Go Canada!

I still resent the Olympics.
Everyone has been poking me with a sharp, pointy stick and telling me to lie back and think of England. It's a once in a lifetime thing. Enjoy the party. Yadda yadda.
Last night we inadvertently ended up at the Queen's Cross watching the opening ceremonies. Seriously. Not my choice. Regardless, did you see k.d. lang's rendition of Hallelujah? I posted that song on my blog some months back because it sent chills down my spine. Ten out of ten for whoever picked her and that song for the opening ceremony. It's almost as though they were trying to appease me. Which everyone should always be doing: appeasing me.
Anyways, having decided not to spend the next two weeks holed up in my apartment staring at the ceiling and tapping myself on my forehead several very positive things have happened since this whole fcking debacle kicked off and I shall now regale you with them as evidence that I can try hard and be a positive person when the mood strikes me.
There was a minute of silence for Nodar Kumaritashvili during the opening ceremonies and the packed bar of revelrous drunks that I was in was no exception.
k.d. lang is bloody awesome.
This morning it was resolved that we would go downtown to see what was what. I have never seen more Canada bags and hats and mittens and shirts in my life than I saw today. Canada is normally not the most patriotic or jingoistic of countries, but it is very clear that Canadians are proud of their identity (come on: we're awesome) and are excited enough to embrace corporatism and throw scads of money on some obscure celebration that benefits.... oh wait: I was being "positive".
So we wander down to wear the flame is burning. It's totally fenced off and the chain link fence that exists to prevent people (like me) from running over to it and attempting to extinguish it is covered with Olympic banners so you can't get a decent shot so it was kind of lame.
Oh, I forgot to mention that there was a ship circa 1928 (?) docked in North Van from some place with Cyrillic lettering and lots of naval people with large hats were wandering around and you can have a dinner cruise on this boat and it also boasts a disco. Yes. A disco. Welcome to 2010. I want to go to this disco. I think it would be an experience unlike any I have had to date.
Where was I? Oh: I couldn't get close enough to the flame to light my cigarette. So we toodle around and there are people crowding together on Robson, waiting for something, but we kept on going and stumbled across a half dozen people doing random synchronized dancing in an alley. It was really weird and it made me happy.
We had lunch. The goddamned beautiful and perky and pleasant waitress asked us where we were from and we chatted about the Olympics and, like the waitress on Tuesday, she seemed vigorously imbued with the Olympic spirit and asked us where we thought she should go because she was off work shortly. She was so, so sweet.
Then we walked over the Burrard Street bridge and I played "count the VANOC vehicles" and I was closing in on twenty and starting to howl and shake my fists at the sky and Michael said "there is no 'i' in Olympics" and I said "uh, yeah there is". His point being that he was yet again the sole recipient of my incipient rage (ha, I just wrote "insipid" but we all know my rage is anything but).
Aware of the juxtaposition of roiling emotions within my pea head, Michael hugged me a lot and said I was doing well.
We went to Swiss House which smelled like cheese but housed a good number of shaggable Swiss ex-pats. I pretended to copulate with some horned beast which is no doubt rife in the Alps and Michael took a picture which I will post at a later date, probably in a blog that has nothing to do with the Swiss or the Olympics. We didn't get any chocolate, but I did open up a numbered bank account and was not allowed to emigrate to Switzerland even though I vigorously espoused my penchant for trains that run like clockwork.
Wow. This is a really long post so I am going to break it into two.