The Cauldon Extinguished

Well, another Olympics has come and gone, and I'm wondering what the heck I'm going to watch on television. After all, I've gotten accustomed to having them on TV (when I'm home)practically 24-7 the last two weeks.

A couple things came out of this for me. First of all, being the music geek that I am, I've come to really like the tune of "Oh Canada." It's really pretty. Not to say that in any way, shape, or form that I'm not proud of the United States' efforts or my country in general. There's just something about the tune, "The Star Spangled Banner" that I've just never been fond of.

Why you may ask? Well, it sounds really militaristic to me, and not really reverent. I'm no peacenik by any means, but in this day in age, I think something along the lines of "America" or "God Bless America" are a bit more attractive tunes,express a more reverent patriotism, and last but not least more easily singable. After all, how many times have you actually gone somewhere where "The Star Spangled Banner" actually was sung well, and either 1) not cheapened by the unnecessary vocal flourishes that some pop or R & B stars tend to add, or 2) the person actually remembers all the words (in it's archaic poetry form). To me, most times our national anthem, when sung like this, is more like "The Star Mangled Banner." In any event, I am proud of our Olympians. They ALL did the U.S.A. proud.

The second thing that came out of this two weeks of sport was the fact that I'm pretty ignorant about Canada. I've always thought of Canada (which I fondly call "Canadia")like us. We share a similar heritage and origin, a common language that for the most part, with the exception of Quebec, has an accent that sounds like how we talk at home. I also thought of Canada as very vast, very sparse, and very cold. I'd probably love to visit it more often. Unfortunately though, it's located north of Madison. To me, anything north of Madison is considered the north woodsy, and I'm not a big fan of fishing or camping. The last thing is that we've just always been close neighbors and friends to our friends to the north.

It's much more than that. I had a history lesson (especially the piece about how Canada was a godsend during 9/11), a geography lesson from the torch relay (in which I don't EVER think I want to visit Iqaluit in Nunavut as I'm not to crazy about eating whale blubber or seal), and a cultural lesson, where Canada is full of wonderful people that don't mind taking in strangers from all over the world, are hospitable to anyone and everyone, and seems like one big happy family (with some minor elements of family dysfunction like ANY family).

The last thing that came out of it for me is to say to any athlete competing in the Olympics, that there is something to be proud of when one wins ANY color of medal. A fraction of a percent of people on this earth ever GET to the Olympics, and then to win a medal on top of that is like winning the super mega lottery. Sure, I was disappointed that the U.S. hockey team lost, but the looks and demeanor of the hockey team receiving their silver medals didn't really sit well with me. Or the poor attitude of a disgruntled Russian figure skater, or Korean speed skater kind of frosts me. Perhaps they don't live on the same earth I do.

Hopefully this experience will broaden my understanding of our friends to the north, because certainly, they are incredible neighbors and friends to have.

Heavy Duty

As I'm sitting here at about 11:15 p.m. on a Friday night, several things are shooting through my brain. The first thought is that I haven't kept up with this blog thing very well. Much like many plants in my home, I'm feeling like this blog thing is withering on the vine, as I haven't watered or fed it with new material or stupid stuff to talk about to bring it back to it's resplendent green, healthy hue that will make it look fresh and new again.

I don't know what prompted me to think about it, but, the fact of the matter is: I miss french fries.

You see, my friends, since the middle of January I have been participating in what I'd like to think could be called an experiment...a biological one. Early in the year this year at work, a couple of the people I work with thought it would be a great idea if we, as a group, would participate in a contest to be "the biggest losers." Normally, I don't consider myself remotely close to being a loser by any means, but in this case I thought it wouldn't be a bad idea to try. After all, who doesn't (except if you happen to be Callista Flockhart, J.J. Walker, or a concentration camp survivor) want to lose a few pounds.

I was a little hesitant to start.

I have to admit: I LOVE french fries. No matter how greasy, salty, hot or cold, I love them. And this contest that I was about to commit to would force me to forgo this vice. Then after stepping back (and having been forced to step on a scale at the doctor's office), I realized that perhaps it would be a good idea to start my Lenten fast early, and give up my french fries. I went ahead with participating on this "loser" team,reluctantly, and begrudgingly.

So I committed to this scientific experiment, even though I didn't know how I would ever live without my french fries.....mmmm...plain, a hint of salt, crispy and greasy.

Hurdle number one came when I was informed that one of my co-workers would have to weigh me. Now, anyone that knows me well knows that I am and have always been HUGELY self conscious about my weight, even when I weighed what seemed to be 3 1/2 pounds in high school and had all my hair. All morning long I stewed about it. I probably should have had three extra shirts that day, because I was sweating like Mike Tyson in a spelling be by the time I had to be weighed. Several people offered to do the official weighing and recording, NONE of whom were even remotely a viable option. So after settling for the one person we all could feel comfortable having do this horrid task, we (7 of the 9 people in my office who are participating)proceeded to have the grand "weigh in."

Then...it was my turn. I felt like Sean Penn in "Dead Man Walking."

Tasting the iron-like biley taste in my mouth, I was afraid I was going to lose whatever was in my stomach (which probably would only have been a pot of coffee)and not be anywhere NEAR being somewhere where I wouldn't make a scene....and a mess.

Let's just say that from the initial "weigh in" (and this term cracks me up, since all I could think about was me being entered into a boxing contest, only to be the horrificly unprepared super mega ginormous heavyweight entering the ring with King Kong, knowing that inevitably I'd be getting my ass kicked in a matter of 3 nanoseconds), it somewhat relieved my need (and obsessive craving) for french fries.

I have no idea where this whole process will end up, but I'm liking the fact that things are working. Perhaps I should take peoples' advice and try skydiving to cure my fear of heights....then again, I think I'll pass on that. After all, I don't need to be changing EVERYTHING.