It looked like this would be the gayest Olympics ever.
I looked forward to the opening ceremonies with as much anticipation as the opening day of The Phantom Menace — and was equally disappointed.
As soon as I saw the sweat dripping down Gretzky’s panic-laden face when the cauldron wouldn’t rise, I knew I was going to be turning stones to find the gay at the 2010 Games.
No homosexual in their right mind would leave the most important aspect of the ceremony to hydraulics.
“Was the Canada Arm busy?” my neighbour shouted at the TV.
The opening ceremonies have been the gayest thing about the Olympics so far. It reminded me of the Coronation Ball: entrance after entrance, lots of pretty costumes and lip synching. All that was missing was Céline Dion.
After the ceremonies were over, a friend called to say that one of the performers used to strip at The Dufferin.
I am on my own quest to “Own the Podium.” My goal is to sleep with a speed skater, the springboard divers of the Winter Olympics.
I know I have about as much chance as Canada taking home the most medals, but I didn’t realize the degree of difficulty would be so high.
The closest I’ve come is buying a jock strap embossed with the maple leaf.
“Where is everybody?” a friend asked as we walked towards the Olympic venues. “I expected the streets to be packed. Even the online action is tepid.”
My friend decided he was going to get as many pictures of himself with men’s teams from around the world as he could. He spotted a group of guys in matching blue jackets and asked if they would do him the honour of a photo. Picture taken, he asked where they were from.
“Canada,” they said.
“Oh,” he sighed.
I was able to find the gay in the most unlikeliest of places: the New York Times in an article called “36 hours in Vancouver.” It listed places I had never heard of that looked like they belonged in Manhattan, plus this interesting tidbit:
“An easygoing spot is Odyssey, a roomy and unpretentious club with an outdoor patio, cheap drinks and chatty locals.” And middle-aged men dressed too young for their age.
My inability to find the gay at the Olympics probably has more to say about where I rank on the proverbial totem pole than about the action itself.
I asked a local I slept with if he saw the torch run. He said he carried it the day before. I had to resist the urge to ask if I could take a picture with it.
At least the jock strap is nice.
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