Maxed Out

"Blow up your TV, Throw away your paper...." John Prine On Sept. 11, 2001, I woke up with a stiff back, mental dislocation and an overwhelming sense of wonder.

In keeping with the, how you say, je ne sais quoi , of the whole zietgiest of the moment, a unique moment if for no other reason I get to use both French and German in the same sentence, I have to pose a perennial question I've never before posed in

While I'm generally a let-bygones-be-bygones kind of guy, an always moving forward, never look back person, I do have mild twinges of PTSD.

Prior to widespread European exploration and well before the great land grab, it is estimated the size of the North American bison—buffalo—population may have been anywhere from 30 to 50 million animals.

What can be more soul-sapping —life-threatening conditions or income tax deadline time aside—than regularly sitting in gridlocked traffic? Vehicles crawling at a pace just slightly faster than a walk, taillights stretching for as far as y

In the pale predawn light, a time when most of us were trying to wring out the last moments of sleep, with the mountains to the south of me just beginning to take shape, blackened silhouettes against a sky fierce with wind and torn cloud, punctuated

In case you hadn't noticed , 2020 is a leap year. Oh yeah, baby, one extra day to celebrate in the shortest month of the year.

While it may not be fashionable in this populist era to admit it, I'm a capitalist.

Around this time of year I fall out of step with many—most, maybe—Canadians. "Around this time of year?" I hear you snigger. I'll ignore that. You see, I like February. I mean, what's not to like? It's short.

I'd just like to take this opportunity to admit I'm guilty. Don't feel too smug. You're guilty too. And you and you and you. All of us. Guilty, guilty, guilty.