Pique'n Yer Interest

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.

I have always liked the feel of a good guidebook. My dad has a fondness for them, and I often found myself skimming through his collection growing up.

I've only lived in Whistler for two-and-a-half years. It's been long enough to get a feel for the rhythm of this town, but it also means I've only known Whistler as the successful, bursting-at-the-seams resort it is today.

It's Christmas in October. This is the week that B.C. voters start receiving mail-in referendums on electoral reform, and a rare chance to make history.

I'll get this out of the way straight out of the hopper—I wasn't here or even all that close—for the 2010 Winter Olympic Games in Whistler and Vancouver.

Two weekends ago, I found myself in the middle of a park on a sunny Saturday in Washington state sitting in a circle of people discussing "stretching our edges on race and privilege.

An incredible thing happened—or maybe the incredible part is what didn't happen—at the first all-candidates meeting of Whistler's election season last Wednesday, Sept.