Spring is unsprung and the hills are alive with January in April. We're mired in a funeral-procession of a federal election that reminds me uncomfortably of the film Eraserhead - will this nightmare never end. The season of our discontent is drawing to a close in much the same way an old-timey, battery operated tape recorder runs d-o-w-nnnn....
And adding insult to injury, we're hung with another inspiring(sic) leaders'(sic) debate. Perhaps our Francobrothers in Quebec have it right; we'd all rather watch a largely meaningless hockey game than another entirely meaningless snoozefest episode of Dodge the Question.
There they were, the 3.2 leaders, doing exactly what we knew they'd do. Iggy Pop managed to turn every answer into a dissection of Harpo's truthiness and commitment to the principles of democracy. Earth to Iggy: we know he lies like a two-dollar hooker and would happily prorogue Parliament permanently if only he had the majority necessary to keep his government from falling on the flimsiest confidence vote. Iggy was all about truth... not his own.
Meanwhile, Monsieur La Tête de Fromage did not miss an opportunity to turn each question and accusation into a mournful dirge about what a raw deal Quebec continues to get under every government, seeming only momentarily nonplussed when confronted with the province's own brand of intolerance towards l'autre.
Diamond Jack, looking like the makeup person used a bucket of spray tan on him in an attempt to exude a warm glow of health, was most entertaining... at least when he wasn't torturing every answer and attack to somehow fit inside the NDP's Family box. Kudos for the evening's best line when, in swiping at Pudge's lawn-order initiatives, he quipped, "I don't know why we need so many more prisons when the crooks seem so happy in the Senate." Go Jack, go; that one left a mark.
And then there was Pudge himself. Quite possibly so filled with Botox he was incapable of actual human expression, he seemed to largely borrow a page from Petronius in answering(sic) questions and barbs hurled his way. Mundus vult decipi, ergo decipiatur . For those of you not wanting to Google it, the words mean, "The world wants to be deceived, so let it be deceived." Since Conrad Black stopped using the phrase - the other prisoners would beat the snot out of him whenever he slipped into Latin - Pudge seems to have made it the unofficial slogan of the Conservative party. For him, everything was the fault of the Coalition.
With national politics such a dreary sideshow, I've redoubled my own momentum with the Campagne de Fous and for your entertainment, would like to present the third plank in my platform. I call this one Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire, or Cheaters Shouldn't Prosper. Next week I may call it something else, that's how openminded I am.
A couple of weeks ago, my friend and fellow columnist Ms. Wilhelm-Morden succinctly outlined the problem of illegal, untaxed, piggish space in Whistler. In a nutshell, there are a number of, generally, Very Large Homes in town that aren't exactly what they seem. Having been built, inspected and granted an occupancy permit, many have walls that suddenly vanish and rooms - media rooms, man caves, suites, whatever - that just as suddenly appear. They're not on the blueprints, they aren't taxed, for all I know they aren't even reported to the insurers. They may be unsafe and they're surely illegal, selfish and unsustainable.
But they exist. Realtors know about them, nudge, nudge, wink, wink. Builders know about them. Hell, the muni knows about them but has dodged the issue for years. They represent an untapped source of property taxes that, and this is the good part, would lower your own property taxes if the cheaters weren't prospering.
So, how to deal with it? Volumetrics is a blunt instrument. My plan, on the other hand, is simple. We triple everyone's property taxes. The muni sets the mil rate and subsequent taxes. Presto. Times three.
Now, before you jump out of your skin, chill baby, chill. Request a re-evaluation of your property tax and we'll send an inspector out tout de suite. A few painless laser measurements and if things are as they should be, you're back to the Non-Cheaters tax rate. Oh, what's this? A whack of unreported, untaxed space. Naughty, naughty. But now that you're honest again, you'll get taxed at the Non-Cheaters rate... with a healthy penalty thrown in for your formerly illegal space. Don't want to be inspected? Pay through the teeth, cheater.
Everybody plays; everybody pays. It's the essence of the social contract and, as my Catholic friends say, confession is good for the soul... even if it's just a tiny bit coerced.
But enough with politics. It's Festival time. Olé!
It happens every spring. But this spring, the Telus World Ski and Snowboard Festival turns sweet sixteen. Hard to believe. Sixteen years ago, founder and still Party Dude, Doug Perry, launched a desperate plan to avoid having to get a real job. Holding a snow sports festival in April, when anyone with half a brain had packed away the skis and gone surfing or golfing, was beyond crazy. No one imagined he'd even make it through that first year.
No one imagined, well, no one imagined it would even survive, let alone become what it's become under the skilled guidance of Festival Queen, Sue Eckersley - the biggest damn extravaganza of mountain and snow culture on the planet. Often copied, never duplicated, TWSSF is a 10-day exercise in over-stimulation. If you've survived the season so far, this is your final exam. Pass this and you can hold your head high in any mountain town in the world. Pass out and you'll miss something good.
Kick it off like a local this Friday with the Hairfarmers rockin' Merlin's patio and likely the entire base of Blackcomb. There'll be free concerts in Skiers' Plaza every day with Swollen Members playing Saturday and an amazing triple bill this Sunday. Spirit of the West and Delhi 2 Dublin are lucky enough to share the bill with our own Brothers Twang.
Judging from the number of sold-out evenings, everybody knows about the cultural events that have almost eclipsed the athletic competitions at the Fest. But this year's on-hill events have gotten a huge boost with a World Championship Slopestyle throwdown. If you didn't get enough Olympics last year, take a peek at the future.
Head out, forego sleep, metre your alcohol intake - not out of any misplaced notion of temperance, just out of survival - and stay on the right side of the local Mounties, who still seem to have a problem understanding things like this are what makes this place this place. Chill guys; you're not in Regina anymore.
See you there.
