Off in the distance, people were cheering and honking horns. And in downtown Vancouver there were thousands of Canadian hockey fans starting the evening's celebrations, though it was only 3:30 in the afternoon.

Even before the gold medal match between Canada and the U.S.A., the streets were filled with a spontaneous, constantly-moving party. The undulations of the red and white masses made it difficult to walk, and the co-mingled tunes of street performances and the national anthem made it impossible to converse.

The Olympics have brought a lot of action to Vancouver, from protests to anti-protests to after-parties to pre-parties. And for a lot of students at UBC, they've completely derailed the academic semester.

This year's reading break is two weeks long instead of one, specifically because of the Olympics.

"Reading" break is already a misnomer for many students and informal polling suggests that most of my fellow students are going into March ill-equipped for the next four weeks, as classes draw to a close and exams begin.

There's no doubt that our extra-long break has shaved away class hours for the sake of Vancouver's Winter carnival, but reading break - for many, a fourteen-day binge in a city straining to contain the Olympic enthusiasm of its inhabitants - will have ramifications that stretch beyond a few missed lectures.

Normally, it would be easy to blame a lack of academic effort over a reading break on  the student: a lack of discipline, an inability (or unwillingness) to plan for the long-term and understand the repercussions of actions.

But in this case, the last two weeks of celebration, libation, and wanton cheering have been culturally sanctioned. The emphasis on these Games, from media and peers, has been their historical significance. They were heralded as the first "green" Olympics, and as an opportunity for Vancouver to show itself off to the world. Later, they yielded the first Canadian gold medal ever won on home soil. And, because it's important - a part of history - it needs to be experienced.

Imagine the conflict. On the one hand, you have a semester's worth of school work and studying that can easily be thrown off-kilter by a spring break flushed down the toilet like so many late-night regrets. On the other, you have the opportunity - perhaps the only opportunity you will ever have - to experience the frenzy of the Olympic Games on a local level, and to show support for your nation.

Experiencing the Olympics doesn't necessarily entail getting uncontrollably inebriated every night, but even when it doesn't (though with students, it realistically often does), it doesn't necessarily mean studying.

And when it's officially sanctioned by the university with a two-week break, it shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone involved in the scholastic process when students with respectable averages can't get their game together for this semester's midterms or, worse, exams.

Athletes from around the globe showed us at these Games they were capable of great feats. They drew on years of practice, discipline, and passion in order to enter the Olympics and win a medal.

The fact that the spectacle of their performance could draw so many people away from their own goals for two weeks carries some irony.

It also shows how easily an individual can get caught up in the excitement of peers. Our eyes can slip from the gold when we pause to watch others shine. 

Millions of dollars have been spent adding to and improving this city in preparation for the Winter Games and the hordes of spectators and participants who will flock here. But all that's really necessary to make Vancouver a beautiful place is for the sun to shine. It doesn't matter how thoroughly you polish the facades of old buildings or chase the homeless from the streets. The force most necessary to bring this location to its fullest splendour is one that can't be funded, scheduled, or sponsored.

I wonder how much VANOC would pay for a sunny day if they could? If there was room in the budget for nice weather, would an Olympic Village or an elaborate opening ceremony receive as much funding as they do? Or would the sun's rays be moulded into the Golden Arches, and every fluffy cloud stamped with a Coca-Cola logo?

There has been so much bitterness and debate about the decision to host the 2010 Winter Olympics in Vancouver that to recount all the reasons for and against would be exhausting and potentially migraine-triggering. The budget is lopsided, the citizens harassed, and the intent questionable. And at the same time, the wave is rolling, a tide of political and corporate business interests set to flood the city, in a few days, with more visitors and media attention than it seems capable of holding.

I was talking to a friend the other night, listing the cons and disassembling most of the pros tied to the Games. When I finished, he said, "Yes, but think of how many people it makes happy."

When you put it as simply as that, the outcry over the security budget and the "RESIST 2010" messages scrawled on bus shelters seem less like healthy dissent and more like the whining of spoilsports. It's a perspective worth considering. People here seem awfully excited lately. There's an air of expectation even here on campus, as landscaping crews turn the earth, construction workers smooth corners, and roads are blocked off from traffic. Most everyone I know is coolly disenchanted with the Olympics, but there is still a desire to see victory played out, to see the spectacle unfold.

Is this happiness, though? Is there anyone here in Vancouver - aside from the few set to benefit financially, in the long run, from the Games - who will really see their lives improve because of them? We're approaching a two-week bread and circus, replete with over-consumption and mob mentality that wouldn't be out of place at the gladiatorial ringside. Of course it's a pleasant, even joyful experience - as any Bacchanalia is meant to be.

Still, there is something real and even important at the core of the Olympics: the idea that the nations of our world, regardless of conflicts internal and international, are able to come together for the sake of friendly competition, competition with honour, etiquette, and clearly defined rules. In a way, these Games are an antithesis to war - the sport commonly preferred when it comes to sorting conflicts between states. In war, ideals of proper behaviour and common humanity come second to the desire for power. But the Games depend on rules - that's what defines them and separates them from life as usual. They turn competition from something nasty, brutal, and selfish to an opportunity for co-operation.

This is a good time to be in Vancouver. I'm looking forward to seeing this event - years in the making - come together and, quite possibly, fall apart. It's not altogether pleasant to walk downtown and have McDonald's, Coca-Cola and Bell shoving their brand identities in my face, or police standing on every corner scanning the crowds. But in the end, it isn't much different from the usual rat race - just with fewer players, and more security.

I'll be doing my best to see past the orgy of self-interest and appreciate the higher ideals that inspired the whole shebang.

Last night I was on the Granville strip. The street was closed off and filled with art installations. People from different countries walked around in groups of friends or family, taking photos and admiring the city. I hope someone really does draw satisfaction from this winter's Olympics. And even if no one does, by the time the show is over, spring will be beginning - which means more sunny days to come.

I was an amazing student recently. I got out of bed a good half hour before I had to leave the house, which gave me enough time to shave, brush my hair, and chase my morning caffeine pill with a piece of toast. Every textbook I needed was in my bag, and I even had an extra pen. It was a fresh, sunny morning, and as I walked to class, I swear there was a bounce in my step.

I sat down in the lecture hall just as class was about to begin, and brought out my notes from the previous day. The subject was linguistics, and the topic was the International Phonetic Alphabet. It's sort of confusing for me, because there are a lot of unfamiliar symbols involved. But the morning was going so flowingly, unfailingly well, that I was sure I would be able to handle anything the professor threw at us.

Then, as the clock struck the hour, a man I did not recognize stood up in front of the class and began talking about weather patterns in the Mesozoic period.

The single flaw in my otherwise perfectly-conceived morning was that I was exactly one hour late for everything. As I was arriving in class, the class I was supposed to be attending was leaving. And as the professor began discussing the barometric pressure changes over Pangaea, my next class - English - was starting on the other side of the campus.

It's good, once and a while, to screw up. Even better, to do so in such an obvious and yet irrevocable way that you feel like a complete idiot. It knocks away that pretense that so many of us like to establish, the one that says we're in control and we know what we're doing. It's a handy pretense, because it can make life smoother and calmer. But letting go of it once and while can open new doors - even if they're the wrong ones.

I think every student should go the wrong class at least once. Doing so gives you the opportunity to learn from your mistakes in the most literal sense. And it doesn't necessarily have to be done in error. In fact, you'd probably do better to go out of your way to sit in on a different lecture. That way you don't end up missing a class you should have attended, like I did. And while hitting up the wrong lecture might not seem like the most thrilling use of your recreational hours, there are benefits to the experience that make it different from sticking to your usual timetable.

For starters, you can leave whenever you want. If Ancient Greek Poetry in Translation turns out to be even more boring than you thought it would, you can take your leave without worrying about missing any notes for the final examination. (That being said, resist the temptation to sigh dramatically, stand up, and storm out the front doors. Doing so tends to encourage awkward questions from the professor, like "Who are you?")

Most importantly, though, there's the benefit you reap from exposing yourself to an area of knowledge you might never otherwise explore. We tend to draw lines between what interests us and what doesn't, between what is necessary to obtain our degree and what is not. Crossing those lines once in a while shakes up the established order, and can introduce notions or information that might have been completely passed over otherwise. It keeps the definitions of useless and useful information flexible.

After all, you can never be certain when a piece of knowledge might be useful. If I play my cards right, I may be able to pull off a term paper linking the story of the Biblical flood to the Mesozoic fossil record. Or maybe I can just use words like "Mesozoic" to sound smart in casual conversation. Either way, I'm glad I ended up in the wrong place. If your academic life could use a twist, maybe you should give it a shot. Who knows? You may actually learn something.

My friend and I went to see Avatar last week.

The film embodies the sort of capital "S" Spectacle that would twist Guy Debord's undies into a Moebius strip. Simply put, it's pure escapism, a seemless merger of the real and rendered that requires its viewers to suspend their disbelief only a few inches in order to be carried away.

We both went into the theatre with an air of detached irony, expecting to be wowed by a superficial diorama of explosions and blue aliens and nothing more. But through a combination of too-beautiful-to-be-real visual stimulation, noble savage idealism and time-tested narrative tropes, we were pulled away from the world for a clean one hundred and sixty-two minutes. When we re-emerged, reality seemed so mundane it was almost unbearable.

On the bus ride home, a guy sat down across from us and started an impromptu, mostly one-sided discussion about current global events. I say "a guy" only because I can't think of many adjectives to apply to him. He looked like he was in his forties, dressed casually and clean. And aside from a certain amount of excitement - understandable, considering the issues he was discussing - there were no hints to suggest that he was going to try and convert us to a religion or ask for money. So naturally we were happy to hear him out.

Apparently, it had been a big day for news. He gave us the full run down. It went something like this: President Obama, that day, had announced the need for the world community to put aside its differences and come together in aid of the four million children who had been left homeless after the earthquake in Haiti. He had the backing of  the Pope and Queen Elizabeth II, both of whom had announced similar desires for the world to join together in an act of compassion. He'd appointed former President Bill Clinton to act as America's representative in Haiti, and ordered Dick Cheney and George Bush (either senior or junior - he didn't specify) to help him.

This news would have been heartwarming enough, but there was more. The Queen had announced that she would abdicate from the throne, putting Prince Harry in her place. Harry, it turns out, was fed up with the conflict in Iraq in Afghanistan, and announced his intention to withdraw troops immediately. Canada's "young men" would be returning home, and if Stephen Harper objected, he would be forced - by some obscure law pertaining to the power of the British throne - to resign. It was time, Harry said, for the rulers of the world to act as mothers and fathers to their people. Our informant was of the opinion that Obama was a king - not in the literal sense - destined for greatness, and that we were heading for a shining new era in the history of humanity.

I told him I would have to start reading the newspaper more often. Obviously I was out of the loop. He agreed, and got off at the next step.

It's uncanny when someone proclaims, in a clear, sane manner, truths that are utterly false. The effect is less discomfiting when they claim allegiance to a religion or a nationalist ideology. But the man on the bus was no creepy-stare, spits-when-he-talks evangelical. He was affable and more or less "normal." And he explained all of this in such a sane, certain manner that, even though I didn't believe a word he said, I checked Google News when I got home - just to be sure.

Escapism is most wonderful when the world is at its most terrible. And for some reason, the present always seems like a low point. Theater attendees in 17th-century London could watch a production of A Midsummer Night's Dream and escape from a world so mad it seemed like it was on the verge of Apocalypse. (Many suspected that the whole thing would come to an end in 1666.) Avatar takes people away from cities in the dead of winter and a globe that, as ever, appears ready to tip into the abyss, and delivers them to an Edenic planet called Pandora. And the man on the bus seemed to have fled from a world where humans in uniform kill each other for reasons most of us can barely comprehend, and a shifting of tectonic plates can decimate whole populations in the amount of time it takes to watch an episode of American Idol.

I was annoyed with the man on the bus at first, for spreading this disinformation. Then I was envious. When you have a beautiful dream, you don't want it to end. And once you wake up, you're sad to see it go. He didn't seem to have that problem. He may have been mad or foolish or both, but while my dream had cost sixteen dollars and ended with rolling credits, his was still happening. Maybe he'll awake one day to find the world as it really is, or maybe he won't. Regardless, I won't begrudge him his fantasy. Once in a while, everyone needs to escape.