Pique'n Yer Interest

I fear I may have wasted my stoner years. Formative years they were, but now I question how I chose to spend those years traipsing through the suburban landscape of my hometown. I probably should have been snowboarding.

Ice required to reduce swelling

As any Whistlerite knows, the skiing life is full of lines: the line-up of cars on the highway and to enter (free) parking lots; line-ups for coffee, cafeterias, rentals and ticket buying (made all the more excruciating by the fact that you're lining

Three and a half years ago, Pique Newsmagazine took a chance on a brash young journalism student who was eager to start his career. He came from university with a chip on his shoulder and a desire to shake this town up.

It was day one of Movember. There were a few bald faces among my male colleagues, myself included, and it was refreshing, like a cool spring rain.

Twenty-five candidates for council, six votes to spend. Six candidates for mayor, one vote. It's like lining up at the deli counter for 20 minutes and when you finally get up to the cash register you have no idea what to buy. And the menu is huge.

An animal dies. Lying where it falls, it's washed over with sediment, mineralized, converted to rock and pushed down into the earth.

The artist motions for silence.

I've managed to stay away from criticizing the municipality since I've started working here, choosing instead to educate the public on how to deal with a crummy roommate and how to kidnap that roommate's dog.

For a while there I considered disconnecting from Facebook, which I had taken to calling "bitchbook" because of the sheer number of people using one of the greatest technological advances of all time to complain about their daily lives - with problem