Maxed Out

R iinngg... Answer the phone, mom. Riinngg... C'mon, mom... I know it says "British Columbia calling." Riinngg... I know British Columbia is in a foreign country. Riinngg...

Early in the morning of September 11, 2001, a warm, late summer sun was sparkling on the placid waters of Sulfuric Lake.

Grey is the new black. Gay is the new straight. 50 is the new 40. Biking is the new running. Big is the new little. Losing is the new winning. And, apparently, 2.8344 is the new 2.6913.

I used to have this political science professor who, notwithstanding his long tenure and distinguished scholarship, insisted on teaching the Intro to Poli Sci course to new freshmen every autumn.

Dear Christy: Wow! You won. Sort of. Congratulations, I think.

As much as I'd like to opine this week on the Canadian Association of Journalists' Code of Silence award to the RMOW, I'm taking a pass.

I keep thinking to myself, which would I rather have: Guys tearing the roof off my house while I try to write; or having to make a choice between the "leaders" of the various political parties jockeying to run the province? Unfortunately, there are g

The flipside of runners' high is a melancholy fatigue, a numbness of body and soul that necessarily settles in if one is to regress to one's mean, which, by definition, one must. How can there be an up without a down? And vice-versa.

In case you didn't notice, it's started. Unfortunately, if you didn't notice it has started you're probably dead. Sorry to be the one to break the news to you.

Mr. Gord Nixon CEO, Royal Bank Gold Towers, Toronto Dear Gord: Sorry about the gas I passed; spring radishes always have that effect on me. Of course, I didn't realize you were right behind me.