O Canada, O Baby!

The 2010 Winter Olympic Games are upon us! Dating back to a time when no one cared about other countries because it took 4 weeks to cross the Atlantic by ship, the Winter Olympic Games started because skiers wanted to feel important in the world of sports and pervy guys needed underage girls to oogle while gymnastics was on a 4 year hiatus between Summer Games. This year games are in Vancouver, Canada; famous for movies without big enough budgets to film in real cities like Chicago or New York City.

As always, the games start with the Opening Ceremonies. I watched the entire 4 hour broadcast diligently so you could spare yourself from the globalizing peace & unity the games represent and continue to watch re-runs of Two and a Half Men on TBS, because as Americans, we love Charlie Sheen and the guy that played Ducky. Below I have the SparksNotes version of the Opening Ceremony so you can talk about it with your friends and not feel like an idiot because you chose to watch a game show hosted by Howie Mandel instead of a major world sporting event held once every 4 years.

- Costing between $60 and $70 million dollars Canadian, the opening ceremonies displayed beautiful representations of the Canadian country side on elevated screens and a giant LCD pad laying on the floor of the arena. Feeling the overall sense of goodwill the games produce, the American team rummaged through their pockets and were able to scrounge up $14.17 which, when translated, covered roughly half the production costs.

- The introductions of the nations start with Greece, where the first Olympic games were held in the day when wrestling another man naked was sport, and taking him behind the bushes for a time of "contemplative quiet study" was common practice of the guys we base most of our ethical beliefs on.

- The Pakistani team is introduced and, sadly, it is announced the biathlon team was disqualified from competition after using RPGs instead of rifles during practice earlier in the day.

- After all the Olympians reach their seats, the show begins with a metaphoric retelling of the history of Canada complete with Inuits, stunning light production, and the Canadian Robosaurus popping out of the ground to showcase Canada's love for monster trucks shaped like bears that breathe fire and devour cars.

- NBC is going to take this inopportune time in the broadcast to cut to commercial. The first of many times they will do this. Hey, is that Michael Phelps? Well, he's vaguely relevant again, let's milk this for all its worth. U-S-A! U-S-A!

- And we're back! The stage is now set for a weird dance-off between rival tattooed vampire clans. I got distracted during the 5 minute tap solo by a peculiarly dressed mohawked man and wondered, "Where the hell is Nickelback? Aren't they Canadian?"

- The next section stars a recent Canadian clown school graduate. Majored in juggling with a minor in oversized hats, this young man was a stand out among his class of 200 students; all of which are in attendance tonight; not-surprisingly, all riding in the same car.

- Boo YA! And now some SLAM POETRY for yo' ass... by a fat, white guy... Def Comedy Jam was unreachable for comment at the time of this publication.

- Please rise for the Olympic Hymn! Bust out the timpanis and warm up the horn section, this place is about to get nutty... What the? I've never heard this song before. And there are words to this supposedly famous Olympic Hymn as well. At least I don't feel bad because everyone else looks as lost as I am.

- The end of the ceremony arrives and who other than hockey legend Wayne Gretzky to light the Olympic Torch...

- Still waiting patiently. Waiting for The Great One, Wayne Gretzky, who will light the Olympic Torch in mere moments...

- Awkwardly stirring, three time Olympic hockey veteran Wayne Gretzky is awaiting his chance to become immortalized in Olympic history as he lights the ceremonial torch...

- Due to technical difficulties, it is sad to report, Canada has proven once again, to only qualify in the world's eye as 3/4 of a nation.

I Still Feel Like a Kid

Sometimes staring at a blank page is the best inspiration for getting things done. Sometimes all it takes is the open road to make you want to drive. Sometimes you grab the full gravy boat at Thanksgiving dinner and down the entire thing in one chug because Grandma bet you it couldn't be done. Well, pay up, Grandma! And I'm sorry for the throwing up on the stuffing.

Inspiration is a funny thing. Most people need to be inspired to do something. I'm the complete opposite. I need to be bored. If I'm inspired to run a 5k in two weeks I hope to have a clear schedule because otherwise I'm going to be running like I need a lung transplant. I've never been a planner, and I'm probably not going to add that to my list of words that describe me, including but not exclusive too: smart, charming, funny, socially crippling, gun repair, and devilishly handsome, anytime soon. I shoot from the hip; making what some may call rash decisions. But sadly, science has yet to develop an ointment to magically give my id a 10 year plan.

I don't have a lot of hobbies. All the good stamps have been collected, I don't know enough about cars to put a hot rod together, and my lion tamer class expected me to provide my own lion and chair. I had the idea to buy a motorcycle late one Saturday last spring and by Thursday I bought my bike, found a gang, and got my tats, but I can only roll out with Bubba and the Gang between April and October. Then I enrolled in Grad School and instantly remember how much acadamia makes us all mindless zombies unable to have original thought. Though helpful with advancing my professional life, by all accounts and purposes, not a good hobby. I thought I was dead in the water. I mean, what is a man to do? Find the woman of his dreams, marry her, buy a house, have children and live happily ever after?

Pffff. Lame.

I can't string three sentences together in normal conversation because my mind has always worked too fast for itself. If I could get a court stenographer to follow me around and write down all the conversations I have with myself in the car before I get somewhere I wouldn't have to talk, I could just get her to read back the official record and I'd be the most romantic man on the face of the earth. Of course, I'd probably also have to hire an editor as well to string the best bits and pieces together. And a spell checker, because I'm still pretty god awful at that. But I've always been able to write.

Life is easier when you write all the dialogue. I think I found my hobby.