Olympic Curiosity

For me, Olympic fatigue set in years ago. Ever since the Olympic Committee selected Vancouver for the 2010 Olympics it has been, along with the endless winter rain, a black cloud hanging over the city. I think of it with dread; the traffic, all that money for a big party for the rich, the homeless rounded up, the tickets are too expensive, the Olympic committee is corrupt. It was this thing that we’d have to pay for and endure but not be part of. Then, there was the media’s relentless obsession, reporting every little construction burp or protester’s fart. Every partisan became more so, blaming or crediting everything to the Olympics. Hardware stores did a roaring business selling spray paint used to write “Stop 2010” on the fences, roads and stop signs. My neck was getting sore from looking up at the helicopters rehearsing the security procedures that will save us from potential doom.

Vancouver is a strange city. It reminds me of a hipster twenty something that thinks the only music that’s cool is the stuff no one else has heard. It’s a cynicism that permeates almost everything. I don’t know if it’s all the lattes or the pot but people here are not big participators. We even had a civic election campaign fought over Vancouver being a “no fun” city. The overwhelming collective is one of protest. We’re very good at being anti. Maybe it’s the rain or our grossly absurd and nasty political history that makes us negative and suspicious. I don’t know, I’m not a journalist; I’m just a woman with a great view from her deck.

From my perch I can see the new athlete’s village, the opening ceremony venue, and the sacred hockey rink and, as folks are running and cheering the torch as it travels across the country, all I feel is disconnected. If I am going to survive the games I need an attitude adjustment. Why not change the dread to curiosity? At least there is something to observe besides mould growing on my windows.

With the games only a month away, a manic spit shine, with corporate branding, is evident everywhere. The other day I took the skytrain to Granville Station, the main stop in the downtown core. The pristine white tiled corridor of the station is overwhelmed by huge ads featuring Canadians in the stands of an unknown sporting event all decked out in red and white and cheering wildly. On further perusal I realized that it’s an ad for Coke. They must be thrilled that our country shares their colours. Then I noticed someone had used a back felt pen to make juvenile squiggles haphazardly on most of the signs. I thought that’s a rather silly form of protest and a waste of a felt pen until I got to the last poster. The squiggles had stopped and the culprit had blackened out the odd tooth on the screaming fans. I’ll admit that’s kind of witty.

I have trouble with the idea of jumping on the Olympic bandwagon. It has the stink of being run by an elitist bunch of creeps but it’s coming and there’s nothing I can do about it. So, with a month to go before the opening ceremonies, I’ve decided to stay curious and write down my thoughts and observations as this reluctant Olympic city morphs before my eyes.