The Olympian Within

So the Olympics are wrapping up this weekend in Torino, and I thought it would be a good opportunity to reflect upon the games, allow myself to get a little sentimental, and to celebrate my own ‘gold medal’ tendencies.

The games are always a chance to explore emotions. The ethicist in me questions the overbearing commercial side of the games, yet the gooey, soft-hearted dreamer in me eats up the drama of a close finish- the intensity of the victorious, the tragedy of second place. I enjoyed experiencing the passion of the cross-country skiers sprinting across the finish lines and collapsing with exhaustion. This repeatedly reduced me to a sentimental baby- ‘they train years and years for that one race’… sniff, sniff. You don’t want to see the sorry sight that I become when the anthem gets played.


This effortless emotionality, that reduces grown men to tears, raised some interesting questions. Is it healthy for me to live vicariously through all these men in spandex? Should I get off my couch and start training for my curling career? With my chances of becoming an Olympian quickly extinguishing like the Olympic torch (excuse the bad simile), I have begun to search other ways that I can celebrate my excellence.

In exploring the ‘Olympian Within’, I have come up with some key realizations of excellence. I am the king of mastication, digestion, and regular bowel movements, I am a gold medalist at growing protrusive nose hair, and I am the master of walking & breathing… while not falling down!

I don’t need to travel halfway across the world to be a winner, I feel like an Olympian all the time when I’m jogging in the park. It happens especially toward the end of my run when I imagine that there’s a finish line 50 meters ahead of me and I roast by a little old lady with a walker. Ah, the sweet taste of gold.

So congratulations Canada for winnings some medals. We set some new records, represented ourselves honourably (men’s hockey excluded), and have begun to build excitement for Vancouver in 2010. And even if I’m not chuckin’ rocks down the ice with the Canadian curling team, I will be there with tear ducts ready and the knowledge that, I too, am an Olympian.





Some key observations I made while watching the games:

Hippest sport: Snowboarding (smoke a jay, win a medal, then chillax)
Most bizarre sport: Biathlon (at what point did skiing and guns mix?)
Craziest sport: Skeleton (100 km/hour on a blade of steel? No thanks!)
Most intimate sport: Two-Man Luge (is that a banana in your pocket?)
'Last shot at the Olympics' Sport: Curling (…my only hope at the glory)

One Big Happy (definition of) Family

Family is a universal human experience. For some, family is a safe zone, a place where solutions exist in a complex world. For others, family is a process, a source of continuing conflict and negotiation. For others, it’s all about compromise (wearing that purple and brown sweater for the sake of your Great Aunt… see last blog).

I have been thinking a lot about family these days, catalyzed by a course that I’m taking (Family Communications); also by a realization that families evolve, and that in the next decade, I will probably begin to create a family of my own. Hopefully, by thinking about it now, I will somehow minimize the trauma that I am sure to inflict upon any potential offspring.


For starters, I think I need a good definition of family. Everyone knows what family is… right? I mean we all come from them, so it should not be too hard to define them. But then after contemplating the question for the past couple weeks, I’ve found myself struggling to come up with a good definition.

I am reading a textbook that defines family as:

“networks of people who share their lives over long periods of time bound by ties of marriage, blood, or commitment, legal or otherwise, who consider themselves as family and who share a significant history and anticipated future of functioning in a family relationship”

Wow, if you are still reading, I am impressed. Doesn’t that seem vague and longwinded? Shouldn’t this be a bit simpler? Didn’t family used to be one or two parents, some kids, a dog, and a huge therapy bill? How the heck am I supposed to learn about something that can’t even really be defined?



So I have decided to simplify. I have decided to let people define family for themselves. If you wanted to live alone with seventeen cats and call yourself a family, I am all for it. Just don’t be knittin’ me any purple and brown sweaters.

In the end, for me, family is whatever the heck you want it to be…

What’s your definition?

'Knot' just for the ladies...

It takes balls to knit... balls of yarn and some needles.

So there seems to be a bit of a craze going on. Knitting is back in a big way, and boys are jumping on the wild woolen bandwagon. My roomie says that 'knitting is the new yoga', while the Debbie Stoller (author of Stitch n'Bitch and editor of the third wave feminist magazine BUST) has reclaimed knitting from being a genderedized subservient chore to being the new creative form of self expression.

I received a copy of Stitch n'Bitch for my Birthday in November, and it's been nothing but knittin'’ and purlin'’ ever since.



But I'm a bit concerned that all this hype with the woolen arts is trivializing my newfound textile hobby. Am I just another sheep in this wooly craze?

It turns out that dicks and sticks (translation: men and knitting) have a much longer history then I was aware. Knitting, like many an occupation, was a male-only trade, originating around the 14th century in Egypt. Then, like a smart little communicable virus, it was spread around the Mediterranean by Arabian sailors. Since then it has been the delight of many a Victorian lady, while the duty of young American women during times of war.

Most of us are familiar with the needles and yarn of our grandmothers. Perhaps you've even had to swallow your pride and wear that purple and brown, mis-shapened sweater that your great aunt knit you for Christmas. Well guess what? Next year you're going to get one from your uncle too...…

Yup, it's official. The boys are knittin'... and I don't think they'll be casting off any time soon.

So go get your knit on.

(Oh yeah... for all you boys out there, here's a place to get you started: http://www.menknit.net/main.html)

Willie Nelson and the lesbian dog...

This mornig I was reading the globe and mail (www.theglobeandmail.com/arts), and found an exciting article on Willie Nelson. He has just released a special little country song called 'Cowboys are Frequently, Secretly Fond of Each Other'. I immediately hopped over to iTunes and bought it...

I just have to comment on the significance of this moment. I was raised on Willie Nelson and Dolly Parton (amoungst others) in a community where the closest thing to anything queer was my female dog, Kinda (pronounced 'kin-dah') trying to mount the neighbour's female dog. She was the best lesbian dog that I've ever had.

It is great to have these cultural icons promoting inclusion. So go check out the song, with it's chunky spanish guitar and smooth harmonica. For me it has becomes an instant classic... "you can't fuck with the lady that's sleepin' in each cowboy's head".

Willie, you have warmed my heart.

Thanks.

(oh yeah, welcome to my blog!)