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Maxed Out

A death that becomes us

A death that becomes us

"Death don't have no mercy in this land." -Rev. Gary Davis So you're a reasonably robust Whistleratic. You ski, bike, surf, run, do any number of things that make you feel vibrant, alive.
Tackling the tourist we don't want

Tackling the tourist we don't want

So much for the holidays . Back to work. The tasks we collectively face to move both the resident and tourist needle in a positive direction did not go away in the past few weeks' sea of eggnog and shortbread.
And the 2019 Maxie Awards go to...

And the 2019 Maxie Awards go to...

Possibly the best thing that can be said about 2019 is, "Whew!" Yeah, it was that kind of year and closing the book on the second decade of the 21st century at least gives rise to the hope the next one will be better.
Should you stay or should you go?

Should you stay or should you go?

Leave or stay? Stay or leave? It's either a question weighing heavily on your mind or something you never really give much thought to. I fall in the latter camp.
My Santa wish list ...

My Santa wish list ...

Dear Santa: Oh man, where did the time go. Less than a week to go before the big day and I'm waaaay behind.
Tuning into Christmas

Tuning into Christmas

I have, I believe , a well-documented phobia about Christmas Carols. Many of them contain messages that trouble me. Some still give me the occasional recurring nightmare.
Action will speak louder 
than words

Action will speak louder than words

Slip slidin' away Slip slidin' away You know the nearer your destination The more you're slip slidin' away - Paul Simon I went skiing in Europe earlier this year. Austria and Switzerland. I'd never skied in either country or elsewhere in Europe.
More tales from the inbox

More tales from the inbox

Inquiring minds apparently want to know. That having been said, I still have no idea why inquiring minds ask me. But what the heck, nothing ventured ... So here's a recent smattering of Tales From the Inbox. Bear in mind, this is an opinion column.
Under the wide brim of western reconciliation...

Under the wide brim of western reconciliation...

After the morning rain , in the brief interlude of afternoon sunshine, I sat on the Longhorn patio, nursing a local IPA, watching machines dismantle the last of Whistler's bike park, wondering when the earth tones would be replaced by 50 shades of wh
The honour is mine...

The honour is mine...

The day Bob Barnett asked me if I wanted to write a column for his year-old Pique was one of the worst days of my life. Wait a minute ... that didn't come out right.