Pique'n Yer Interest

For many British Columbians, 3 p.m. (almost) every weekday over the last few months has offered a moment of calm amidst tumult. That's when we've gathered to tune in from our computers, radios, and TVs to hear our provincial health officer Dr.

Last month, Pique shared the story of a cyclist yelling at one of Whistler's earliest Japanese families to "go back to China" as he pedalled by on the Village Stroll.

Picture it: It's the first week of May 2020. Despite the fact that I've been self-isolating for what feels like approximately 38,672 days, the month of April somehow felt like a week, and my wardrobe consists solely of sweatpants.

Gentlemen, we have a problem. As the recent mass shooting in Nova Scotia once again demonstrates all too painfully, there's an inherent flaw in the male psyche that goes beyond nurture into our very nature.

Over the past few weeks, there have been enough lines drawn in the sand to make beach volleyball courts on every waterfront the world over.

I've always been a complainer. While I try to deliver my grievances with a dose of humour, if we're moderately close and I'm feeling a feeling, you will know about it. Stoicism? Mystery? Those are for cowboys and spies as far as I'm concerned.

With the pandemic putting a stop to live events the world over, it's been slim pickings for sports fans looking for some much-needed distraction on the TV dial.

It was supposed to be a busy weekend.

Like most people, I never imagined that a global pandemic would upend my life. Such things, I blithely thought, were a thing of the past—at least in wealthy, technologically advanced countries like Canada.

I have a confession to make. I may have unintentionally manifested an international lockdown. Six weeks ago, I was telling a friend how I hadn't been home for more than an hour and a half at a time, apart from sleeping, in two full weeks.