Pique'n Yer Interest

At the height of the longest government shutdown in U.S.

The other day, I caught a glimpse of myself in a car window as I was exiting Olives in Function Junction. Double fisting vegan jerky in one hand and kombucha in the other, I thought, "Holy sh*t, conversion to B.C. hippie complete.

The image, by now, is familiar to most: A tourist, up for the day, piles out of their vehicle and walks to the second lake in Joffre Lakes Provincial Park, where they promptly wait in a long line to get their photo taken on the notorious "selfie log.

Whistler is often fondly referred to as a bubble. For me, that bubble is full of friendly, accepting people with, more often than not, pretty progressive views. But every once in a while, something comes along to pop that ideal illusion.

It can be hard to live with people. Even the best of friends can grate on one another after being cooped up in the same house all winter long.

I need to get something off my chest. It's a shameful secret that's been eating a hole in my stomach lining for the last six years and it's time I admit it publicly. Am I afraid of the consequences? Yes.

I've been called an "old soul" for a decade or two now, but I'm still not 100-per-cent sure as to why.

Of the many complaints that fill the Pique newsroom on a regular basis (we reporters are a pretty whiny bunch), one of the most frequent is our collective frustration at having to spend so much time on Facebook.

It seems that more and more people are examining their gift-giving habits this holiday season. For many, Christmas has become too commercial, co-opted by corporations bent on selling us things we don't need.

Christmas was always a big deal in my family. Well, more specifically, to my mom. Every year, when the calendar flips to December, the storage bins get pulled out of the basement and our home begins its annual transformation into the North Pole.