With Glowing Hearts

I have one small regret about the gold-winning men's hockey game, and that is the Dude and I went home instead of going to Yonge St, which was shut down by the crowds as they celebrated well into the evening.

For a video, click here.

For a selection of photos, click here.

But the Dude had to get home and use the bathroom, and we were both worn out from the day. Like old people. But we got to the pub to secure seats for the 3:30 game at 1:30. And we tried to get into Pauper's in the Annex neighbourhood, but there were already people lined outside trying to get in. So we settled for the James Joyce Irish Pub just down the street. The Joyce is a key spot if it's St. Patrick's Day, being Irish to the nines and all. But with its lacklustre food and pitcher-free beer service, it was mostly empty when we go there, not being the first place everyone wanted to go.

But that all changed, presumably as people were turned away from other pubs and started piling into the nearest they could find with open seats. Some showed up at 3:15. I will never understand that. When an event is about to take place, whether it's a movie premiere or a huge game and seats are first come first served, why wouldn't you show up early?

The Dude and I are both firmly in Camp Early and we scored three tables for six people, at which we eventually seated nine. And I drank beer for the first time. And by drank, I mean a pint rather than a sip of someone else's beer, which I wrinkle my nose at. There was little to be had at the Joyce, so I had a Mill Street Organic. No, I had two. In the name of hockey, I drank our nation's favourite drink, something I usually can't stand. I felt like I drank two loaves of bread.

Overall, the atmosphere was playful and excited and you could feel the electricity in the room. An enthusiastic fan was running around having everyone rub his lucky loonie. People's faces were painted, jerseys were on, Canada flags and merch all around. I channelled all my nervous energy into my leg, tap-tap-tap with my heel.

I loved being surrounded by fans as they cheered "Luoooooo" for all Luongo's saves, which sounds like "Boooo", so that at first last week I was confused why Canadians were "booing" his awesome goal-tending. Luuoooooo!

And then Sid The Kid took the game all the way home and the crowd, to borrow the most appropriate cliched phrase, went wild. The crowd went ape shit. The crowd then piled into the streets and I've never in my whole life seen the entire city covered in smiles, with such fellowship towards each other and unrestrained patriotism and unbridled joy.

And when I woke up this morning I was kind of bummed the party was over. Our Olympics were done, and we set a new world record for most gold medals won at a Winter Games ever. And I feel proud. I always carry my patriotism and love for my country with me, but how often do I express it? How often do we all toot our caribou horns? The outlet we as a country had these past two weeks to express our feelings for Canada was rare. Even on Canada Day we usually celebrate politely and with a quieter sort of laid back attitude. "Ahem. Go us, eh?"

Somehow these games brought us together in a way nothing else ever has. We're always there for one another through our healthcare system, which doesn't discriminate. We afford equal rights to all to become employed, vote, marry and have families-- or not have families. We're generally a happy and low-key bunch who don't always know who we are, but are hunky dorey with doing right by each other.

But as we cheered on the best of our best, partied in the streets and sang our anthem, boldly wore the maple leaf and looked our neighbours in the eyes as we celebrated our victories, we experienced a new way to be Canadian, with the glowing hearts we've been singing about for years and raving jubilation. And fucking eh, was it awesome.

I hope it lasts.

And the crowd goes wild... with anger!

Part of being Canadian means dying a little inside when the American hockey team wins against Team Canada. UGH. They were totally prepared to play against our goalie, Brodeur. Dude's all aggressive in the net and sets up plays. He's like a defense man and goalie in one. But they used that against him. They were on it. And their goalie Miller was incredible. We out shot them twice over and dude let in practically nothing. Frig frag frack fuck.

My Facebook news feed was flowing with devastated moans and wails of disappointment and soul crushing utterances of "Ah, FUCK!" As I watched that admittedly phenomenal open net goal, I heard or rather felt hearts break across the country. But I choose to view this positively. It means an extra game, which means more time on the ice together to improve and prepare for Russia. It ain't over yet.

Moving on, moving on.

I had to do a glucose curve for Smokey. Yeah. I had to draw blood from my cat hourly and record his glucometer results. So one can imagine what kind of day I had yesterday. Understandably, Smokey does not care for blood tests. He's not a very combative guy, but he does like to complain. Many cats howl, hiss and claw. Smokey grumbles.

Me: Come on Smokey, time for your glucose test!
Smokey: Mrrrh.
(I pick Smokey up)
Smokey: Mrrrhh!
(I prick Smokey's ear)
Smokey: Mggrrrghgh! Rrraghhh!

The joys of pet ownership. The Dude and I have been talking about getting another cat. Smokey seems lonely to us, or bored. He strolls around the apartment having meowing fits. He no longer looks for Jerry, but we think he must be missing having a friend to do cat stuff with. So we're considering it. It's a very hard decision. I don't want to make Smokey's final years unhappy for him with the wrong new cat. But I don't want him to grow more and more distressed from boredom or loneliness.

It really is amazing the hole Jerry left in this apartment. I miss the little guy.