Gifted Typist

Uber sprinter Usain Bolt from Jamaica has one of those names. He won gold for the 100- and 200-metre sprint event in track and field. He also busted world records.

Stand by for the cliche headlines: “Bolt of lightning” and “Bolt out of the blue” and “Lightning Bolt strikes twice.”

Bolt is a dream name for a sprinter and a headline writer.

You have to wonder: Did he become a sprinter because of his name?

And what about these people with names that match the jobs? Were they influenced by their names?

Mr. Bill Headline is a bureau chief at CNN news.

David Law is a lawyer.

And what about Dr. Needle, the doctor.

Or Dr. Jeff Butcher, the orthopedic surgeon.

There’s a Mr. A. Bugg who teaches computer programming.

Or Anna Udder who is a lactation consultant.

Gary Alter is a plastic surgeon

And Wilma Mankiller who is the first woman chief of the Cherokee First Nation

Dr. Payne is an anesthesiologist.

In Canada, there is a John Tory who is a leader of the Tory party.

Canada is wringing its hands again. No Olympic medals.

We are a nation thirsty for Olympic medals.

The other night I heard the CBC sports desk deconstructing the swimming. Our medal hope didn’t win a medal.

Why? The dolphin kick, they said.

Sorry people, but don’t blame the dolphin kick. Or the athletes.

It’s the funding, stupid. Not the dolphin kick

In Canada, we don’t fund our athletes well enough to win medals in swimming. But we want them to win.

Australia has a smaller population than Canada but they always win more medals. Why? Because they fund their athletes.

If you fund your athletes, they will win medals.

I don’t buy the argument that Canada is uncomfortable with success. Canadians love hockey success. Canadians like to feel good about themselves.

Canadian politicians are asses if they think their athletes will deliver the “feel good” factor to a nation starved for medals.

Give them the funding and they will give you the medals.

Simple as that.

It all started innocently enough.

I go to their blogs; they come to mine.

They are Tanya Espanya and Trixie, the artist formerly known as Jacy.

We post. We comment. We laugh. We cry.

Then we email. Then there’s a meet-up planned in Toronto, and my brother-in-law drops me off at the designated meet-up location.

“And you’ve never actually met these people before?” he says with trepidation.

“Well, we’ve met on-line,” I say.

“But you’ve never met face-to-face.”

“Um, no.”

My brother-in-law doesn’t look convinced. He drops me off. “Good luck,” he says. “Take care.”

He thinks I’m going to meet axe-murders - weirdo axe murders who blog in the basement in their pyjamas.

They don’t actually butcher me with axes, but they do butcher me with their sense of humour, their beautiful baby and their wicked wit.

Next thing you know we’re real friends.

And now they’re are here, at my cottage, taking over with their beautiful baby, their laptops and their love of disco music from our youth.

They know my family now, our habits, my pet cat Cheddar.

IT’s all too much.

How did this happen?

See my Herald column here.,

From now until Aug 24, it will be All Olympics All the Time. I’ve been waiting for this day a long time.

And now it’s here.

I support protests around human rights, bloated budgets, smog, and rampant commercialization replacing the Olympic spirit. And I do happen to think that the Olympics and politics are inseparable.

How could they not be linked? The athletes wear the national flag and receive funding from governments. To say politics and the Olympics are not connected is naive.

It’s too bad that Canada’s government rolled over on this opportunity to issue a verbal protest at least. Even George W did that - before he flew to China to attend the games.

Canada’s Prime Minister Stephen Harper protested by not attending. As much as he would like to think this will make a statement on the international stage during one of the biggest international events there is, Canada’s silent protest will be a mere bleep on the international radar, if it’s noticed at all.

Sorry Stephen, but the rest of the world just isn’t that into you!

But now it is time to watch the games. And the artistry. And the culture and history. You do learn a lot about the host country, even if it’s through a filter of authority approval.

It won’t change my opinion of China or its ways. And watching is not tacit support.

It’s just time to appreciate the event itself and its participants who aren’t guilty of human rights abuses.

Is is possible to have one’s cake and eat it too with the 2008 Beijing Olympics?

Merbstock is the most indie of indie music festivals.

Under a small marquee on the grass, between two cottages, singers sing, guitar players strum, jazz ensembles croon, ex-hippies harmonize, rock bands jam and family quartets perform. And it’s a brilliant evening of entertainment.

Merbstock is the homegrown mini festival put together by a community of cottagers at the beautiful Melmerby Beach. This year’s event happened on Saturday night.

But don’t be fooled by the homegrown description. The talent at this thing is impressive.

Now in its tenth year, the festival features local talent who perform for the love of performing. Some used to be in bands, some aspire to be in bands and others just like getting up on stage to play and sing before family and friends.

In the audience of about 75, there were four generations represented. You could see the pride on the faces of grandmothers and moms. There were sisters, uncles, family friends, cousins, in-laws and friends from jazz school in Ontario.

The Eagles were playing in an outdoor venue a few hours away. I thought of going, but didn’t. I’m glad. I think I enjoyed Merbstock every bit as much.

…you over hear your 11-year old daughter humming the tune of Led Zeppelin’s D’yer Mak’er.

It was a hit in ‘73 that predated my rock n roll listening days, but I did later find Zep and D’yer Mak’er became a fave and the album Houses of the Holy also became my fave. (Close tie with Physical Grafitti.)

D’yer Mak’er sounds like  “Jamaica” and “did you make her.” Think a British Caribbean accent and you can hear it.

It’s based on a joke:

“My wife’s gone to the West Indies.”

“Jamaica?” (D’yer Mak’er)

“No, she went of her own accord.”

So, my 11-year old is humming to the tune of a rock classic. That makes me a proud and worthy mother,no?

Now, if I could just get her to clean her room.

Thurs, 24 July, is the anniversary of my birth.

XX years ago, and all that….

But this one is no biggie

No cause for big celebration or moving speeches.

No reflection on the landmark achievement of reaching XX.

No reason  to get excited or melancholic.

Just another year ticking by.

Sort of nice just to have a low-key day.