Other People's Facebooks.

It's 5AM, and I can't sleep in a hotel room that normally costs WHAT?-hundred dollars, which now costs what?-and-a-half because of the Olympics. So, I go on to Facebook, and some friend of a friend is complaining about the Olympics.

I understand the sentiment. A lot of that money is getting thrown around that could be spent on better things - or, if you like to play the "my taxpayer dollars" game, spent on nothing at all. There are going to be a lot of corporations trying to squeeze Vancouver and its visitors for every dime they can get. There's going to be a lot of stress on the city's basic public services. And it's going to be inescapable.

That's how I felt a month ago. But, like I said in my last post, I think I understand the Olympics a little better now. And like Conan O'Brien said, if you put aside your cynicism and work towards something, you can make something amazing happen. And that's certainly what Vancouver did, while I was content to sit back and tell them it wasn't worth the effort. So I wrote a little essay for my friend (and her friends), and if you don't mind, I'd like to keep it here for posterity's sake.

"I've heard the symphonic sound checks, where tympani and taiko drums echo through the valley, sounding almost like an avalanche detonation, except that their boom rings with joy as well as duty.

I've heard the voices, a chorus of international tongues, astounded by the beauty of Canada, and still amazed at the fact that they're actually here. Vancouver's been a fictional, if not mythical, place for many of them, and just by being here, their dreams are already starting to come true.

I've heard the laughter that sprang forth when the torch came through the streets. Not because there was anything humorous, but because there simply wasn't time to find the words. Next to tears, laughter is the purest expression of emotion. And if tears could sing, I would have heard them, too.

I've heard the trees, the thickened hush as you walk amongst them - they embrace you and protect you, and you can tell they'll do the same for any creature beneath their boughs. In the quiet woods around Whistler, even amidst a party that will capture the entire world's attention, you can still lose yourself in the serenity of nature. That's a lesson that's going to surprise a great many people who come here just for the crowds and spectacles.

Yes, I'm looking forward to these Olympics."

Now, all we need is a chant more clever than "Go Canada Go", and I'll be set.

Bicentennial Man.

It's almost a week until May, which means that yes, I finally got off my duff and tussled with the taxes. Normally, the process goes like this:

1. Open up the desk drawer with important stuff in it
2. Take the paper on top
3a. If it's tax-related, put it to the pile on the right
3b. If not, put it in the pile to the left
4. Continue until I have all my tax stuff
5. Do taxes
6. Put left pile back in drawer
7. Put right pile back in drawer

Well, this year, it's a new condo with a fresh start and all that, so I dumped the entire "important stuff" drawer on the kitchen table, gave the desk away, and started sorting.

And in case you're not impressed, I found pay stubs from my days bagging groceries at O.K. Economy in that drawer. I don't think "O.K. Economy" even exists anymore... (and really, if you were looking for quality foodstuffs, would you look in a place named for "unremarkably acceptable savings"? I always wondered about that.)

All right. Now you're impressed, and you're wondering what little marvels I uncovered in the "important stuff" drawer. Some highlights:

- my Social Insurance card
- my high school transcript
- a rap song I tried to write
- the address of Mike Brown in Halifax, Nova Scotia. He once taught me a closely guarded secret: the second verse to "I's the b'y that builds the boat." He also stood outside an elevator that had trapped two of my schoolmates, and shouted awful puns at them for thirty minutes while the hotel staff tried to open the doors.
- a 2006 government cheque for $86 that I never cashed. (I cashed it.)

and, most significantly:

- Atanarjuat's bill of sale.

You know, for some reason, I thought I'd agreed to a six-year payment plan. Actually, it was sixty months, meaning that as of July 4, 2008... that car is in my name and my name alone. Wow. I never thought that the day would come so soon. In fact... it's coming a bit too soon. You see, its odometer is currently at 194,000 km. Now, the way I see it -- if it's going to be my car, why not make it a car no one else would want? So, I started doing the math.

6,000 km to go. 100 km per day commuting to work, multiplied by number of workdays until July 4, divided by the number of people in the carpool. That's 2,000. Ten weekends until July 4. That's 400 km per weekend, then, and I'll be able to roll two hundred thousand kilometers in five years.

Specifically, I'm aiming for 200,027 km, since it had 27 km on the dial when I bought it in 2003.

So, Calgary this weekend (600km). Edmonton in May (1200km). June in Saskatoon (950km), because that rhymes. That still leaves about 1300km of road trip for the finale. So, either I go to Swift Current and back three times in a row, or I find some far-off destination to serve as a finish line.

And then, I shall weep the salty tears of a man who has nothing left to conquer.