Friday, Mar. 15, 2002
Dear Diary:

It's official. I live in The Most Insanely Athletic Place In The World.

Now pay attention, because this involves incredibly complex statistical calculations, and I'm only going to explain it once.

Ready?

Okay, yesterday was one of those stupidly beautiful spring days when we were making maple syrple. Nobody but nobody can pass by a working sugar house and not drop in. It's one of those Laws of Physics.

Yes, I've fondled a bronze medal and you haven'tSo our neighbour Clara dropped by and because she knows it makes me just about as excited as an adolescent monkey (and really, what can be more fun than watching an older-than-dirt-woman act like an adolescent monkey?) she brought her Olympic medal.

Oh yes, both the spousal unit and I Have Fondled An Olympic Medal And YOU Haven't. Neener, neener, neener. And while in the act of fondling said medal it struck me that with Clara living in such a tiny place, she statistically makes us The Most Insanely Athletic Place In The World.

Here's the math: there are less than 50 people living full time in the village proper. Depending on how you define the 'burbs (and Paul and I live in the 'burbs) then you have a total of not more than 75 people in the village and 'burbs.

We have an Olympic medalist living here, and really, I think we can all agree that there are few people more Insanely Athletic than an Olympic medalist.

So do the math--here's a place with a population hovering somewhere between 50 and 75 people, one of whom is an Olympic medalist and bingo--between 1.5 and 2 per cent of the residents of where I live are Olympic medalists.

To put this in perspective, Montreal has about 1.7 million people. For them to be as insanely fit as The Most Athletic Place In The World, they would have to have between 25,500 and 34,000 Olympic medalists living there.

Do they? Huh? Do they?

Nuh UH.

Buncha slugs.

According to the 1990 census, New York City proper had about 7.3 million people. For them to be as insanely fit as The Most Athletic Place In The World, they would have to have between 109,500 and 146,000 Olympic medalists living there.

Do they? Huh? Do they?

Nuh UH.

Buncha slugs.

I could go on all day and make fun of cities all around the world, but I think you get my drift.

(And yes, if you've read this far, it probably feels as if I HAVE been going on all day, eh.)

The cool thing about Clara is she is open, friendly and you can ask her anything at all.

I asked her tons of stupid questions, including what an athlete at her level eats. Yeah, as I expected, she mostly eats healthy, unprocessed foods. However, There Is A Super Secret Canadian Dietary Rocket Fuel, eh, and Clara Eats It Too.

Yep, Popeye had his spinach, and we Canadians � well we Canadians have fresh, homemade doughnuts, eh. If the IOC develops a doughnut test, the whole Canadian team is going to get busted in the world's biggest athletic doping scandal ever.

And remember, You Read It First On Diaryland!

So now you know.

Yes, we Canadians live from day to day in the hope that our Super Secret Canadian Dietary Rocket Fuel will continue to elude sophisticated IOC testing protocols.

Since I've spilled most of the beans, you might as well also know that our scientists have been tinkering with the formula in high security underground bunkers.

Yes, here in The Most Insanely Athletic Place In The World we're part of an on-going experiment of nearly 30 years duration to see if dipping fresh, home made doughnuts in warm maple syrple fresh out of the evaporator makes them even MORE potent.

The sacrifices I make for my country, eh.

--Marn

Old Drivel - New Drivel


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Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -


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This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine.

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�2000, 2001, 2002 Marn. This is me, dagnabbit. You be you.