Maxed Out

By G.D. Maxwell Spring has sprung and winter is finally upon us… today.

By G.D.

By G.D. Maxwell Okay seekers, the most important thing to remember is this: You came to Whistler on your Spring Break to have Fun! Sure, you may have thought you came to ski or board, but you’re confusing tactics with strategy.

By G.D. Maxwell I’m at a loss. Confused, saddened, outraged, impotent, and thoroughly, utterly pissed off. The parade’s movin’ at warp speed and I just don’t know which bandwagon to jump onto.

By G.D. Maxwell Now that my childhood – chronologically speaking – lies in a galaxy far, far away, I’ve pretty much given up on all the silly things I hoped I’d be and never became.

By G.D. Maxwell The endless February sun, lowering in the sky, making its way toward the Tantalus in the distance, bore bright white holes through my shades and left my optic nerves numb and damn near blind. I couldn’t stop looking at it.

By G.D Maxwell To most of the northern hemisphere, February is what the doldrums are to ocean sailing, an infuriating calm. A listless, motionless break in routine you know isn’t going to last but seems nonetheless endless in its banality.

By G.D. Maxwell In the Before Time, when I lived in the Old Country – Ontario – February was the month of much moaning. The first sparkling rush of winter had long since given way to drab, dreary sameness of dirty piles of snow.

By G.D. Maxwell I give up. Uncle! I just can’t solve the puzzle.

By G.D. Maxwell Ski jumping is to skiing what rocketing over the Grand Canyon on two wheels is to motorcycling… spectacle. Yeah, yeah, it takes skill; it takes talent; it’s a sport, whatever that means.