined that the equipment was not acceptable. The vendor was going to spend two weeks to fix it, and then we'd come back and try testing it again. What? Come back to Italy in two weeks?

During the second trip, it was a little less like fun and definitely more like work. It was a little unnerving how much I was getting used to staying at the hotel too. I was able to take one day off...but there was little choice in the matter since it was a bank holiday and our vendor was closed. I managed to get a little work done before heading out for an unsuccessful attempt at shopping. For some reason, I wasn't as enthusiastic about it this time around. I guess it's because during the first trip, I fulfilled my goal of obtaining a quintessential Italian item: a Gucci handbag. I may have had to travel to the outskirts of Florence to get to the outlet mall, and then subsequently got soaked up to my knees during periodic downpours (cobblestone streets create the deepest puddles when you're not paying attention), but it was worth it.

I'm sad to say that the second round of testing didn't go very well either, and my co-worker had to stay behind for a few extra days while I went home and promptly got sick (it turned out that he did too, which was even more brutal since he was working every day, even on the weekend).

So in total it was a pretty decent trip personally, maybe not the best trip professionally. I also certainly gained an unknown number of pounds, but was able to increase my alcohol tolerance back to university standards. I think I came out ahead in the end.

And the six-legged fire-breathing dog is the logo for an Italian gas station. Take from it what you will.

"Do I have to tell the story of a thousand rainy days since we first met, it's a big enough umbrella but it's always me that ends up getting wet"

Hello Stranger

I've delayed posting this bit o' news because I wanted to surprise certain people. Also because I wasn't really sure how it would turn out. But here it is:

I have new eyes.

I was pretty depressed a while back when I was told that I wasn't eligible for laser eye surgery. A high degree of nearsightedness and thin corneas make a bad combo. My brother went for a consultation first and was told the same thing, but somehow I thought the outcome for me would be different. Not so much. After getting over the disappointment, I thought two things: 1) Maybe the technology will exist someday in the not-so-distant future, and 2) Maybe I can get a second opinion. Now.

In my search for another opinion, I stumbled across a completely separate option: intraocular collamer lens implants. Essentially, lenses are implanted into the eyes (behind the iris so you can't see them from the outside) to refocus the light. In other words, permanent contacts. The procedure is very similar to cataract surgery, which, I discovered, is the most common surgery in the world. That alone made me feel a lot better about it, even more so than laser. Not to mention the fact that I decided to go to the clinic that had a very good long-standing reputation, and whose founder probably invented some of the procedures. No discount eyes for me, thank you very much.

I had the consultation which confirmed that I was a candidate for ICL. Over the course of the next few weeks, I had a few other tests, including a retinal check in one of the sketchiest doctor's offices I've ever seen. I mean, the doctor himself was great and did a very thorough exam. The office was so full that people had to sit on the floor in the hallway, and there were some people who had been waiting for 3 hours prior. I don't know the whole story, but I was glad that I was able to get out of there in less than 2 hours.

On the day of the first eye (the policy is to operate on one eye at a time, so as not to create the possibility of ruining both eyes at once), I was a little more nervous than excited. I had to be there for 7:00 am but I was not the only one. The waiting room filled up quickly. I was ushered to a prep room where the nurse kept dousing my eye with drops. When my eye was good and numb, they led me to the operating room, where they gave me a hairnet but let me wear my street clothes, including my hoodie, which was kind of a weird combination. I was fully awake and aware when they started the procedure. I thought of nothing else but to concentrate on the light above me. I could see something being passed over my field of vision, but I ignored it. And then, suddenly, everything was black, except for red and green dots everywhere. For a moment, I just kept telling myself not to panic. Shortly, the light returned, and everything was cool. I spent the remainder of the day squinting through my "good" eye, while keeping my "bad" eye closed. It was a strange sensation, to be sure. I had considered the two options my brother had suggested (pirate patch or monocle), but I decided to opt out of both in the end.

The next day, I returned to the clinic. They checked the good eye, and everything looked all right, so we plowed ahead with the second. This time it didn't go black, but I did notice that the doctor struggled a tiny bit more to get the lens into my eye. Yeah, that's right, I saw him shoving it in a little bit. This resulted in a small bruise on my eye which I ended up explaining for days and days afterwards. When I left the office, I could see (well...more or less. It was still a bit blurry).

The first thing I did when I got home was look in the mirror. For the first time in over 20 years, I saw myself without glasses. That is, I saw myself from a distance, as opposed to having my face pressed up against the mirror. I had forgotten this face. It was really shocking to see how much of a difference a pair of glasses can make, even a small frameless pair like mine. Over the years, my glasses had been getting smaller and smaller to accommodate the thinnest possible lenses that I needed to correct my vision. I ditched the frames to try and make the glasses as close to invisible as I could. But it was still a stranger that stared back at me now.

It's been almost two weeks since I've had the procedure. I went for my 1-week follow-up appointment, and I read the letters from the 20/20 line. The pressure in my eyes is good (no exploding eyeballs please), and although the night vision is still a bit hazy, I was told that my eyes are still healing, so it may improve a little later.

I have inspired at least a dozen people at my workplace to look into ICL or laser eye surgery for themselves or their family members. I still have people telling me that I look very different, but in a good way.

You wanna know the best part of this experience, other than being able to see? I'm starting to recognize me again.

"And I wear my sunglasses at night, so I can, so I can keep track of visions in my eyes"

Eating, Praying, and Loving the Film Fest

I've been reading "Eat Pray Love" lately and, while I've been really enjoying the story, Elizabeth Gilbert's method of dividing up the chapters (three sections, 36 stories in each section) has been the most interesting part. I'm all about a logical order to things.

This year's film fest was once again an amazing time, albeit physically exhausting, emotionally draining, and mentally taxing. There were 11 days instead of 10, and 11 was always my lucky number. So this year's recap will be told in 11 anecdotes and reviews.

What Are My Chances?

I've discovered that my favourite position at Ryerson is the Rush line. Everyone in the line is friendly, patient, hopeful, and always has the same question: "What are the chances that I'll get in to see this film?" This is great for me because my answer is always the same: "You have the same chance as every other person in this line." Most of the time, they know this. But somehow I think it gives them something to hold on to while they wait for the outcome. The look on their faces when they find out that they're getting in is great too. It's like winning the lottery.

Eating Alone Has It's Advantages

I've never had a problem eating my myself. I admit, it can be a little boring sometimes, and I try my best not to weird other customers out by staring at them while they're trying to enjoy their meal. But the one thing I noticed this time is that the food seems to arrive a lot faster when you're alone. Maybe it has to do with the fact that I order my meal the moment the servers comes to the table for the first time. No slow deliberation, no piecemeal ordering process (drinks first, then dinner, etc.). Here's an example:

As usual, my nutrition was rather neglected over the course of the past two weeks, but other than the instances of street meat and other fast food endeavours, there were a few indulgences on my part. One evening I decided to eat at the Canteen, one of the restaurants at the beautiful new Lightbox (more about that in a minute). It was a busy evening so I agreed to sit out on the patio, where they had heat lamps. I looked at the menu and waited for the server, which seemed like a long wait but was really only ten minutes. After some brief questions about the daily specials, I placed my order. Meanwhile, my table neighbours (a middle-aged couple), who were there before I arrived, were chatting. After quite a while, the lady's french onion soup arrived, and soon afterwards, I got my meal. I finished my lamb and gnocchi and was contemplating dessert while the couple, who still hadn't gotten their main courses, were getting frustrated by the slow service. The man even pointed me out to the server ("She came in after us, and she's done"). On two occasions, they were told that their meals were coming shortly. I was making up my mind on dessert when they threw down their napkins and left. Their meals never came out, but I'm guessing they had some choice words with the manager before leaving.

The Solitude of Prime Numbers

Seriously, one of the better film titles I've heard in a while. All right, so I chose the film based on the geeky title. But the premise sounded interesting too: two friends, both suffering a personal tragedy in their youth (the boy neglected his mentally challenged twin sister, while the girl was hurt in a skiing accident) become friends but are "doomed to live parallel lives, always linked but never joined". And it's in Italian. AND Isabella Rossellini was in the film, but not there in person (she's aged quite a bit). But the film was pretty late in the evening, and a bit too abstract even for me. I just couldn't get into it.

Loving the Lightbox

I saw The Solitude of Prime Numbers as well as Aftershock at the Lightbox. I love this venue. Very contemporary, with lots of straight lines and open concepts. The main theatres have plush seats, while the smaller theatres are less opulent but still nice. The Essential 100 exhibit and a few other installations were free admission, and it was like walking through Nuit Blanche. Extremely modern art - interesting, but I'm not sure I get it. That probably means it's working. I'm really looking forward to coming here all year for films.

Aftershock

It was billed as the most successful Chinese film of all time. That was enough to get my attention. Aftershock is based on a novel by a Chinese Canadian author and focuses a (most likely) fictional story around factual events. In 1976, there's a huge earthquake in the city of Tangshan. A husband and wife were outside when it hit, and their 6-year-old twins, a boy and a girl, are inside their crumbling apartment building. The husband dies trying to save them, and in the aftermath, the wife is left to try and save her children. There's a concrete slab on top of them, and the rescue workers tell her to choose which one to save, because they can't lift the slab without crushing one of them. At first she can't choose, but the longer they wait, both of them could die. She eventually chooses her son, and is devastated as she leaves her daughter's body next to her dead husband. But the girl didn't die, and wakes up later amongst the bodies. She's adopted by a pair of married PLA soldiers who were part of the rescue team. The story then follows the twins' lives as they grow up apart and deal with what has happened to them. It all comes around again when another major earthquake hits Sichuan in 2008. The special effects in this film are really impressive, and at the end I was a sobbing mess. I recommend this film to everyone.

It's Never Too Late (The First Grader)

The First Grader was runner-up for People's Choice, and deservedly so. The Kenyan government offers free education for the first time, and hundreds of parents flood the schools to enroll their children. Among them is an 84-year-old man who wants to learn how to read. The administration tries to turn him away, but he insists that the papers said that the education was free for everyone. At first, he can't come in because he doesn't have a notebook or pencils. The next day he shows up with them. Then it's pointed out that he doesn't have the official school uniform. Sure enough, he finds the appropriate clothes. The head teacher decides to let him in. Based on true events (as a large number of films were at the fest this year), the film shows his struggle, including flashing back to his time as a rebel, fighting against British colonial rule. Some of the torture scenes are graphic, but it explains his determination to learn. I didn't know a lot about Kenyan history, or even about the tribalism and corruption that still exists now. REALLY good film.

Close Encounters

This year was pretty dry in terms of celebrity sightings. I was holding back the masses whilst standing two feet from Megan Fox. I have a jealous co-worker as a result. I saved the seats for Dev Patel and Freida Pinto, the two cute lovers from Slumdog Millionaire. And it took me awhile, but I finally recognized Abigail Breslin as I was having lunch (alone) at Sassafraz. I tried hard not to stare, but for some reason she spoke rather clearly, letting me know that she likes Diet Coke, the heirloom tomato salad and the chicken. She also drinks coffee. How old is she, fourteen??

Two things I'll remember from this year's fest:

• Director Julian Schnabel grabbing my hand as he was sitting down and asking me for water. In a force of habit, I had to tell him there wasn't any water for sale at the Ryerson. Afterwards, I realized we had tons of water in the green room and even in the volunteer room, so after talking to the staff, I was able to sneak back into the theatre to give him a bottle of water, which he actually passed to the author of book on which the film Miral was based.
• As we were waiting for the start of Miral, they did a sound check for John Carpenter's The Ward. We watched in disbelief as they ran a pre-taped message from John Carpenter himself, thanking people for coming to his screening and apologizing for not being able to attend because of jury duty. Seriously, if they'd seen his films, who in their right mind would want John Carpenter on their jury??

Janie Jones

Speaking of Abigail Breslin, I happened to have a ticket to a screening of her film the next day. A washed-up rock star (Alessandro Nivola) finds out that he has a 13-year-old daughter from a strung-out groupie (Elisabeth Shue! Where have you been?!), who promptly abandons the girl with him while she goes off to get clean. What follows is sort of a Paper Moon scenario except without the con artistry. It was a slightly predictable story but the music was really good and overall it was well done. And the most impressive part was Abigail's singing voice. She's never sung in movies or otherwise, and she sang all of the songs in the film. There's an additional backstory in that the director/screenwriter first met his daughter when she was 11. Although the film is not autobiographical, it was definitely inspired by his experience. The film was dedicated to his daughter, and she was his assistant during filming. She's now studying theatre in university.

What Was I Thinking?

Every year, I resolve to do a better job of scheduling my volunteer shifts with my day job and my films. And every year, it all goes out the window. I was going to take a few more days off, but I couldn't due to the amount of work I had. The addition of my cousin's wedding and a friend's birthday created a new kink in the plan. By the end of it, I was exhausted beyond belief. Not to mention the running between films...

The Conspirator

Although I missed out the on the opportunity to see my favourite (James McAvoy) in person, I still wanted to see his new film, one way or another. So on the final day of the festival, I dragged myself downtown again to sit in the rush line at the Varsity. Luckily, it was a nice day. While in line, I learned that the People's Choice winner was The King's Speech, which I had wanted to see but couldn't fit into my schedule. I got into the screening, and while I did enjoy the film (despite the frustrating nature of it), I kept one eye on the clock...

The film, directed by Robert Redford, was about the events following the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. Everyone knows that John Wilkes Booth was killed, but they also arrested a number of people as his co-conspirators, including Mary Surratt (Robin Wright), the woman who ran the boarding house where they allegedly met to plan the assassination. The feeling in the northern states was that they were all guilty, including the lawyer assigned to defend her. But the way the US government completely stacked the odds against her having a fair trial was shameful. From appointing nine Union generals to try the accused instead of a jury of her peers, to the coercing of defence witnesses, the whole proceeding was almost a farce. The lawyer eventually put his own bias aside in the name of justice, but in the end she was the first woman to be executed by the US federal government.

The Race for People's Choice

The minute The Conspirator ended, I raced out of the theatre and down to my car. I drove straight down (well, almost) to the Ryerson and ran to the end of the line. It turns out they still had hundreds of tickets. I took a minute to catch my breath, then asked my line neighbour to hold my place as I ran up to the Volunteer Office to pick up my invitation for the Staff and Volunteer Party later that evening. I ran back to the line, huffing and puffing, and was able to sit for about 5 minutes before they started letting the line into the theatre. I dropped into an available seat and just stopped moving until the film started. The King's Speech is about Prince Albert/King George VI (Colin Firth) and the events leading up to his coronation after the abdication of his brother. His terrible stutter drives him to seek the help of an unorthodox speech therapist (Geoffrey Rush). It's a fantastic film, and funny as hell. If you squint a little, Colin Firth really looks and sounds like "Bertie", from what I remember in documentaries and recordings, and Guy Pearce does look like Edward VIII at times, but I couldn't help thinking of his role in Priscilla, Queen of the Desert the whole time. I also love Helena Bonham Carter, she's always amazing.

After the film, I was too tired to go to the party, so I just went home and crashed hard on the couch. Another film fest is over. I already can't wait for the next. See you at the Lightbox. (Can barely talk in full sentences...)

"Oh mother tell your children not to do what I have done, spend your lives in sin and misery in the house of the rising sun"

The Asian-ing

About two and a half months ago, one of my close friends had her first baby, a daughter. I went to visit her four days after she was born. My friend is of Asian descent, and her husband is Caucasian. Her baby was really pale, with huge eyes, dark hair and no eyebrows. I was fairly surprised. In my experience, whenever there's an Asian-Caucasian blend, the Asian gene usually wins. In very few cases have the children ended up looking more Caucasian (I can only think of one case that I know about personally). Not that it's a bad thing. I concluded that her husband was able to overcome the dominant Asian gene.

I visited my friend and her baby again today after I got off work. When I saw the little one, I discovered that she was Asian-ing out. Her eyes were smaller in relation to her head, and she wasn't as pale anymore. It's probably because her head was growing faster than the rest of her face, and now her eyes were becoming slightly narrower. It's not that surprising given that she's growing like a weed (she's almost 14 pounds!). I'm usually terrible when it comes to having an opinion of who the baby resembles, but this time I could totally see that she's starting to look more like my friend. But she also furrows her brows (which are starting to grow!) just like her daddy. She's going to be a cutie.

And the Asian Domination continues.

"Oh it's in colour, your hair is brown, your eyes are hazel, and soft as clouds"

Cold in the Summer

There are very few things that I hate. I HATE HAVING A COLD IN THE SUMMER.

Even to say it aloud seems wrong somehow. Like going against nature. And the reason it peeves me more is because I don't get sick very often. In fact, for the first few days, I didn't realize I was sick. I was trying to figure out why my ears were blocked and why I felt like I was choking on something.

So today, instead of doing something outside in the sunshine, I'm at home in my PJs, resting, and drinking hot fluids on a hot day. SO wrong.

"Summer dreams ripped at the seams..."

Empire State of Mind

I was just itching to go somewhere. Anywhere. And then I watched "Sex and the City 2" and that was it. I had to go to New York. Well, I guess it could have been Dubai as well, but I'm a little strapped for cash. And isn't it hot enough??

A friend and I went to New York during the long weekend. It turns out that almost everyone else had the same idea. Another friend of mine and 3 of her friends were going to be there. Another friend was going on a bus tour. A couple of family friends' daughters were there. Every sight-seeing tour bus was full. Times Square was a sea of people. Every other person I passed on the street had a map in their hands. It was fantastic.

The last time I was in New York it was with my family and it was pre-911. I feel sad whenever I say it like that. Of course, out of some kind of morbid curiosity but mostly out of respect, I went to visit Ground Zero. Construction is in full swing, and I'm really interested in seeing the memorial site when it's finished. But the wall dedicated to the fire fighters and police officers made me a little teary. I can remember that day so clearly.

Despite the fact that this was not my first visit, I did a lot of "firsts". I went to my first Broadway show (we saw "Billy Elliot", and I HIGHLY recommend it, but not for young children). I walked through Central Park for the first time. I stood in the middle of Times Square for the first time. I rode in a Yellow Cab for the first time (it's just as scary as I had imagined it would be).

The one thing that excited me the most? Seeing a family with Tim Hortons cups in their hands. I eventually found the store on 42nd Street and became giddy. But I didn't go in. That would have been so uncool.

"These streets will make you feel brand new, big lights will inspire you"

What Just Happened?

I can't believe this...

A 5.0 magnitude earthquake lasted for maybe 30 seconds this afternoon.

I didn't feel a thing.

I was working out in the plant, running around where things are loud and rumbling, and when I got back to the production office they told me that it happened maybe ten minutes ago.

Now, you would think that most people's first reaction to something like this would be some fear, maybe a little panic, and mostly not enjoyable. The news sound bites show people being evacuated from office buildings, etc. I, on the other hand, was mostly disappointed that I missed out on the experience. Yeah, I know, I'm weird.

What really bums me out is that I didn't feel the last one either. It happened maybe 10 years ago, and they said that the top of the CN Tower swayed a little and so on. So really, this is like the Polkaroo for me - darn it, I missed him again!

And now they've issued a tornado warning up north. Not that I really want to experience THAT, per se, but seriously. It's the end of the world.

"Don't let your feet touch the ground, and don't look down"

Every Step You Take

I still think that's the creepiest song ever...

I'm participating in a pedometer challenge at work. Everyone who's taking part in the challenge has to wear a pedometer for 16 hours a day for a whole month and record the number of steps they take each day. I'm not sure if there's a prize, but I know a number of people are in competition with each other to see who has the highest number at the end of the month.

To be honest, I didn't really want to win anything. I was just really curious as to how many steps I walk in a given day. My job involves a lot of sitting in front of the computer, and more often than not I end up crashing on my couch each night. After two weeks, it's pretty clear that I lead a sedentary lifestyle, according to the numbers.

This exercise has finally prompted me to go down and explore the park next to my building. There's a path that leads down into the woods from the street, and I had been fascinated by it for months and months, but I never felt compelled enough to get off my butt to check it out. During a few days of decent weather, I took the path. It transported me partially out of my suburban neighbourhood (I could still hear the traffic) and into a peaceful forest that held some interesting surprises. A wooded area had been transformed (presumably by local kids) into a series of ramps and jumps for bicycles. A secluded bench area looked out over a waterfall in the creek that had a series of rocks you could walk across to the other bank. One day, a pair of ducks were taking advantage of the deep pool at the base of the waterfall and were taking a leisurely swim. I wished I had brought my stale bread, as they seemed really interested in the pebble I tossed into the water and rushed over to see if it was edible. Each time I went down to the park, I tried to walk a little further than I had the previous day. It's like a mini adventure each time.

My point: take the road less travelled, especially by you.

"Every move you make"

If You Love Something, Set It Free...

But I already know that I'll probably never see it again. Such is life, I suppose.

For about 16 or 17 years, I've had to explain why I named my turtle Trout. It was pretty simple: the day my mother bought my brothers and me each a turtle, was the day I went to the Toronto Sportsman Show with some of my friends. At the show, they had a trout fishing demonstration inside the building, which we wanted to see but I think we missed it for some reason. Even though it's been nearly two decades, the fact that I remember the day is a result of me giving my turtle an unusual name. The other two turtles have long since passed from this world. Trout has been alone for most of his life. He's also grown from the size of my palm to the size of a football. A football with pointy claws. He's also had to deal with living in a fish tank that lets him turn around and that's about it. Luckily, in recent years, we've been able to leave him outside in a kiddie pool during the summer months. He had a nice flat rock to sunbathe on, plenty of bugs to munch on (thanks to my mom and my brother's diligent bug-catching efforts), and a cleverly designed lid to keep the raccoons out (thanks to my dad's ingenuity). But now that I've moved out and live in a condo, I've spent the better part of a year trying to figure out how I was going to move my turtle to sky-high living. It seemed unnatural, in more ways than one. My mother had been complaining about him for years and years, and was constantly asking when I was going to take him with me. Something had to be done.

About a month ago, my cousin asked me if I'd be willing to sell my turtle to a friend of a friend of hers. This person had a pond and was in the market for a turtle, but wanted to avoid the sketchiness of pet stores. This pretty much was the solution to my problem. Unfortunately, after some back-and-forth discussion, the deal fell through. I was back to strategizing when my cousin contacted me again with another potential taker. This time, it was a wildlife conservation facility near Orillia called Scales Nature Park. They have the most extensive collection of reptiles, and more importantly, they take in animals if their owners can no longer care for them. It makes for a better alternative than just setting them loose in the local environment. So today, I packed up my turtle and drove up north to Oro-Medonte. I wasn't sure what to expect, and when I got there I was really surprised how large the facility was, considering it looked just like a rural house from the outside. They had a lizard that was the size of my coffee table. When the owner, Jeff, brought me outside to the pond, I knew right away that I had made the right choice. The other turtles jumped into the water as we approached, and he told me that it doesn't take long for turtles, even if they'd lived in a tank their whole life, to revert back to their natural instincts when they're left alone. Even the ones that used to beg for food when you came up to the side of the tank would bite your finger if you tried to touch them.

The one thing that made me feel better was when Jeff told me that Trout was the healthiest, most colourful specimen that had ever been brought to him. When I told him that we kept him outside during the summer, he said that's what makes the world of difference. So even though I fell short in some of the caregiving, at least I had taken care of him properly where it mattered the most.

I left Trout at the side of the pond as he was taking in his new surroundings. Jeff told me that he may not be here for the rest of his life. They try to adopt out the animals to anyone who's willing to take care of them. But he noted that it was less likely that someone would want to adopt an older, larger turtle as opposed to the cute baby ones. I was fine with it either way. I may stop by the park to visit him in the future, on my way up to a cottage or some other northern adventure. But by the time that happens, he will probably jump in the water as I approach.

"Remember all the things we wanted, now all our memories, they're haunted, we were always meant to say goodbye"

Moment of Silence

Nature is about balance. There can never be too much of one thing, or else everything falls apart. Being scientifically-minded, that's something I believe in deeply, and I know that there's a force of some kind in the universe that's keeping this balance in check, and I'm okay with it. For all the good that comes, you must accept the bad. That's just how it is.

My grandfather passed away the day after I returned home from Vancouver. It's a complicated and long story, but suffice it to say that he had been in the hospital for almost the whole time I was gone. My family didn't tell me about it until the day before I was supposed to come home. Although I was ready to rearrange my travel plans, my father told me that Grandpa was stable for the time being, and that it wasn't necessary to switch my flight. When I landed on Wednesday, it was late and so I just got the story from my father, who said that he had somehow cracked his ribs (probably from a fall) and didn't tell anyone, and that he now had pneumonia which wasn't going away, and the cracked ribs weren't helping him to breathe. The oxygen level in his bloodstream was borderline, and even when they administered a high level of oxygen to him, it wasn't improving. They had to restrain him because he kept trying to pull the needles out of his arms and the oxygen mask from his face. He couldn't see, or hear, and now he couldn't really speak. Essentially, the diagnosis was that his probability of recovery was about 0%. If, by some chance, he did recover, the quality of life would be such that he wouldn't be able to function, even in a nursing home. My father told me that the time had come for us to make a choice, and that we'd make it the next day.

This was the first time that I've ever been faced with this possibility. It wasn't like we were going to "pull the plug", since he was still breathing on his own, but if they stopped the antibiotics and fluids and just left it to morphine and oxygen, then he would be more comfortable, and then it would just be a matter of time.

The next day at work was kind of strange. I was glad that everyone was happy to see me, and wanted to hear all about my trip and my experiences (which they had been following on a daily basis). It kept my mind occupied, and I wasn't staring at the phone, waiting for the call that I dreaded. After work, I went to my parents' for dinner. On the way there, I realized that I wasn't wearing my iron ring. I wear it all the time but I have to take it off for work occasionally, and I thought I had put it back on before I left the office, but I figured I must have been distracted. It gave me an eerie feeling. We drove to the hospital, and my brother said something that made me laugh hysterically, until I realized that I was crying. I pulled myself together as we arrived. My parents led the way to the room. I tried everything I could to prepare myself for whatever I was going to see.

My grandfather was lying in the bed, with tubes in his arms, gasping for breath. The last time I saw him, even though he had sight and hearing issues and he had problems with his memory, he was extremely healthy for a man of 93 years of age. He had a straight back, walked on his own (mostly), and had all of his own teeth (I really hope I got some of those genes). He was also fairly tall, but in the hospital bed he looked so small and frail. He moved around constantly, like he was trying to get out of the bed. I pretty much lost it at that point. I walked over to his bedside and held his hand. It was really warm, and he squeezed my hand once in a while. He seemed to relax a little bit, which was reassuring. I didn't say anything to him, since he couldn't hear me anyway, but in a weird, irrational way I hoped he could sense what I was thinking through my hand. When it was time to go, I looked back at him on my way out and said goodbye.

We went to my uncle's house, which was down the street. I was still emotional, which set off my cousins. I asked my cousin, who's a doctor, to explain the situation to me. From the discussion she had with the hospital physician, she agreed that his chances of recovery were not good. We were in the middle of talking about the next step we should take when the phone rang. The hospital called to tell us that he had passed away. This was literally minutes after we had left the room.

One of the first things I felt was relief. I was relieved that I had made it home in time. My greatest fear was that I wouldn't be able to see him, to say goodbye. Thirteen years ago, my grandmother died five minutes before we arrived. Even now, that thought haunts me. I was also relieved that he wasn't suffering anymore. Watching him struggling like that hurt my heart. But in the back of my mind, I was relieved that he decided to take matters into his own hands, and that none of us had to make the choice. It seems like a selfish thing to feel, but I can't help it.

We all went back to the hospital. I looked at him as we entered the room. It was quiet. No more machines, no more gasping, no more movement. They had covered him up to his face, and I'd like to say that he looked peaceful but that wasn't true. It was as though his face was frozen in time.

He was my last surviving grandparent. He was extremely stubborn, extremely private, extremely hard to know. In the last few years, it's been even tougher with his declining mental state. But now, looking back at the photos of him and me together, I know that he cared for me and my brothers and cousins. You can see it on his face.

"There are places I remember all my life, though some have changed"

The Wrap-Up

Well, the end is near. I'll be heading home tomorrow. Hopefully the airport will be a little less crowded (39,000 people in one day is quite a lot). Are you suffering from Olympics withdrawal yet? I sure am.

The past two weeks have been really surreal. Vancouver and Whistler have been fantastic as always, but when you add in all of the emotion and excitement from the Olympics, it's been a crazy high the whole time.

Things that surprised me:

• the patriotism: we've been gung-ho about Canada in the past, but nothing like this. Everyone in the world must know our anthem by now. I have never in my life seen so much red and white.
  
• the cynicism in the press: okay fine, we didn't exactly work out all the bugs up front, but even when things were going relatively well, the international press was still dumping on us. Should they have moved the Cypress events? It's not like moving your car. They planned for the events to be held there months, maybe years in advance. And really, where would they have moved them? Whistler may be big but to add two more stadiums, rearrange the security and figure out the transportation would have been disastrous. "Worst games ever"? Really? I don't know where that reporter was sitting, but as far as I could tell everyone here was having a great time.
• the recovery: along the same vein, having an athlete die right before the start was somewhat of a PR fiasco. The protest/riot at the beginning was also a pretty big damper. But they figured it out in the end. Being respectful to the athlete and his country, mentioning it from time to time (but not all the time) was a good idea. Whether or not there were other public disturbances, it's hard to say since I heard the media were asked not to publicize it. And thank goodness they worked something out in the closing ceremonies to cover the hydraulic mess from the opening ceremonies. The moment I saw that, all was forgiven (almost...).
  
• the Hollywood quality: how many "made for Hollywood" moments were there? The bronze-winning figure skater whose mother had died days earlier, the nail-biting overtime goal for gold, the formerly blind bobsleigh driver who won gold, the cross-country skier who finished third despite injuring herself during the warm-up, and the list goes on.
• the cheesiness: as I said earlier, the opening ceremonies were slightly disappointing. The closing was good at the beginning, but then sort of degenerated into the same sort of embarrassment as before. I get that we were trying to make fun of ourselves, but I think as Canadians we have a sense of humour that only we understand.

Now that it's all over, there are a few things I hope will happen. I hope that at least part of the enthusiasm that we experienced here will carry over to the Paralympic Games later this month. I hope that city councillor is successful in reopening some of the pavilions and exhibits. I hope the money that was being funnelled into the sports programs over the past 4 years to "own the podium" will continue. I hope, sometime in the near future, we actually will own the podium.

Thanks for following me on my Olympic journey. However, I don't think it's over quite yet. I was at a London Drugs today and my total came to $20.12. No joke.

"Most beautiful place reborn and blown off roof, my view about-face whether great will be done"

Putting the "Win" in "Winter"

Hello friends! A brief hiatus in the blogging but most definitely not a break in the action. It's been all go, no stop for the past few days, but I can't believe that it's over already. As per usual, I feel like I need a vacation from my vacation.

I don't need to reiterate the events of the past few days. In a word: awesomeness. The basic atmosphere that I felt in Vancouver was also there in Whistler. Our hotel was right beside the entrance to the downhill venue. The sliding centre was on Blackcomb, and I don't know if any of you have ever seen bobsleigh live, but that has become one of my favourite events. If you're willing to hike uphill, you can stand right beside the track as the sleds go by. First, you hear them rumbling towards you, and then in a flash you see something pass in front of you, and then you can feel the air displacement as they disappear around the corner or down the track. The intensity is unbelievable. And when you can go from second to third place in 1/100 of a second, it just boggles the mind. And although 50 km of cross-country skiing sounds boring (and insane), a mass start is actually really interesting. And given the final footrace to the end, where we lost gold by 1.6 seconds, it looks like we could be a contender for nordic sports in the future.

I'm just about ready to collapse tonight, so stay tuned tomorrow for the wrap-up.

"Long may it wave, and grace our own, blue skies and stormy weather, within my heart, above my home, the Maple Leaf forever!"

The Best Game You Can Name

We all know the song. It's instilled into us from birth (maybe even before). We'll get to that in a minute. But right now, the name of the game is "How Early Will You Line Up?"

We were a little slow to start this morning, but we still got to Robson Square at about 7:30. There was already a line formed in front of the zip line entrance. We found out that the people at the head of the line arrived just before 5:00. While that sounds ridiculous, if you take into account that the zip line doesn't open until 10:00, then they would have been in the line for five hours. Which, actually, is how long Olivia and I waited as well. Except that they waited in the cold, dark rain, whereas we only had to deal with two of the three. It was super long and super moist, but we made the most of it, and chatted it up with our line neighbours. When it was our turn, the legs started to give out, literally. I had been constantly moving my legs in the line, but by the time I climbed the stairs of the tower, I had pretty much lost feeling in them. But that may have only been partially due to the cold. When we were ready to hit it, I looked right at Olivia and jumped. Then, like the idiot I am, I proceeded to press the power button on my camera and turned it off. In a panic, I mashed the button to turn it back on. Once things were sorted out, I was still able to capture this:



As you can see, I didn't quite make it to the platform, but they reeled me in like a fish, so it was all good. Olivia was slightly less successful in her filming, namely because she was spinning like a top all the way across. We had some friends recording the event from the ground, so we'll have it from all angles in the end. When I film things, I have a tendency to concentrate on the filming and not actually on whatever it is that I'm experiencing (for example, concerts or fireworks). The camera fiasco was definitely distracting, but once it was under control, I did look around, and even noticed the people on the street cheering for me. The one thing I can say is that even though it only lasted for about 30 seconds, you don't feel like you're travelling very fast. Which works out well, I think, given the 5 hours of waiting.

We had a record medal haul today, didn't we? Without knowing this, I was finally able to line up to see the Olympic Medals at the Royal Canadian Mint pavilion. Although they said it would be a three-hour wait, I waited anyway. I got another pin for my collection, and they kept yelling out the score for the Canada-Russia hockey game, so I didn't miss anything. I ended up inside the building within an hour, and in the medal room after another 45 minutes. The result?



That's a gold medal my friends! They are huge and heavy, but still fascinating.

Meanwhile, after the hockey win had been confirmed, the streets were just packed and insane. Cheering, screaming, national anthem-singing, and high-fiving occurred frequently. It didn't matter that it started to drizzle again, everyone was still in a great mood.

It's already starting to wind down over here. Tomorrow, if you happen to be watching the finals for men's aerials, and if the weather is fairly crappy, look into the general admission stands and see if you can spot a bright yellow poncho (a.k.a. garbage bag with a hole in it) standing next to a pink jacket. Otherwise, it's a cream-coloured jacket standing next to the pink. Peel the eyes!

"Oh rainy day come round, sometimes I just want it to slow down"

Welcome to the Winter Olympics

I seem to be two for two, for two reasons. Today was women's ski cross, where I watched another great Canadian female athlete bring home a gold medal. I also got soaked again, but for a different reason. If you saw the races, you'll have noticed that it started to snow at Cypress. Then, it started to snow A LOT. By the time the final heat was finished, there was accumulation on the metal staircases, making it somewhat treacherous. The only good thing was that the mountain was no longer mostly brown.

Coming down the mountain, the snow quickly turned into rain, and it looks like it's going to stay that way for the rest of my stay here on the west coast. Regardless, we're going to join the epic line-up for the zip line first thing tomorrow morning, so I'm going to have to cut this short.

P.S. The random meeting has occurred: we spotted our high-school friend Leena in the stands at Cypress. If you're a friend of hers on Facebook, check out her new status.

"And you've already got me coming undone, and I'm thinking two is better than one"

Who's Sitting Beside You?

Since the whole world is here (it seems), it would logically stand to reason that you could be sitting next to someone interesting. Today, I took the train down to the airport to meet my friend Olivia who will be joining me for the duration of the Games. The train was busy as usual in the downtown area, but the crowd dwindled as we travelled further away and then turned toward the airport. An older East Indian lady sat next to me for the last few stops. She noticed the pins on my bag strap and thought that I was a volunteer. I had to explain that I was just a spectator. She had just arrived from San Diego yesterday, and was headed up to Whistler. She told me that she had been to the 1988 Winter Games in Calgary and she was happy to be back. I asked if she had been a spectator back then, and she replied that she was a former Olympian. In fact, she was the first female athlete to represent India in the Winter Olympics. That pretty much blew my mind, until I asked her what event she was in, and she said slalom. I couldn't believe I was sitting next to someone who had made history. I've since Googled her, and she must have been Shailaja Kumar. She came in 28th place, which was essentially last, but at least she had managed to finish, unlike a lot of other skiers, including Karen Percy and Kerrin-Lee Gartner of Canada.

Tonight we were up at Cypress watching the qualification runs for men's aerials. We had some pretty kick-ass seats, directly in front of the landing area. The group sitting next to us had some large homemade signs ready to go. As it turns out, they were the family of Steve Omischl, who along with the other two Canadians in the field were able to qualify for the finals on Thursday. Watch for us on Thursday night, we'll be standing in the general admission pit. Until then, we'll be up at Cypress again tomorrow to watch ladies' ski cross. Should be an exciting race!

"I was sitting, waiting, wishing you believed in superstitions, then maybe you'd see the signs"

The Collective

I guess sci-fi geeks will know what I mean when I talk about "the collective". Everyone has the same thoughts, the same feelings, and acts as one. The way that we have become a collective over the course of the past week is just incredible.

Downtown Vancouver was a mob scene today. Everywhere I went, the lines were hours long. At first, I didn't think I wanted to sit in a public place for 2-3 hours for the hockey game, but after the puck dropped, I started looking for a place to park my butt and it was too late - every bar and restaurant was full up. As I wandered down Robson Street, there was a moment when an enormous cheer came from every doorway, and echoed up and down the street. I didn't have to ask to know what had just happened. I finally found a sports bar that would let me in. All the barstools were taken, but I was able to buy a beer and sit on the dance floor in front of the big screen, deafened by the stereo that was blaring the commentary. Every near miss, every bad call, and every spectacular save resulted in the exact same reaction from every person on the screen and in the establishment. Well, except maybe for the American that was sitting next to me. When it was all over, the mood was initially subdued. But out on the street, it was a different story.

Case in point:





Today, I heard two spontaneous renditions of "O Canada" - once before the game and once after the game. I can only hope that the good humour of the city is being collectively felt through the country.

"Learn from these streets, it can be bleak, accept no defeat, surrender, retreat"

Two Seasons / A Day Removed

Hello avid Pharm Girl followers! Yesterday was pretty busy, so today will be a double header.

It's been really hard to know what to wear here. Every day, I see people who are wearing boots, scarves and mittens, as well as those wearing t-shirts, shorts and flip-flops. So far, I've been a little in between, with my new Canada hoodie and a down vest, and pulling out the mittens in the evening when it gets a bit crispy.

Yesterday I was able to hit a number of pavilions with little to no line-ups. The Ontario pavilion is interesting, but the line for the 4D marketing film was discouraging for me. Then again, I don't need to be enticed to go to Ontario. The Maison du Quebec was the most impressive. From the outside, it's a large white cube, but inside, it's a large white open-air cube. It's simple and it looks really cool. After spending the day walking around, I met up with my cousins and aunt and took the free Olympic line to Granville Island. The lines for the House of Switzerland and the Atlantic Canada House were a big deterrent, but the Place de la Francophonie was wide open. After dinner, we walked back along the waterfront to Michael's office, where his staff had organized a little party prior to that evening's fireworks. We had a pretty spectacular view of the fireworks, which were slightly delayed due to the party across the creek at Yaletown going overtime. As we headed home, we passed the sad sight of a Jeep that had been hit by the Olympic line train. It's sad because you know that it had to be the Jeep's fault - the train must be the slowest one I've ever been on. Also sad for the people in Granville who were probably waiting.

Today was a day spent entirely removed from the Olympic scene. We drove inland to Langley to check out a winery, the Domaine de Chaberton Estates. Unfortunately, the restaurant was fully booked, but we were able to pick up a few bottles of wine. The plan was to go see a church in Mission, but a detour was made to White Rock instead. Lunch at a Greek restaurant (very Olympic appropriate) was followed by a walk along the beach and down the pier. All of the houses are built along the side of the steep hills, which totally reminded me of Santorini. Mount Baker could be seen in the distance (fully covered with snow). On the way back, we stopped at a huge Buddhist temple in Richmond. Not quite a church, but probably a lot more ornate. A spiritual experience is a spiritual experience. Then we went to Aberdeen Centre, which hands down puts Pacific Mall to shame. Think Eaton Centre, but completely Asian. Dinner in Richmond is an ordeal, only because it's extremely hard to narrow down the options (we were able to decide on a noodle house).

Calling it a night early (relatively speaking). Going to spend time downtown again tomorrow. I'm sure I know where you'll be at 4:30 PT/7:30 ET. Keep your eyes peeled, maybe you'll see me on the screen afterward.

"Just like the white winged dove sings a song, sounds like she's singin'"

Because the Dutch Know How to Party

Tried to get an early start today. Early being 9-ish. I also tried my hand at the transit system starting from my cousin's house. I made it down to Lonsdale Quay and looked around before boarding the SeaBus. A Russian tall ship was docked there, and I took a few shots before I continued downtown.

The big news lately was that they had solved the "ugly fence" problem regarding the Olympic cauldron. I hustled over to the IBC and stood in the line for about an hour before getting as many interesting shots as I could. It does make you wonder why they didn't think of this solution in the first place, given that the staircase and platform were already there. But whatever. The flak that VANOC has been getting is maybe partially deserved. As far as I know, nobody has ever put an Olympic cauldron out in public before. They were always lit inside the stadium where almost nobody had access to it for photos, let alone close-up photos with people in the frame. But when you put something on public display, the opportunity for mischief increases, so security is definitely an issue. I just hope they stop griping about it now and move on.

After my brush with the flame, and grabbing a quick lunch, I made my way down to Richmond to check out the O Zone. I had been told a number of times to go to the Holland Heineken House, and since I was armed with my little orange backpack, I figured now was a good time to blend in. Especially in Richmond. I got to the gate at around 2:30, but they weren't letting anyone in until after 3:00. By sheer luck I followed the right people and ended up in line to get into the Heineken House before most people figured out where to go. It was a fun atmosphere inside, albeit all in Dutch. They were commentating the hockey game in Dutch too, but as Canadians we knew what was going on. I got a beer and some fries and sat in the stands to watch the ladies half pipe runs (the venue is usually a hockey arena). The beer garden was getting more and more crowded, and I had explored the whole house, so I decided to go out to see the rest of the O Zone. As I exited, I saw that the line was still huge. It seemed like they weren't letting anyone in until the end of the hockey game.

There was a concert stage, a skating oval, a lot of food tents, and the Richmond Library had been turned into the "International Living Room", where you could go in to sit and watch the events on TV, or use the internet, or just sit and read. I found out that Our Lady Peace was playing later on in the evening, so instead of going to Yaletown, I decided to stick around for the rest of the day.

By the end of the night, the field was packed with people for the concert. I left before the end, around 10:30, and as I walked out of the venue, the Heineken House was full, and even the line to get into the O Zone area was unbelievably massive. I was really glad I got in early.

And now (drumroll...), the moment we've been waiting for...

PHOTOS!


The line-up to see the flame (the end of the line is in the distance, at the top of the hill)


Me and the controversial cauldron


Outside the Heineken House


Inside the Heineken House beer garden (the people are staring at the big screen TV to the right of the frame)


The crowd that had gathered for the Our Lady Peace concert (the screen on the left is showing the men's figure skating medal presentation...the guy from the US had won!)

"Even the angels are losing sleep and the sidewalks are bare"

Sights (With No Evidence)

A beautiful day on the West Coast. After a bit of a late start this morning, I made it downtown at around 1:00 pm. Realizing that I had once again forgotten my camera, I was going to have to dust off the memory bank and put it to work.

I noticed a lot of remarkable things. First, and this is important, there is a zipline going across Robson Square. That has to be the most fun thing ever. Good news is it's free. Bad news is that the wait is about 5 hours. I think I'll save that for later.

There was a woman with nordic walking sticks that passed me on the street. The last time I saw those, I was in Denmark. Speaking of walking, there were at least 3 different people, at different points during the day, walking in front of me with leg casts and crutches. The most impressive was a girl who was in a full clubbing outfit, knee-high stiletto boot on one leg and knee-high cast on the other.

You have to wait in line for pretty much everything. I waited to get into the Live City Vancouver Downtown venue. I was in the Canadian pavillion when they brought out our Holy Grail, the Stanley Cup. I had to settle for a fuzzy cell-phone photo, but that's okay. I have a vague recollection that I took a photo of it once before. You can have your photo taken holding an Olympic torch but there are a few places where you can do that, so I can take the opportunity another time. I watched on the big screen as they awarded the gold medal to Maelle Ricker, and everyone in the venue started singing along with the national anthem. That was another interesting sight: people have been spontaneously singing "O Canada" on the street. Not just one or two lines, but the whole thing. And quite poorly in some cases, but it's the thought that counts.

As I was passing by Alberta House, they were showing the final race for women's 500 m speed skating, and I watched as Marianne St-Gelais won the silver. Nice birthday present.

I called it a night early and took the SeaBus back to North Vancouver. Tomorrow, another day out on the town. The camera is in plain view.

"Wanna leave but I've got to stay, and I'm wondering more everyday, Montreal to Hong Kong, where have all the good people gone?"

Worth the Wet

Here I am in slightly mild, extremely wet Vancouver! The plane ride left something to be desired (note to self: don't sit over the wings). I felt sorry for my seat neighbour, who was trying to sleep as I kept having to dash to the washroom. But he was really nice about it. I was sort of in a daze when I got off the plane, stopping at every TV to watch snippets of the men's 500 m speed skating event. My cousin and her daughter Jessica met me at the baggage claim, and so I was able to go into auto-pilot.

It was an early start today, taking the bus from Capilano University to Cypress Mountain at 7:00 in the morning to watch the ladies snowboard cross. Unfortunately, I forgot to bring my camera, but driving up the mountain made me realize that there may not be much to photograph. It was like driving through oblivion, the fog was so thick. When we got off the bus, we walked for what seemed like miles through the clouds before we got to the security gate. Jessica and I were able to sneak in some granola bars, so that already felt like a victory. What took us by surprise was the size of the grandstand area. And the stairs. Holy crap, so many stairs. I'll post a photo next time, it's ridiculous. We found our seats, but due to the poor visibility, they delayed the start of the qualification runs from 10:00 to 11:00. That's when the rain started to get heavier. After a while, we both realized that our snowpants weren't as waterproof as we had hoped. So we headed back down the stairs and looked for somewhere dry. The only place available was the merchandise booth. We lined up to go inside, and then found out that the ponchos were sold out. We had to make do with the raincoats that we had brought. We bought cowbells mostly for the bag that we would later use to sit on. But the cowbells turned out to be very useful too.

Since we didn't want to sit on wet seats again, we hung out around the food/washroom area. Then they announced that the start was delayed again until 12:00. We passed the time by looking at fans from other countries who were dressed in an interesting fashion. First prize went to the Swiss with their umbrella hats emblazoned with the white cross on top. A close second was this impossibly tall Abe Lincoln look-alike, complete with top hat, and a hockey jersey that had "Lincoln" on the back. In terms of celebrity sightings, I noticed the very distinct hair of Shaun White waving a US flag several rows in front of me. I didn't see his face, but I was pretty sure it was him.

The sky cleared a little, and finally the qualification runs began. A number of the competitors fell, including the Canadians, probably because of the conditions. They had to hold the course a few times because the fog kept rolling in and out. Once we got to the quarter and semi finals, the sun started to come out. Maelle Ricker kept winning her heats, which kept everyone excited. During the final, everyone was yelling and ringing their cowbells, which was intense. When she crossed the finish line first, everyone went nuts! It was so amazing!

I'm warm and dry now, at my cousin's house. I think the whole experience is still sinking in. I was just at a Canadian gold-medal event. And, according to my cousin, I was on TV! I'm going to have to watch the re-runs tonight.

An excellent start to the Olympic experience. And I'm so glad I didn't buy the general admission tickets (which at this point have all been cancelled due to unsafe conditions).

"There's something 'bout the way the street looks when it's just rained"

The Weight (and Wait) of Gold

I don't know how much more excitement I can take. And I'm not even there yet.

Yesterday I was really pumped as I watched the women's moguls. But the look on Jennifer Heil's face as she found out that she had won silver just tore my heart out. You could tell how disappointed she was. But a medal is a medal. And we were on our way...

The pressure that's been on Canadian athletes for the past 34 years has been pretty intense. Montreal was before my time, and I don't know if I was really aware of the significance of it when I was 9 years old, watching the Calgary games. But ever since Vancouver/Whistler won the bid for 2010, that was when I felt the collective need of the country for our athletes to win. The "curse" that is constantly mentioned by the media could honestly be a self-fulfilling prophesy.

Today, Kristina Groves was ecstatic for her bronze in the 3,000 m long track. Considering this isn't her best event, it's completely understandable. And this could be just one of five medals for her.

And just a few moments ago, Alex Bilodeau took the weight off of everyone's shoulders when he won our first gold in moguls. It was so amazing. I can't imagine how crazy it is in Vancouver right now.

Day 3, and already 3 medals, tied for 3rd place. And on a more personal note, I just found out that my friend gave birth on Thursday to a beautiful baby girl. I am literally dancing around my condo.

One more sleep for me. I have no idea how I'm going to do it.

"I got a little secret for ya, I never sleep when comes the night"

"Why didn't they just come out with the Chinese?"

My friend's girlfriend said those words as we sat in their living room watching the opening ceremonies of the Vancouver 2010 Olympic Winter Games. She was referring mostly to the delegation from Hong Kong. From that point on we basically commented on every delegation, Asian or otherwise, as not being included within the realm of China.

It was probably wrong of us to provide so much colour commentary (some of which really was inappropriate) during the ceremonies, but it really left us shaking our heads and wondering how this presentation could be perceived as an accurate representation of Canada and Canadians by the rest of the world. During the "cultural" portion, the guys were fascinated by the inclusion of Gandalf in the Arctic, mesmerized by the boy-girl "running" through the wheat field, and baffled by the punk rock fiddlers. There were some really nice moments though. Like when the whales swam across the floor, and when the trees rose up to create an Emily Carr-like backdrop for the dancers, or when Gandalf lit up the Northern Lights. But the cheesiness of some of the performances, the unfortunate faulty hydraulics which sadly ruined Catriona Le May Doan's torch moment, and the strange logistics of the outdoor Olympic cauldron (did anyone else think the security around Wayne Gretzky's pick-up truck was surprisingly non-existent?) left us somewhat disappointed. We had this chance to show the world we could put together a first-class event, and I think we fell short.

Well, despite the glitches, I'm still looking forward to seeing all of this up close when I travel to Vancouver on Monday. Stay tuned for the next two weeks and I'll try to keep up my blog during my Olympic adventure. Especially for the newer members of my audience (hi guys!).

"Moment is fading, one minute's past, but I've got this moment to make it all last"

Farewell to Friends

I hope the new year has found you all safe, healthy, and happy.

My father received news that one of his childhood friends had passed away from cancer on Sunday. It was known for some time that his health was failing, but despite the advance warning it was still shocking and sad for my dad. He forwarded an e-mail to me and my brothers that he had written to Uncle Benny’s family, detailing the story of how he had met Uncle Benny when he was 11, and how the two of them and Uncle Max had grown up together like brothers. Over the years the three of them had moved to different parts of the world but still kept in touch. His only regret was that they weren’t able to meet in person as much as they would have liked. The last time he saw Uncle Benny was when our family travelled to Ottawa, years and years ago. I still remember the visit.

Reading my dad’s story made me think of my own friends. I met my closest friends when I was about 11 or 12. We grew up together and although we went to different universities we kept in touch constantly and gathered together as often as possible. Now, as we navigate our own lives and have spread out a little more, we still try to keep in touch and meet as much as we can. I know that the inevitable will happen, when one day we’ll have to part company for all time, but I hope that won’t happen anytime soon.

"All the right friends in all the right places, so yeah, we're going down"