Maxed Out

The day had been the kind of day that makes a guy happy he chucked the whole money, power, success and urban rat race thing to become a ski bum.

On a cold, clear day in February, a couple of season ago, I did something very unusual. I went skiing. That’s not the unusual part; cold, clear days in February generally find me skiing, working or loafing, more or less in that order.

Well, finally. I have something to thank George W. Bush for. Before I thank the president of my home and native land, I’d just like to take a moment to, as gently as possible, serve up this proviso to our very welcome American guests.

So I’ve been thinkin’ about buying a big truck again. Not that I once owned a big truck and want another one, not that kind of again. But I once thought about buying a big truck and now I’m thinking about buying a big truck again. That kind of again.

Is it possible to be both a television snob and a television junkie? Why start a column with a question so obviously loaded? Can we just get on with it and stop asking questions? I am, undeniably, a television junkie.

So Jesus and Mohammed walk into a taverna in Sestriere. Jesus orders sacramental wine; Mohammed goat’s milk. Both ask for it to be served in an official Olympic™ souvenir glass.

Oh to be in Whistler now that Valentine’s Day is near. I don’t know anyone who won’t admit to being just the tiniest bit ambivalent about Valentine’s Day.

Finally! The issue is broached, the floodgates are open, we’re talkin’ about the elephant in the parlour. Thank you Ms. deSousa.

There are a lot worse things about the outcome of this week’s federal oh-no Canada election than the somber reality of rolling the phrase Prime Minister Harper round and round a brain unapologetically small-l liberal.

For reasons that still aren’t entirely clear to me, I got up this morning – actually tomorrow morning which will be this morning by the time Pique rolls onto its stands sometime later tomorrow, which is to say today… unless you waited until Friday to