Pique'n Yer Interest

I'm not the only one to notice or comment on this, but being afforded the luxury of column real estate over the confines of "Letters to the Editor," I've been saving it up.

Further to a Pique'n column a few weeks back on Whistler men, we today present a few Whistler women. As you most certainly are aware, men are flawed but women are mostly flawless. To the lads who balk at this: Just think of your mother.

Whistlerites, by and large, make a lot of sacrifices to live in one of the most beautiful places on the planet: a dearth of career opportunities, skyrocketing living costs and a housing market that keeps pushing residents to the margins.

Once upon a time, I went to the Fleadh Festival in Central London, partly because it was headlined that year by Neil Young and Pearl Jam performing together and partly because it was crazy London-Irish fun. Yes, it was spectacular.

Moving never really seemed to be a huge deal for me.

As Britain implodes and Donald Trump wrings what he can from the dregs of conservative public discourse in the U.S., I recommend two books for anyone who wants to contemplate human nature.

There's a unique specimen in this lovely resort town: The young Whistler male. The RCMP must certainly stake themselves at Function and turn away the unattractive because the Whistler male is just too gorgeous, flirty, fit and ready to break hearts.

Canadians often go to great lengths to painstakingly detail all the ways we differ from our neighbours across the 49th Parallel.

In deserved memoriam, news outlets made much of the late heavyweight boxer Muhammed Ali's light-footedness in the ring. Others held forth that it was his prowess as an orator and broker of honesty that really stood out.

For whatever reason, Ghostbusters wasn't a movie that played a major role in my childhood. Actually, Peter Venkman, Egon Spengler and the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man are still in my Netflix queue waiting to be discovered.