Rose's Cantina

As I rode the elliptical machine today, I had to admit to myself that I was suffering from Olympics fatigue. It's quite obvious from the coverage that Canadians are snow bunnies -- we medal but only really in bronze and some silver -- so most of the coverage surrounds athletes from other nations. I'm finding it hard to get up the energy to root for the Italians or the Chinese in sports that I don't care about. We have to suffer through hours and hours of coverage of non-Canadians in bikinis or tight tanks, girls with big bulgy muscles and mannish hands, dudes in cute and sparkly little outfits of blue and silver. Unlike the Winter Olympics, there is much gender confusion during the summer games -- a lot of the men and women are kind of interchangeable and you'd have a hard time figuring out their gender if they had their street clothes on. I'm also wondering if I'm the only person alive who thinks a lot of the sports played in the summer games are just p...

The Olympics should be held in Britain every time. Every dog owner would thank the IOC. Finnigan gets me out of bed as 5:54 a.m. every day, no matter the weather. He is a stealth dog; he is able to use every single square of the bed for a surprise attack. He starts at the foot of the bed, notices me stirring or turning over. He stands over me like some sort of malevolent spirit, hovering, watching. If I am awake, I can see his evil little white soul patch which is mostly grey but lights up pure white when he's being evil. Then he starts boxing me like a kangaroo, letting out a short, high-pitched moan. When that doesn't work, he slithers between us and begins to lick my face. He is not deterred if I push him down; he just goes to the other side of the bed and sits on Gordie who snarks him. A dog fight ensues. By this time, I cannot stand it any longer. I'm up. He's out the door briefly, then bounds back in for a ball of food. I feed Gordie, then give him ano...