After hearing rumours at Thursday night's torch shin dig that the Whistler celebration the following evening was expected to be bigger than Ottawa's, we decided to get maple syruped up, try out the free transit system and check it out ourselves.

It was definitely a little bigger than the Squamish celebration, packed out with easily 10,000 people and pretty awesome. I mean, it didn't have a three-minute interview with a 31st world ranked development skeleton athlete or anything ... but, crazy Canuck Steve Podborski did ski down the hill with the torch, so that was alright, I guess ...

One part I missed the night before was the First Nations Fire Keepers capturing the flame from the cauldron that burns through the evening, to light the next torch in the relay the following day.

Once the Olympic flame is lit in Athens, it doesn't go out until the end of the closing ceremonies, and so for the Vancouver torch relay there were twelve First Nations youth chosen as Flame Attendants (reflecting the significance of the Aboriginal role of being the Fire Keeper), making sure the flame is passed from torch to torch and keeping the backup lanterns burning. How's that for a job description?

"What's your job?"

"Well, I am the keeper of the Olympic Flame."

"Yeah? So, uhhh ... what do you do?"

"Well, I make sure that this fire in this jar here, which represents the universal spirit of peace, understanding, and sportsmanship, the unity of mankind, and the hopes and dreams of all of humantity, never goes out."

Sounds a little bit more important than my job, which essentially boils down to keeping track of which athletes are currently in the crapper and unavailable for video at that particular moment ...

We also discovered that devil fingers are much less sinister, and the hang loose sign far less cool, when clad in fuzzy, red, knitted mittens donned by people wearing hats in the shape of maple leafs.

Well ... uhhh ... THAT was pretty freakin' awesome.

So tonight the torch came through Squamish, and, gotta be honest, there is pretty much nothing in the world quite like being right there within an arm's length of the Olympic flame.

Don't tell anyone ... but I might have almost cried ...

There was a whole evening of festivities, including a bunch of wicked performances. There were fire dancers who were hoola-hooping and juggling a lot of toys engulfed in flames, a Bhangra dance group, several joint-effort community choirs, an award-winning First nations band and ... uhhh ... me ...

I mean, because, really what would this extremely symbolic Olympic celebration be without the inclusion of your local non-Olympian development skeleton athlete ... ?

They interviewed me and a REAL Olympian, snowboarder Dominique Vallée who did half-pipe and raced boardercross in Torino. As far as cool factor goes, she wins hands down.

I did however manage to get a pretty big cheer from the home crowd when asked about why I moved to Squish and answered that as a skeleton athlete my choice was between Calgary and Squamish, which ... well ... wasn't much of a choice ... (sorry Calgary ... but it's true. Also ... I am not really sorry ... )

All in all ... a pretty cool night to be a part of ...

Yeah ... ummm ... you kinda do ...

Note: The husband demands a shout out to acknowledge his role as event photographer. Consider him shouted at ... except that last shot. His goatee took that picture.

Okay, so as part of Olympic preparations, they have added kilometre-long stretches of these yellow cones in order to re-allocate the highway divisions into what is, presumably, the best lane formations for efficient traffic flow. Which, firstly, begs the question, if this setup is the most efficient way to route traffic back and forth to Whistler ... WHY DIDN'T YOU JUST PAINT THE LINES ON THE ROAD THAT WAY TO BEGIN WITH?

Secondly, these yellow cones look deceptively similar to those squishy orange plastic cones that are used regularly during construction. You know, those unending lines of cones littering highway lanes otherwise devoid of a shred of evidence that anything is under construction? You know, those rows of cushy, orange rubber that are just begging to be taken out, just because you know that their only raison d'être is to give the otherwise unemployed people who move them around something to do? Yeah, well these yellow cones look suspiciously like those orange ones. So much alike in fact, that I have been involved in more than one conversation in which the topic at hand was the pondering of what exactly the consequences might be to brushing up against one. Based on close inspection and thorough discussion, we, regular commuters on the Sea to Sky highway, have in general come to the conclusion that these yellow cones are less squishy and rubbery in substance, and more metally and bolted to ground. So, probably not a good idea to take one, let alone a few of them, out of commission for kicks and giggles.

Finally, based on the conclusion that these yellow cones pose a the possible threat of significant damage and destruction, the once luxury-sized width of North American lanes has suddenly become terrifyingly narrow.

Especially when you are trying to take a picture of them ...

Note: Dear concerned citizens of the Sea to Sky community. For the record, my camera was in a holder mounted to my windshield, it was turned on and settings were adjusted before the vehicle was set in motion, and there were no other motor vehicles, pedestrians or cycling traffic in the immediate area when said photograph was captured.

So, after years and years of hmmm-ing and haaa-ing about whether to dish out the dough, I suspect that the purchase of my third Apple product in the span of a single year officially makes me a proselytizing member of the Church of Mac.

They came by and tattooed an apple on my forehead last night.

Here's the happy family all together, me holding Rufus, with Kate and Leopold on the right (Get it? Kate and Leopold? Get it?!?):

And if you are thinking I am rolling in it, and are contemplating dropping by my crappy, run-down, mouldy, paint-peeling-off-the-inside-and-outside-walls place to see if I have anything good to pilfer, please, may I suggest you start with my 1997 Ford Escort Wagon (Aquarmarine Mist in colour), which I managed to do some body work on today using the cement pillar base of a parking lot lightpole.

Oh, and take the cats.

So, on Friday I went and got my Olympic accreditation authenticated, validated, activated, laminated, and whatever other -ated I needed to officially be inducted as a member of OBSV's Production and Tech Personnel for the upcoming Olympic Games.

The process was surprisingly quick and easy - no problem finding the Whistler Accreditation Centre, no problem finding parking, not even a single line to stand in.

I walked right up to to the registration desk, and was like "Hi, I assume you know who I am ... " (which, surprisingly, she did not) and handed her my accreditation to authenticate, validate, activate and laminate.

Ba-da-bing, ba-da-boom. She hands me my credentials, all -ated to the max, and sends me on my way.

I'm totally tickled pink that the process was so easy, and I skip out the door, my accreditation gleaming in the sunlight, when something catches my eye.

No ... it can't be. I go in for a closer inspection.

Oh no. No. No, no, no, no, no. All of the sudden the horror sets in.

Of ALL the things that could be wrong ... name mispellings, wrong venue access, improper punctuation, someones pinky finger caught in the blades of the machine and accidentally laminated into my accreditation ... of ALL the things that could have happened ...

... the evil registration lady has laminated mine crooked.

Of the possible 30,000 plus Olympic volunteers and employees to hand a misaligned Olympic accreditation to, and the gods choose ME?

Okay listen.

I can't benchpress if I lie down and the bench isn't lined up with the ceiling tiles.

I can't cut vegetables if the cutting board isn't lined up with the counter, and I certainly cannot wash dishes if the bakers cart isn't lined up with linoleum.

The deepest book on my shelf dictates the distance that the rest of the books are from the back, and I use a straight edge to make sure that all books are equi-distant from the front of the shelf.

My cereal boxes must be wedged togther between something sturdy enough to keep them from leaning to the left, as they are wont to do on my unlevel pantry shelf.

I have probably lined something up on your desk when you weren't looking. I have definately lined up the magazines on the back of your toilet.

And now, everyday, from February 7th to the 28th I am going to be forced to daily parade around with a permanently misaligned piece of identification draped around my convulsing person.

To my therapist: You win. I will stop lining up the chair with carpet pattern before I sit down for our sessions.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some trimming of some plastic to accomplish.