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Ya mon, I guess I *am* a little patriotic after-all; way to go, girls (and boys).

They were walking — no, they were waddling stereotypes; fuck-you firearms were holstered low on thighs below bellies round and thick; every "Sir" was a challenge, nearly an insult — nothing personal, but performed as if aggressive attitude was part of the job.

Which is a rather roundabout way of admitting that I missed the Big Game (already dubbed by at least one of my correspondents as "...the best hockey game I've ever watched"). I managed to catch the third period of the women's gold medal game (pictured above), but of Sunday's classic I must — 'till torrent do us come — suffice with rumor.

Y'see, on Thursday, Raven had her passport and visa returned to her, along with instructions for finalizing her status as a permanent Canadian resident.

On Friday, she found out that she until March first(!) to do it.

( It's a long post, and a rambling; feel free to skip ahead to the next on your list. )

... and I don't say this with any pride or even some political axe to grind.

The truth is, I just don't give a shit about the Olympics — except for the hockey, in which I am compelled to maintain some interest. I might actually watch some of the games.

But about those who ski quickly, or dance forcefully, or sweet with authority ... er, you know, good luck to you and all that, but I'm simply indifferent.

(And yes, I'm aware of the anti-social sociological results that hosting a Games usually brings to said host's city, and the Nazi origin of the torch ceremony &cetera, but I think, when wars are being fought and famines ignored, that those too are pretty small beans.)

I'd like to see the Canadian boys and girls bring home hockey gold and might (might!) watch a game or two, but I am basically, fundamentally, indifferent to the whole kit and kibboodle.

In all likelihood, this has been my final Olympics-related post.

Carry on.