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Maxed Out

Suddenly it all makes sense

More than anything I can put my finger on, there were two forces in my formative years that grabbed what might have been a normal, productive life destined to maybe write ad copy or sue people over outrageous grievances, and nudged it off course.

What business are we in?

By G.D. Maxwell So, if any of you bothered reading about the World Economic Forum last week, you might be asking yourself a couple of questions.

Do you care, Whistler?

By G.D.

It’s not personal, it’s just business

By G.D. Maxwell This is a story about two businessmen, two world views, one resort municipality and a couple of tough choices.

The return of the bargain hunter

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.

More Games talk from Doc Soc

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.

Lessons in Socratic irony

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.

Max’s Helpful Five

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.

The 2001 Maxies

by G.D.

Visions of sugar plums

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.