Pique'n Yer Interest

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.

The new council is now sworn in for a four-year term that promises to be eventful, with big plans to solve our 50-year-old housing crisis, mend fences with First Nations, and come up with a highway solution that lets people get home on a Sunday sligh

"Where can I recycle Nespresso cups?" Oh my God, who can use single-serving plastic daily and still sleep at night? Don't people know recycling is hardly beneficial at all? "85,000 Children in Yemen May Have Died of Starvation." F*ck.

It's now been a few weeks since Greyhound all but pulled out of Western Canada (a Vancouver-Seattle run is all that remains).

In Whistler, where pretty much everyone comes from somewhere else, being considered a local can be a real badge of honour.