Maxed Out

I’m as fond as the next guy of wandering around and doing nothing. Pressed, I even imagine people drawn to aimless wandering are probably the same people who are drawn to skiing.

I haven’t been to a fortune teller since the time I let a nascent, ultimately unsuccessful, girlfriend talk me into squandering twenty bucks on one in a funky, hippie, rundown corner of San Francisco.

Christophe Pinquet lives in a top-floor apartment on the Champs-Élysées.

This weekend marks the 22 nd annual mad celebration of life in Whistler. Perhaps, more accurately, it marks the anniversary of what life in Whistler used to be when the town was a simpler place and life’s focus was, well, more focused.

I’ve been thinking about the Olympics ™ a lot lately. Now, to be both fair and honest, I’ve been — or, more accurately, hope to be — paid for thinking about them. But that’s not the point.

Zippy the Dog is in dog heaven.

Christmas just past — and let’s all be thankful it’s over — included a personal milestone, an anniversary of a life-changing event.

I tend not to make New Year’s resolutions. There are many more sound reasons for being a non-resolutionary than there are good reasons for starting the year by dooming yourself to failure. To begin with, the holiday falls at an unfortunate time.

I tend not to make New Year’s resolutions. There are many more sound reasons for being a non-resolutionary than there are good reasons for starting the year by dooming yourself to failure. To begin with, the holiday falls at an unfortunate time.

What a year it’s been, eh boys and girls? With the quite understandable annoyance of stumbling into a Conservative government, albeit of a minority persuasion, early in the year, 2006 was the kind of year that can come back and visit any time it want