Growing up in a Toronto suburb while a serial rapist is on the loose.
On disability, adolescence and friendship after a paralyzing accident.
On disposing of a dead sea lion, and the pitfalls of memory.
A mother struggles to cope when a child is born with albinism.
The history of Kraft Dinner, Canada’s “de facto national dish.”
Colonialism, the convertible peso, and the strange dance between the cheap beach tourist and the tour guide tout.
A son chronicles his father’s death:
My father's mortician was a careless barber. Stepping up to the open casket, I realized too much had been taken off the beard. The sides were trimmed tidy, the bottom cut flat across. It was a disconcerting sight, because in his last years, especially, my father had worn his beard wild, equal parts loony chemist and liquor store Santa. The mortician ought to have known this, I thought, because he knew the man in life. My father — himself the grandson of a funeral home director — would drop by Davey-Linklater in Kincardine, Ontario, now and then for a friendly chat. How's business? Steady as she goes? Death was his favourite joke.
How is Canada’s “post-AIDS” generation coping? Not that well.
[I]n some ways we are still hopelessly lost. A generation of men who could have been our mentors was decimated. The only thing we learned from observing them was to ruthlessly identify “AIDS face,” that skeletal appearance the early HIV drugs wrought on patients by wasting away their bodily tissues. But those faces grow more rare each day.
A report from Minnesota’s Angle Township, which was put in the U.S. instead of Canada by a map-maker’s error.
The apparatus of counterinsurgency and occupation has funneled billions of dollars into Afghanistan, and much of it has ended up in the hands of insurgents. For those who have profited—be it through aid, extortion, corruption or legitimate business—there is very little incentive to bring the conflict to an end.
An interview with an ex-CIA agent who is a world expert on the history of car bombing.