Maxed Out

Short of some future war being played out at the base of Whistler Mountain - Tribe Shredders versus The Two-Sticks - none of us are ever likely to see anything even approaching the war zone Tiny Town is likely to become next February.

"I like my women like I like my beer: cheap and easy." Forgettable Country & Western song. Cheap and easy has - at least in North American - been raised beyond being simply a lifestyle mantra, raised perhaps to the level of quasi-deity.

As a public service, I'd simply like to offer this suggestion to everyone I've heard recently comment on the abundance of heat visiting Tiny Town: Under no circumstances - NONE - should you let your heat-addled brain allow your parched mouth to utter

Among my smorgasbord of serious social shortcomings, perhaps the most egregious is a seemingly endless ability to forget names.

Back in the day when Pharaohs ruled the civilized world, decision making was pretty uncomplicated. Make a decision, implement it, move on to the next monument to your greatness.

Map? Check. Compass? Check. GPS? Check and double-check; so just call me a belt 'n' suspenders kind of guy. Trekking plan? Check. First-aid kit? Check. Clean underwear? This is a wilderness trip, Pilgrim; tough it out.

Oh Canada. Happy Birthday.

People, please, can't we all just get along? The tenor in Tiny Town is getting tumultuous. The streets are filling with angry people. It's all taking on an air of Tehran north, without, of course, the charismatic whackos leading the whole place.

"It was twenty years ago today, Sergeant Pepper taught the band to play." When the Beatles sang those first words on the eponymous track of Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band in 1967, nothing in my life had happened twenty years ago.

I grew up in the Era of the Cowboy. I don't say that in a sepia-toned, nostalgic way.