Olympic nightmare continues...

It has been a bad week. It started off wrong on Monday morning when I learned that my bus, the #6 Davie, has been removed from service until March, probably so there would be more buses to serve Olympic routes. I walked to Seymour, took the #7 to Harbour Centre and took the #10 most of the way back after work. The buses coming over the bridge into downtown are mostly full by Davie St to it will be difficult to find space sometimes, especially on poor weather days.

Overnight my bad digestion came to a head and I spent half the night on the toilet or nursing a sore stomach in bed. I eventually took an immodium to stop the diarrhea and called in sick. Fred and Eric left at 3am to receive a delivery at the restaurant and came back around 4:15. They didn't get up until 2pm the next day. Eric and I played board games before dinner.

Wednesday my energy was still low from irregular sleep and my upset digestion. I walked to work. There are more people on the sidewalks even at this hour, though that might have something to do with bus service for the locals being removed. The temporary commissionaire at work is a moron who believes he must carefully study my ID every time I return from a short break, even though he knows me by name. I am afraid I have shown him very little patience. I also avoid taking my scheduled breaks away from the office so I won't need to see him.

Thursday morning I wake up to find that Fred has infected my computer with a trojan malware that blocks access to my email and MS Word documents. I can't reboot or bring up task master. I can't even play games. I can still use the internet though, so I access my email through my server and add posts to my blog. Fred has left me a note saying he knows what the malware is and will remove it when he can. That isn't going to happen anytime soon as he works until the wee hours, sleeps until 2 and goes to work at 3.

Thursday night I go to the Laurie Anderson concert at the Vancouver Playhouse at Dunsmuir and Hamilton. There is, of course, no bus service as most of the streets are closed to traffic. I head out around 7pm, shortly before the Canadian men's hockey team scores the deciding goal against Switzerland in an overtime shoot out. The streets burst into a wild testosterone-charged fury as youths pour out of the bars and restaurants waving Canadian flags and charge erratically through the streets with no regard for anyone's safety. Certainly not mine. At times I cling to fencing to building walls as they pass screaming.

The noise builds as I head east on Smithe to Granville. Though Granville is closed to vehicle traffic the crowds make the street and sidewalks almost impassable at points. I make my way slowly up the two blocks to Georgia, pausing to wait for gaps to appear. I cross Georgia and head east, downhill to Hamilton. The crowds and moving uphill against me and it is difficult to get access to the street corner ramps on either side of each street. I am greatly relieved to reach the Playhouse safely.

I wait in the lobby for Raspberry Showboat. I have brought my cell so I leave him a message on his cell, but he doesn't answer. The ticket I was sold is in the centre of the back row immediately next to the sound box. No one is seated beside me, and although the seats in front of me are full the view lines are good. Raspberry and Rosario enter and take seats six rows immediately in front of me. I catch Rosario's eye and they come to chat with me for a few minutes before the show begins.

It is an interesting show at times, though a bit draggy and pointless at other points. I realize how tired I am and fight off sleep and Anderson's monologues drag on to repetitive loops of black and white imagery projected around her. It's mostly talking with occasional bursts of discordant music (fiddles and sax) connecting disjointed subject matters. The quote that resonates with me the most is one she uses from Melville, after saying how the donkey and carrot method of self-motivation that worked for years has now failed her. The quote says the saddest is situation for a man is when he outlives his deities. How true that is for me!

My bladder is anxious to be emptied by the end of the show so I don't wait to hear out the full encore. The theatre boasts its accessibility. There's an elevator to the downstairs washroom but it has been shut off and no one is around to turn it on. I don't wait for Raspberry or Rosario, hoping instead to catch an available cab before the crowds pour out, but there are no cabs at all. While I am waiting I run into Daniel L and his sister. I chat a few minutes, lingering to catch Raspberry when he emerges, but I don't see him.

I decide to walk home along Dunsmuir, which proves to me much less crowded than Georgia. I turn south on Seymour before Dunsmuir begins to drop downhill, but I would have been wiser to follow it to Hornby before turning. There was a block long line up for the Olympic store in the Bay, even at this hour (10 pm), that consumes all the sidewalk except about 18". I cling tenaciously to the mesh fencing that separates me from the line up as I inch my way past partying friends and people pouring hot chocolate for those who are waiting. Others can step down onto the mostly deserted street to get around obstacles but I must be patient and plod my course carefully. My feet are killing me as I limp up Smithe and Hornby to my condo. I am so tired when I get in that I almost forget that my bladder needs to be emptied.

Cramps from constipation, instead of diarrhea, keep me awake half the night. Friday is long. I squeeze past the line up for Northern House on Hastings St to visit Dr. Taylor for my second shot of testosterone just before noon. I am feeling better as the week goes on but far from energetic. Fortunately the weather has been excellent all week, nothing but sunshine.

I spent last night in the amenity room downstairs watching the men's skeleton and women's curling. Canada (Jon Montgomery) won gold in the skeleton and the Canadian women defeat Denmark on the final rock, but I didn't get to see Michi Halilovich, the German competitor whose lover Robert I found accommodation for with Yves.

Robert arrived later Monday evening. I expected a call from him or Yves to say he had made it safely and perhaps a request to meet me. I heard nothing of the sort. I was hesitant to book for the Laurie Anderson concert or to make plans with anyone else in case he called, but I fretted for nothing. Thursday morning I left a message with Yves that I'd be available if they wanted to do anything with me this weekend. Of course, Robert and Michi have been consumed with Michi's skeleton races, but they are over now and they have less than a week left in town. Just as well I suppose. I have arranged for Raspberry to drop over this afternoon at 2 to help remove the trojan from my computer, and to meet Gerry and Danzante for Faerie coffee tomorrow morning, so I won't be able to visit with the Germans much even if they do want to meet me this weekend. I had planned to make them both a red 3-D stained glass maple leaf as a souvenir but now that seems like a waste of effort too.

It won't surprise me if as soon as I post this I get a call from Robert. But I won't hold my breath or wait in for them.

Are there rings around Ur anus?

Saturday night I considered not going out to the union-sponsored pub night and Doolin's Irish Pub on Granville St. In the end, I relented to my sense of duty and integrity, having told the organizers I'd definitely show up. While I can tolerate flakes, I detest the thought of being considered one, which I am generally not.

All the reasons I might have used to opt out, such as bad weather or a challenging distance, were not there so I headed out. If the pub isn't accessible I can always turn back, I reassured myself. It wasn't. There was a 5" step at the entrance without a railing to hang onto. I mused at how easily I let myself be defeated before reaching out, grabbing the door handle and struggling with my leg locked straight to pry, prop and pull myself up onto the door sill. I smiled back at the befuddled doorman before disappearing inside.

Inside, I was instantly rewarded with a kiss. Ryan, the young man who last month brushed off my friendly phone call with, "I'm wondering what it is I can do for you?", spotted my entry and came over and threw his arms around me.

"It's so good to see you," he began. "I didn't want you to think I wasn't interested in being your friend. I am really looking forward to learning stained glass from you."

"After that 'what is it I can do for you?' comment, I didn't expect to hear from you again," I replied.

"Oh no, I am sorry about that. I really mean it." He told me he had spent the day helping to set up the Irish Olympic pavilion (I never knew beer drinking was an Olympic sport) next door, that Doolin's Pub is sponsoring, and he will be working there throughout the Games. He will be far too busy to start classes for the next few weeks but later on..... He hugged me tight and planted an open mouth kiss on my lips in front of bar and then trotted back to his table.

Freshly showered with affection, I went looking for my work colleagues. I found them up a flight of three stairs on a raised section of the bar. The glow of Ryan's kiss outlasted the bristle of indignation I felt when I saw the stairs. I shrugged off my frustration and went at them with determination. Fortunately these steps had railings, which made them much easier than the outside entrance. In only a few seconds I was at the top.

I risked injury and indignation in favour of indigestion. When the free food came I wasn't disappointed: one cannot expect much from an Irish pub. "Irish nachos" were the central attraction, which are just regular nachos with potato chips being substituted for corn chips and ketchup for salsa. It came with french fries, a form of garlic bread and over-baked chicken wings. All in all, it was awful, greasy mess, but I was hungry. The evening's clincher came when the union organizer, Colby, asked why they had not delivered the onion rings she had ordered.
"Oh," said the sad-faced girly waitess, "Onion rings aren't on the menu anymore." "They were last week when I ordered them."
"We're not allowed to serve them anymore because the Olympics," she explained.
"What do you mean?" Colby stared at her in disbelief.
"We can't serve them because they are rings, like the Olympic symbol." For a minute we were sure she was joking, and we had a good laugh. But she wasn't joking, probably not even capable of joking, and we began to feel as though we had stumbled into a Monty Python skit. We grumbled, bitched and tried to reason with the staff but we didn't get our rings that night.

To date, this has to top the heap of dumb Olympic stories, one that will stand the test of time. That piece of news, and Ryan's kiss, justified my efforts that evening.

Beyond Eden

Tonight I went to see a play that is part of the Olympiad, the cultural arm of the Winter Olympics. The play, Beyond Eden, is the story of White anthropologist Wilson Duff and Haida artist Bill Reid's 1957 journey up to Haida Gwaii (the Queen Charlotte Islands) with a team of anthropologists to harvest Haida totem poles to take back to Vancouver "to preserve their memory". The names were changed but the events did happen. I believe that some of the poles taken remain today in places such as Stanley Park, Victoria and the UBC's Museum of Anthropology.

The play focuses on the inner and outward struggle between honouring the intended purpose of the totems, to stand as markers and guardians until they are absorbed back into the earth to be recycled by Nature, or to remove them so others, White and Native, can see and learn from them and the culture be preserved in a European fashion. The specter of tourist dollars is not mentioned, but undoubtedly that was also in the minds of the corporate boards who bankrolled the expedition. Ironically the White protagonist sees the need to leave the poles where they are decaying while the Native lead is determined to preserve them. The final scene with Lewis Wilson (Wilson Duff) sitting defeated in the blue-green light of the forest amongst the downed totems was a stunning visual.

Here is a small excerpt from my novel in progress, the end of Chapter 3 of "Metlakatla":

"I remain here in Metlakatla, abandoned by my people long ago. I cannot return to my village of Gitka-ata. My people deserted it many years before they deserted me. If you visit the place where it once was you will see only the rotting house posts and totems we left to guard our home until we return.

But we will never return. Those who tried after living many years in Metlakatla learned that the River Spirits became angry with us after we deserted them. They have built sandbars so our canoes can never use their beach again. Our people had to search for a new place to build their village.

The old totems still stand at Gitka-ata. They are the only ones who remain. Some stand tall and noble, while others are leaning, beginning their return to the earth. Their faces are grey and cracked like old men left to die. Their paint has been worn away by the sun and the rain. They are lonely for the company of men.

Their big ears listen for our paddles and the sound of our canoes scraping on the pebbles of the shore, but they hear only the river and the waves. Their big eyes stare across the water, to the canyon that leads to the sea. They watch patiently for our canoes to appear around the mountainside at the end of the bay, but they never appear. They cannot see the forest behind them that has taken back the places where our houses once stood. They do not see it creeping up slowly, preparing to crush them in its jaws."

Family stuff

Mom calls me Sunday and actually catches me home for a change. Usually I get a message and return her call. I am just doing dishes at the time. I wipe my hands and take the portable phone into my room where I relax on the bed as we talk.

As usual she begins with asking how I am doing and adding that she hasn't anything much to report. The news, as always, is about the family, especially about my younger brother Rob and his wife who she lives with. She is taking Rob out for his birthday tomorrow. He's 47.

Silvana, his wife, has just brought down a financial record showing Mom's "expenses" for the year. Mom contributed $200,000 of the $600,000 cost of the house when they bought it two years ago. The purchase agreement was altered by Silvana after Mom's lawyer saw it and before Mom signed it. She removed Mom's name from the deed and added a clause that the Rob and Silvana would take care of Mom's expenses to make her life easier, deducting from the $200,000 as they need to pay utility bills but they would not charge her rent.

The list of expenses Silvana brought down to Mom for 2009, the first year she has detailed it, was for more than $1000/mo. That's some heating bill. They have also billed her "her share" of the Land Transfer Tax from the purchase although her name is not on the deed. Indeed! Mom is frustrated and feels betrayed. Rob brushes it off, saying she is "losing it" and doesn't understand. No one else understands either as it isn't any of our business. Mom doesn't want us to raise a fuss. When Rob and Silvana are upset with her they take off and don't tell her where they are going. She feels isolated and ignored. She thinks they are punishing her but she doesn't want anyone else to raise a fuss.

I don't know what to think, to get angry or inquisitive. Neither approach would seem to serve me. Silvana raised such a fuss the last time I tried to ask why Mom was so upset last summer. She was outraged, embarrassed, aghast that I would think such things or her. Me fears the lady doth protest too much. I suppose a thousand a month is a reasonable rent for her share of the house, a basement suite in a large house in Oakville, a very expensive area, but it certainly isn't just her share of the utility bills.

I called Rob for his birthday but I didn't raise any of Mom's concerns. He talked about his work training holistic allergists and treating autistic children who he claims he can cure by negating the effects of vaccinations given when they were much younger. He can't claim to cure anything though, as the big guns of western medicine would move in and shut him down if he did.

Interestingly, today there was a news feature on the CBC website about a UK researcher whose studies linking measles and mumps vaccinations to subsequent autism in children have been retracted and apologized for by the journal that published them. His studies have been denounced as flawed and misguided, but instead of being countered with other researched evidence, medical authorities are trying to have the researcher's rights to practice medicine and do research revoked permanently to silence him.

How can we be moving into the Age of Aquarius while these power and wealth mongers still run the show?

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Cherry blossoms

The cherry blossoms have started blooming as of two days ago, January 30. I don't even remember seeing them bloom in February before and last year they didn't come out until mid-March. I have this vision of the city all in bloom--daffodils, crocuses, snow drops, lily-of-the-valley-- and things seeming as spring-like as possible during the Olympics. I wonder if this means my allergies will be coming out soon. No itchy eyes or sneezing yet.

I had to remind the bus driver this morning that his route had changed. For some unspoken reason, the Davie bus has been rerouted onto Hastings St, shortening its route a block in each direction, while all other buses that normally stop behind Harbour Centre continue to do so.

There was an article on the CBC website today that 1000 security cameras has begun spying on the populace already. Like the flowers, they're blooming early.