Maxed Out

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times..." While both extremes may be overstating the case, it was a time of mixed emotions. I was wrapping up the sale of my WHA townhome at Nita Lake.

Tomorrow is Canada Day. For those of you visiting, especially those of you visiting from the United States, I'm happy to inform you it is, notwithstanding the unceremonial name, a national holiday.

They've been scorned, vilified, targeted, outed, shamed, ostracized, fired, suspended and more thoroughly documented than any rioters run amok in history. Now it's time to thank them.

Happily, this column is not about pay parking. It's not about asphalt. It's not about out of control municipal spending. It's not about secrecy. It's not about cute dogs and cats. It's about all those things. Okay, it's not about cute dogs and cats.

"Don't know; don't care" has long been the mantra of the terminally apathetic, the chronically uncurious and the wholly indifferent.

So there's this event Saturday in Lot 1, some kind of party, protest, whatever. And people keep asking me what's going to happen.

Summertime is barbeque time and nothin' says lovin' like the smell of sacred cow slowly becoming succulent over smoky, low heat. So let's gore some oxen and go face-to-face with some inconvenient truths about everyone's cause célèbre , pay parking.

Well, we may finally have an answer to the burning question: what makes a Whistleratic as riled up as a cancelled bike race? Answer: A ham-handed, punitive pay parking plan.

We could become the Monaco of the North

Ah, the game's afoot, Watson. This is what we know. Fact: The dreaded asphalt plant, run by the arch villain Morveri has been ordered to cease and desist its operations near the peaceful and bucolic neighbourhood of Cheakamusshire.