oh-lympics

So, Vancouver, where I live, got the 2010 Olympics. I'm not a bandoliered protestor or Roots jacket wearing supporter, so I kind of forgot about them until we started looking to buy a place in 2007, and everything was suddenly 1 kajillion dollars and a set of gold teeth, because of THE OLYMPICS.

Like most government things, the whole thing is kind of meh to me. Unless it wakes me up early on a weekend, takes money off my paycheque or flattens my tire, I’m kind of blissfully unaware of what’s happening out in the world. I don’t ever watch the news or read the newspaper. I figure if it’s good, somebody will tell me about it. If it’s bad, I don’t want to know. (I made the mistake of checking cnn.com a few weeks ago and the VERY FIRST thing my eyes set on was a story about a little boy who had been implanted with many many needles by his stepfather in some ritual. My eyes welled up, I closed the window and re-read Perez’s top headlines.)

I don’t advocate this do-nothing know-nothing attitude, and I’m sure one day when I a) have kids b) retire c) run for public office, some stuff the big rich dudes are doing up on a hill somewhere will make me mad. Mad enough to write a strongly worded letter, or drive by and honk. Loudly. (Man, I love a well-deserved honk.)

Recently though, I found out how the Olympics will directly affect me. Because of where I live, I am essentially in a locked down neighbourhood. I work a good 35 minute drive away. I will now have to take public transit for an entire month. Say it with me, PUBLIC TRANSIT. God, it even sounds filthy. I have had a vehicle for exactly half my life. Guess who won’t be having a good time getting to and from work? Fuck you – I know this concern could be worse. But I can’t afford to see any of the events, so really when there’s nothing in it for me AND I will have to shove my way through wet winter mothballed jackets twice a day, and exercise before work, I MIGHT NOT SURVIVE FEBRUARY.

I will want this city I live in to have a good time, to be well represented, to not have protesters shit themselves and fling it at reporters or elderly tourists swapping pins. Hell, if my Gramma were alive, she would be LOVING this. Every time the Olympics happened she sat up a little straighter in her recliner, and when I would come home she would let me know where we stood in the medal standings and who was “cute.” So, basically I hope they get CTV in Heaven, and I hope I don’t get crushed under a skytrain.