I dream olympic.
Uh oh. Don't look now but it's the Olympics. Most of the time they're farther up the street, making their godawful noise about something (money? power? genetics? *what* exactly?) but this year they've moved right into the damp basement we call Vancouver, so they can crank up the heat until it's unbearable for the rest of us, and go around slamming doors, and have parties pretty much all the time. Close your eyes and you'll feel the floor shake. And how awful it is, for those of us who never wanted them in the house to begin with, and just wish they'd grow up already.
Let the grinning circus begin.
Thankfully, our satellite subscription is just about to run out. And if I'm very selective with my radio listening, and quickly rip out the 'special' sections of the newspaper, and stay away from any news feeds on the internet, then I should be okay. But if the clerk at the liquor store asks me one more time if I'd like to contribute a toonie towards supporting olympic athletes (which ones? the millionaires?), then I may just go full flame on.
Michael Enright had an (almost) hilarious piece on his Sunday morning show about how the Olympic torch run was wholly invented by the Nazis for the 1936 Olympic Games in Berlin. People *love* the torch run; several million Canadians applied to carry the torch for these olympics. But hey, if you think about it, a swastika does sort of look like a little man running.
[Postscript: and I'm not the only one who thinks this way.]