Pique'n Yer Interest

Deep down, I'm just a simple man. I favour ice-cold pale ale on a hot summer day. I like a thin slice of cheddar on my sandwich — roast turkey with just a little mustard. Volvos are my ideal car.

Watching the American presidential race is always an exercise in frustration for me.

Whistler is awesome! proclaims an eponymous website and it surely is. Awesomeness, in fact, is the reason I moved here and the reason I'll be here far into the foreseeable future.

We were driving down the Sea to Sky Highway (do I ever do anything else?) on Labour Day, my son and I, with the aim of hitting Park Royal Mall in West Van by 1:30 p.m. Originally, it was meant to be 10 a.m.

I have a Facebook friend named Chelsea Rae Jones. She was married on Sunday, so I'm obliged to extend a big congratulations to her.

Those of you who had the misfortune of reading my book, Snakebit: Confessions of a Herpetologist may recall that I poked great fun at the nerdy predilections of this motley sect, but that I also held them in great esteem.

My father lost his hoodie on Blackcomb Mountain. We were descending a little over a week ago after a day of hiking and gondola hopping for his 70th birthday.

I'd be walking home through the forest, glancing back over my shoulder every 10 or 12 steps with the absolute certainty that a bear had emerged from the bushes and was hot on my trail.

Faster. Higher. (Yawn). Stronger. The Olympic mantra is tired. Worn out. Kind of like the Games themselves.

In The Wabi-sabi House , author Robyn Griggs Lawrence probes the essence of this Japanese philosophy-art: finding beauty in imperfection and nature's cyclical march of growth, decay and death.