Anyone that knows me knows that the greatest shortcoming is my rash, reactionary, bouts of rage -- rage that is inspired (and I believe this) from passion. Furthermore, if you know me, you know i make tempestuous decisions at the push of a button.

Fact is, the Olympics are over and I feel like I've run their course. It's time for someone else to grab the reins. Oh, I'll be around -- podcasting, show reviews, art. After all. this is "the city, as a boy, I once was proud of. But it's a city that's broken my heart". I have music. I will always be first and foremost a musician at heart. I like to write, but it wears on the soul -- namely because it feels like a vast segment doesn't care, while the other half wants to argue me on every little bullshit point and I'm sick of it. I have to consider my mental health. I am taking my meds again. I am going to train how to fight and stop eating carbohydrates. Srsly.

Neighbours seek to oust pedophile. Meanwhile, pedophile seeks to oust retarded redneck idiot neighbours.

VSB warns parents about school budget cuts ... whom apparently only get upset when someone who has been offered a chance to redeem themselves moves into their stupid little suburb.

Or perhaps when there is some fucking evil mastermind stockpiling weapons in their back yard: Abbotsford cops raid "James Bond" style drug and gun compound. Whatever, dude played cards, he was cool. Double-O? Fuck no, Triple-O.

HOLLYWOOD NORTH ATTACKED FROM SPACE!. If only...

After Part 2, the next couple of days were a blur, but I managed to take some notes. Most notable -- as the tournament progressed, as men's hockey came to dominate the conscious of nearly 98% of white Canadian males, the temperament of the Boosters had turned a lot more aggro. The puking was more violent, pushing into 4 and 5am. Another midnight shipment. I was developing a rash.

The funny thing about white noise is you miss it when its gone. I was alive with adrenalin -- running on chewable vitamin C tablets, peanut butter out of the jar, and some mystery tablets I found in a ziplock bag in my washroom that I think was herbal ecstasy. The choppers started at 8 a.m. every morning, and the guy playing the sax next to the Steam Clock, and then the traffic. A slow, swelling tide engulfed every crevice like the morning light, creeping up the brick walls of Trounce Alley.

Then the cowbells started clanking and eventually the dreaded bleat of plastic horns. The sound of a gigantic, dying cow's last bowel movement droning in a depressing D flat. Fuck me -- another day of that shit. What was it? Day 5, 6? The smoke from the Bavarian sausages festival next door filled my apartment, mixing with my vanilla incense. I was so hungry.

Don't put away those red mittens -- the next Winter Olympics could be closer than you think. The International Olympic Committee is poised to move the next Winter Olympics to Vancouver over impatience with the Sochi 2014 organizing committee (wherein which the entire city of Vancouver is the main character in Groundhog Day). Do we get to re-evict all those people? Do we get to smash a couple of more windows? Do we get to airlift snow to Cypress again! This is going to be so much fun. I'm going to start thinking of clever signs to make immediately. Immediately.

Sweet -- the Province finally admits the joke's on them! After we told them about Eagledridge. After we told them about Gateway. After we told them about Port Mann. After we told them about Light Rail for the Valley. After we told them that for the price of a skytrain under Broadway we could give every UBC student a new prius for ever, after we told them about the Arbutus Line, after we told them about the Bus Riders Union, after we told them about the vehicle levy the GVRD missed out on like a decade ago, after we told them to that bike lanes on Burrard were a good idea -- not some sort of pinko-commie take-over of the downtown core. Well done, you guys! Have an easter egg on your face.

Speaking of egg being on faces, maybe Translink can cancel the Evergreen Line a couple of more times, then triumphantly announce its return suspiciously close to an election.

Vancouver is Awful. No but srsly Bob, can I have that domain?

Vancouver pushes for a 'green, urban' casino. When you cash in your chips, instead of cash they give you carbon credits! And coupons!

Heartless thief steals hockey jerseys saved for charity auction. Well, he probably needs the money for an operation to have a new heart transplanted into him or whatever. I can't believe he survived this long!

Now who are the fucking whiners? UFC 115 Vancouver Canceled!? "Gregor and his buddies need to wake up, plain and simple. Looks like since the Olympics are over we are now reverting back to a no fun city. Great job old men and women of Vancouver city politics." Yeah man, bring back those stalwarts of fun the NPA! Bring back the 1 a.m. last call! Or as the Sun put it more subtly, "Smoking crack, yes. UFC, no". Because not being able to get insurance for the city in case any one dies is akin to the city tacitly allowing the sale of crack cocaine. I wasn't at that Council Meeting.

9 Minutes with the Marc Emery. Holy shit -- how did you manage to keep him down to 9 minutes? Dude loves to talk, and dude loves to smoke reefer.

Continuing from Part 1, after the protest I made my way home and heard that nothing more had come of the situation outside BC Place Stadium. Later that night I DJed at a warehouse in the depths of the Lower East Side, but first made my way through some sort of art walk in Gastown, which was good timing because I had written yet another sign inscribed with "2010 Was an Inside Job" on the back of one of my photographs on foamcore blown up to 36x72. I was really stressed, so I started drinking at the party. Keep in mind I only recently completed a 5 year sobriety stint, but I figured out that they would actually give me copious amounts of free booze. That, and I stole my manager's mickey of fireball. Fuck, that shit is good.

Not so much the next morning, or afternoon as the case may be. I woke up at 3pm to a text reading "they're smashing windows downtown". I couldn't be bothered. I'm sure it was all a ton of fun. But the next demo on Valentine's Day was the most beautiful thing ever. Of course, it might have been the mood stabilizers, Paxil withdrawal, can't-even-afford-a-cup-of-coffee stupor I was in. Thank goodness there were some Sikhs dishing out some of the best fucking lentil curry this side of South Van.

Sated, I entered the fabled intersection of Main and Hastings where a massive group of people were commingling. Soon they had formed a circle. I was instructed to remove my small "No One Is Illegal" flag. Only their signs were allowed. Then some drunk man wandered out of Carnegie into the middle of the prayer circle with a wooden staff raised above his head! He was stoked that we made such an elaborate ceremony for him. He was gently escorted out.