Pique'n Yer Interest

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.

Why be Obama's chief of staff when you can make far more managing White Rock?

In August 2008, about 15,000 people stood in the pouring rain to watch Radiohead perform at Thunderbird Stadium in Vancouver. It was unrelenting Vancouver rain and soaked just about everyone I knew in attendance down to the bone.

To borrow a phrase from the movie Animal House , "Fat, drunk and stupid is no way to go through life, son." That may be so, but once upon a time it was a great way to get through college. I had an awesome, if not particularly enlightening, time.