Maxed Out

By G.D. Maxwell One of the interesting things about living in a resort populated largely by refugees from the real world is hearing from people you used to know who still live in places you’d just as soon forget.

By G.D. Maxwell The Scene: A sunny winter afternoon, Dusty’s Smokin’ Joint, base of Whistler Mountain Socrates: And still, you seem troubled over... over what, a game? Max: Were it but a game.

By G.D. Maxwell Faster, Higher, More contentious than an ethnic joke at a Brotherhood convention. If this is 2002, the Olympics must be on the agenda. This is the year the ghostly visage of Vancouver’s 2010 Olympic bid begins to show its shape.

By G.D. Maxwell Hear that whooshing noise all day Tuesday? It probably sounded a lot louder and more harsh through your Happy New Year hangover haze but sober or suffering, it was an unmistakably soothing sound.

by G.D.

With profound apologies to Clement Clarke Moore, his heirs, assigns and estate’s attorneys. The Month Before Christmas ‘Twas the month before Christmas, from near and from far, Our neighbours from Washington packed up their car.

By G.D.

By G.D. Maxwell Once upon a time, in a land far away, there dwelt a king named Solomon. Solomon – Solly to his friends, of which he had many – was king of Israel, which was located pretty much where it is today but was a lot larger.

By G.D.

By G.D. Maxwell That’s a wrap. The red carpets have been rolled up and put away for another year, the limos sent back to the garage for steam cleaning.