The 2003 Maxie Awards

By G.D. Maxwell

The third year of the new millennium was a disaster - naturally and politically. Fires, floods, drought, enough snow to kill a record number of people in avalanches but hardly enough to make a decent ski season, an over-reaching under-achieving premier, a vainglorious war fought on the flimsiest of pretenses that toppled a dictator and left a hole in the international social fabric, the departure of a Liberal Prime Minister and the arrival of. who knows what, and the next baby step toward having a local sustainability plan if not tangible sustainability.

After a year like that, it warms the soul to celebrate outstanding local achievements. So quick Watson, the needle, er, envelopes for this year's Maxie Awards.

Best On-Mountain Improvement: All day breakfast at Dusty's Backside at Creekside. In the post Southside Deli era, no one in town can touch what Stu and Tyler are whippin' up to fire the inner shredder. Quality and value - what a radical concept, so un-Whistler.

Keep Yer Hands Off My Stack, Jack: Whistler-Blackcomb pens a deal with the BidCorp to ensure they receive compensation at least equal to that of the average earnings of the three seasons leading up to 2010 when the circus comes to town and disrupts what we've all come to think of as, well, life. Good for them. Now, how about the rest of us?

Seeking Sense in Senselessness: To the seven who died on Durrand Glacier, the seven more who died at the foot of Cheops, the 15 others who died in less newsworthy avalanches, the four who died when the bridge washed out and our friend Dave who just ran out of luck. So many lessons to learn, so little time.

Whack-a-Mole Redux: The World Economic Forum rears its ugly head again as boosters from the Vancouver Board of Trade get down on all fours and beg for a bone. What part of "Thanks but no thanks" don't you guys understand?

Timing Is Everything: To Whistler Council for moving public questions to the beginning of their meeting. Hate missing the occasional bunfight but it's better for both of us if I sleep at home.

The 0.145 Solution - formerly the Hypocrisy Knows No Bounds Award: To Slash Gordon, of course. For a man who brooked no moral turpitude as opposition leader, Slash sure got a major humanity implant when it came to forgiving himself for drunk driving. In my book, 0.08 is legally drunk, 0.10 is missin' the urinal drunk, and 0.145 is leavin' the bar with the ugliest. well, with anyone who'll leave with you only to find you can't get it up drunk. Two martinis and two glasses of wine? Still having problems distinguishing truth from lie, eh Gordo.

I Always Wondered What the Dog Would Do If He Caught the Car: To us! Okay, to Vancouver, host city of the 2010 Olympics. Ya wanted it. Ya got it. Now what are ya gonna do with it?

Stupid Human Tricks: To the Campbell government. No, not for Bill 75; that's just scary. No, not for suspending the Cariboo Prospector rail service to the withering Heartland; that's just mean spirited. Not for the Community Charter that hopefully will be implemented before all the communities dry up. You win for even thinking about tolls on the Sea-to-Sky highway. If this is part of the plan to double tourism revenue, you're doing a good job. of making the NDP look like they knew what they were doing.

Rrrroll Up the Rim and Salute the Sun: A group award to local Yoga studios proliferating like mushrooms after an autumn rain. Yoga appears to be Whistler's answer to a Tim Horton's donut shop on every corner. How apropos.

One Man's Ceiling is Another Man's Media Room: Council cuts a deal with a lot owner in Taluswood who just can't abide by the covenant requiring a resident-restricted suite in any McMansion he builds on the lot. In exchange for turning a $250,000 condo in Gondola Village into an $87,000 condo - thereby calling into question the value of everyone else's Gondy Village crackerbox - another wanker on the hill gets a media room and a pop in resale. Who says you can't buy happiness?

Blood from a Stone: To all - well, almost all - the well-heeled weekenders, second home owners, third home owners, quarter and dime baggers, locals who've hit the jackpot in ways other than inflated property values, and especially to those we lovingly call filthy rich. Okay guys, you've got the HGTV McMansion; you've got the cars, SUVs and limos; you've got the chi-chi outfits and latest slopeside gear; you've gotcher stock options, golden parachutes and offshore accounts. With all that wealth floating around town, I can only assume the Library and MY Place must have hired really inept fundraisers. or you guys are so tight you squeak when you walk. Read the book again, there's a difference between philanthropy and philandering.

Ride 'Em Cowboys: To Garry Watson who kept prodding our apparently insensate politicians in Victoria, and Paul O'Mara who stirred the local pot and rained a flood of letters down on them. Their tireless efforts on behalf of Whistler homeowners in bulldogging the incomprehensibly dense into understanding the patently obvious brought about a sliver of tax relief where none was included in the provincial budget.

Three Strikes Yer Out: To Rico Suchy. Let's check the record here. Running an escort service, running a flophouse where boarders are stacked like cordwood, feeding bears to death. Quite a hat trick Rico. Gives a guy a whole new insight into those Survivor shows and the wisdom of being able to vote someone off the island.

The Pot Calling the Kettle Black: To the litigious Mr. Lambert for his selfless attempt to make sure nothing too big - or is that too much bigger - pollutes the eyescapes of tiny Nita Lake. Aye, roll up the gangplank matey.

Whacking the Hornet's Nest: To whomever floated the idea of reclaiming the Palmer golf course for resident-restricted housing. Ideas like that get people talking, worry the neighbours, drive the politicians to distraction, inspire the cranks and letter writers, and make almost any other proposal look more reasonable. What more could you want from one little idea?

You Want Extra Cheese On Your Pizzas?: To David M. Blakemore, letter writer. Mr. Blakemore, of Seattle, had rather unkind words to say about ski patrol, speed patrol, local skiers, the untimely death of Dave Sheets, and, well, he managed to piss off just about everyone in this town with his intemperate, ill-mannered letter. If there's a lesson to be learned from this particular tragedy, it's that out-of-towners shouldn't write those kinds of letters. especially when they have listed phone numbers.