KD Lang is Fat Elvis, Gretzky Gets Soaked in the back of a Chevy, Then Things You Didn't Already See at The Opening Ceremonies

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Olympic Rings: Image Courtesy of Wiki Commons

KD Lang was singing Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" when my good friend Jacob Banco and I found what were probably the last two seats in any bar in downtown Vancouver. It was Friday night during the opening ceremonies of the 2010 Vancouver Winter Olympics and we'd already missed more than half the show, but we picked up the gist from the highlights that CTV kept playing on repeat. I can't share an embedded video of said highlights because of the International Olympic Committee's strict enforcement of copyright laws, but here's a video I found on YouTube that is a reasonable facsimile of the performance in Vancouver; just add a lot of fake snow and picture the spectators wearing white garbage bags (probably to  hide a non-Olympic sponsored logo):

Also, KD Lang looked like fat Elvis:

Back at the bar, I'd just finished convincing Banco that the waitress was totally into him when she skipped two other groups and took his order for our second round. And that was exactly when the most embarrassing part of the opening ceremonies happened. And I'm not talking about the mechanical failure of the torch. I'm talking about Gretzky's insanely long ride in the back of a pickup truck in the pouring rain. The minutes kept ticking by and Jacob and I looked at each other in disbelief as Gretzky's fake smile melted to a grimace, then Jacob shouted to the entire bar, "Only in Canada you'd deliver your country's greatest hero on a ride in the back of a pickup truck while the whole world is watching!" and I thought that summed things up nicely.

Once Gretzky lit the torch, Jacob ducked into the men's room and a man with short curly hair sat down beside me and said, "My name's Josh." Then asked me where I worked, what I did, and how long I'd been in Vancouver. I noticed he had a clear plastic earpiece in each ear and for that reason, I kept my cards pretty close, and gave only short one-word answers.

Before Jacob came back to our spot at the bar I stopped him and pointed out "Josh" (who had now moved to another table and was sitting by himself) as a potential IOC spy, but Jacob said he looked harmless.

"Are you kidding? Check out the ear pieces! He came right up to me just as you left and started acting all friendly and asking me questions. Right after we were talking shit about the Olympics!"

"I dunno, " said Jacob.

I was now becoming paranoid of my own paranoia and the possibility that I'd just acted like an asshole to a perfectly nice guy. So then I asked myself:

What would George Orwell do?

And I came up with this answer: George Orwell would look right into the eyes of this potential VANOC/IOC spy and betray himself to big brother rather than be perceived as an asshole by a fellow decent and respectable human being.

"Alright, we can't let him drink alone. But let me know if you note anything fishy."

When Josh came over the first question Jacob asked him was, "So what do you do?"

"I'm a Carpenter," and we all shook hands. Josh's hands were grimy and felt like sandpaper and I knew I'd had this guy all wrong. The earpieces were hearing aids from years in the construction business. Josh was now our drinking buddy for the
night.

From that point on everything became a nice happy blurr: We drank at some downtown art space that sold cans of Pilsner for four bucks; then I waited twenty minutes for my bus home only to have it blow right past me and ended up walking home in the rain, while white IOC buses (used to transport atheletes, volunteers, but are unavailable to the common Vancouverite or tourist) drove past in five minute intervals, all completely empty.

A Lost Sock

jacob banco

I lost a sock. Together they were my favourite pair.

Phoebe took our dirty clothes to the laundry-mat and thought the missing sock was at home, but it isn’t here anymore. She went back to the mat and rifled through their lost sock box. No luck. I took the route Phoebe walked, but nothing. Nothing! I told her she owed me a sock. She reminded me of her two bras that were in the dryer that caught on fire. I told her I was lucky to be alive and that I’d start doing my own laundry again.

I moved the sock from our love seat to the bedroom and then Phoebe started a donation pile with it, singled out and alone. I took it and hid it in the back of my sock drawer. Phoebe suggested I wear it with other socks, but I’ve worn socks that don’t match and it always seems like an experiment that won’t last beyond the day.

Lost Sock

Socks are remarkably similar to love. Socks that fit don’t slouch or bunch-up, they aren’t too thick or thin, wrongly coloured, too short or long, or cut into your flesh, and when you see them they always bring a smile to your face. Well fitting socks reduce your stress, keep you warm, comfortable and compliment you. A sock alone is an oddball, but put its match beside it and you have synergistic bliss.

It scares me Phoebe doesn’t see the connection.

I’m blessed to have her friend Jordan Woodrow in my life. Jordan and I shared a bottle of wine last night and toasted love, perfect matches and well fitting socks. I believe she might offer to let me do my laundry at her apartment. The sock posters we hung in different laundry-mats around the city have brought us closer together and I know the posters will bring me closer to finding my perfect match, but Phoebe isn’t helping. When I got home late last night I discovered that she had pulled out my remaining sock and cleaned the bathroom with it. I explained to her that a lost sock needs to be hunted for everywhere and not just in one laundry-mat, and it’s wrong to clean any mess with the oddball!

I’m going mad believing the pair isn’t in my apartment anymore, and pray the sock that is now singled out will be perfect again.

~JB

Palm Springs

jacob banco

I've just returned to Vancouver from Palm Springs, and Phoebe won the coin toss so our sexual misadventures will be appearing in her writing and not mine. However, we were lucky enough to be in the States for President Obama's inauguration. I don't know how much Mr. Obama will change our world, but I believe in something I never had much hope in before and that's the will to do good, and on the airplane home I thought how Mr. Obama's presidency and world affairs could very much be seen as an orgy. I've discovered that orgies like politics, need a strong leader to watch over the engagements and to have forethought enough so all territories and peoples may benefit, perhaps not at the same time but in time.

Strong leaders display confidence, intelligence and respect (the exact qualities that President Obama displays), especially when giving themselves, and we can be assured that their presence within a room is palpable.

The mistress that reigned over our orgy – one Vivien and her husband Radcliffe – possessed these qualities as well as ample amounts of grace.

We always remember the first, for the aspects of life that impact us stay with us. It is never easy, and one must get over fears and complacencies and work hard to make the best of opportunities when they expose themselves. A good leader will show that they are in charge, and have the insight to know when a finger is being misguidingly pointed or felt where one hasn;t been felt before. If entreaties are ignored or suddenly withdrawn, it is an intelligent leader, like Vivien, who will diplomatically align new allies. If someone is being aggressive, it again falls to the leader to calm them, with intimidation if necessary, and to alter the group dynamic in such a way that the aggressor’s power is taken or diminished so all can continue their mutual exchanges of pleasurable interaction. And good leaders, like President Obama, set high examples. And as an unrelated side note: spittle is not a socially accepted lubricant.

All must be ready to act, and once in the moment, engage the others; not doing so is an act of entropy. In essence, those who remove themselves become part of the furniture and left in the corner to pleasure themselves – a ruler of one, but a strong leader will make you present, making you someone's gift and/or giving you one. Strong leaders attract with humour, wit and charisma and people naturally come together while fulfilling the jobs s/he puts at hand.

Just leaders know what we hold dear to the last – hope that the memories, which fill our nights and days to come, give a quiet, smiling sense of optimism and satisfaction in a job well done. After all, politics, like an orgy, is a bringing together of disparate people, and true leadership comes from recognizing the ways people experience pleasure, pain, acceptance and care, and in return give it. Delightful people is what we all need, and we all may not get what we want and most may lose some of what they have, but I know I need… want… and have peace of mind in the leaders that I have known.