Pique'n Yer Interest

The ability to fly from Vancouver to Europe in less time than it takes to drive to Nelson is kind of amazing when you take a step back and look at the big picture.

You'll understand if I don't agree with the modifier employed by Macleans Magazine when, with typical hand-wringing, it labelled May, 2013 "The worst month in the history of Canadian politics.

I'm in the middle of a self-imposed exile from Facebook and other distractions in order to edit the latest version of a screenplay I started a while back. This means I have only been on Facebook twice today. OK, thrice.

A couple of months ago I was running down the Valley Trail when, out of nowhere, a large black dog bounded out of Nita Lake and began to keep pace with me.

They say that life begins at 40, which is weird because sometimes it feels like it ended at 35. Raising a child and working opposite shifts to your wife for five years will do that to you.

I jump at every tickle on my skin. My scalp tingles under my hat. I have the constant feeling that something's crawling up my leg.

As I fished about for a subject to perplex readers with this week, news came that the police had pulled the body of Sunil Tripathi from a river in Providence, Rhode Island.

Like many others around the world last Monday, I was gripped by a deep sense of dread as news of the Boston Marathon bombings began to unfold.

Politicians of all stripes are universally famous for overpromising and under delivering (e.g.

Though it isn't quite over, I'm ready to allow that this has been a pretty interesting winter. "Interesting" in the pejorative sense that people increasingly use the word to describe things about which they haven't quite made up their minds.