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magazine Volume 1, Issue 1 April 2012

FREE take it



Volume 1, Issue 1 April 2012

Dear you, The clump of papers you have in your hands, all neatly trimmed, dyed and stapled together, is Fuss, an alternative/arts/literary/music magazine. And the reason it is pressed between your thumb and index finger is simple: to push you to create; to make something and show it off. This isn't a revolutionary concept by any means, and we're not out to change the world; we're simply here to give you, the reader, a platform.

EDITOR Lisa Olsen

CONTRIBUTORS Jasmine Adams Mike Sousa Michael Daly Ellie Anglin Thomas Parent Nigel Strothard Jon Johnson Isaac Watamaniuk Graham Houston

SPECIAL THANKS Sylvia Kovacev-Paquette Marc Lecompte Nadine Badran David Bell Each one of our advertisers and you, for picking this up.

Fuss Magazine

subscriptions available in Canada for $20/year All work is published with permission of the artist. All rights remain with the creator Advertisements or contributions to this magazine do not necessarily represent the beliefs or opinions of the magazine.

Instead of writing about the art, we want to showcase it. What becomes of this magazine is up to you: you're the ones contributing, you're the ones advertising and you're the ones creating. We're simply filtering it and putting it all together in a professional little package. The more you do all these things, the better it will do. The less you do these things, well, I'm sure you can figure that out. What we can tell you is what direction we'd like to go in, and that direction is forward, obviously. We're looking at literary contests with cash prizes. CASH. We're looking at events, both music and literary. And for all you videographers out there, we're looking into putting video on the website (please let us know if there's a demand for this). Oh yeah! Did we mention there's a website? That’s dot net. You'll find lots of extras there. Like a music forum and free mp3s. FREE. So far, there are songs from LNDMMML, The Racoon (sic) Wedding, Bob Egan, Baby Eagle and The Proud Mothers and Tomas Baldasaro. In this issue, the very first one, you'll find art from around town, writing from, and about, town, as well as music created in, and coming to, town. If you would like to contribute, by all means, do so; you'll find the submission guidelines online. If you would like to advertise, by all means, do so; you can contact us for a very reasonable rate card. And if you want to write for us, by all means, do so; send in a couple of writing samples and we'll get you started. We have a lot of story ideas. There is a ton of talent in our pretty cities, so get in touch; we're in your hands.

Printed at Pandora Press Published by Mercey Publishing

- Lisa Olsen, Editor



Isaac Watamaniuk

NON-FICTION Bliss is Elora................5

FICTION Mad Love at ValuMart, Ellie Anglin.....7 After City Limits, Michael Daly......9 You Leid Me Down, Thomas Parent....11

MUSIC Craig Cardiff.......12 Baby Eagle and The Proud Mothers....14 Profile: LNDMMML......17

ART Portfolio: Jon Johnson......19

CRAFTY BITS Hula Hoop Hoopla.............24

SHOW LISTINGS, MORE MUSIC, MORE WRITING Available online at (that’s dot net)

Isaac Watamaniuk

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Bliss is Elora exploring our surroundings

photo Lisa Olsen

It’s best known for its cliffs; the hanging rocks taunting the bubbling water, seemingly a mile below. The cracked rocks are heavy with teenage nostalgia for anyone who grew up in the area; back in the not-so-distant past when jumping into unknown water didn’t hold any consequence. Since it opened in July of 1954, Elora Gorge Conservation Area has played host to numerous families, children’s camps and tourists. I’ve slept on its cosy bed of cedar needles and fluffy earth numerous times. But this time, I stroll through it after the park is closed for the season. I park on the street in front; the gates swung shut to visitors. My car is nestled between two others, on the gravel shoulder beside a field of horses kept contained by a wooden fence. Walking along the windy road into the park, I’m first met with a sign indicating that the park has a complete alcohol ban. It’s the only park in the Grand River Conservation Authority’s care that does. When the full ban was put in place years ago, I stood in the wooden registration cabin, with its thin walls and undated furniture, while I submitted my information and credit card. “There’s a total ban now?” I asked, surprised. “Yeah, there is now. And we haven’t had any deaths this year

yet,” the teenage boy in the ranger uniform answered. The word “yet,” hung in the air as he scribbled my license plate number across the parking permit. Now, walking through the area the week after it closed, it has the feeling of an abandoned amusement park. I expect to see thirsty, dried water slides and a rusted Ferris wheel. The swimming pond is drained, leaving a miniature rolling hillside of murk and muck. The wind whips through the trees and you can almost hear children as they run, playing tag; their tube socks pulled up to their knees and their shaggy haircuts growing in the wind. The sun crawls over the pavilion and reaches the old shore, warming up the last smells of summer. A plaque stands on disintegrated stones in front of the pond, the colour of the words running into each other from the sun and time. It reads that the area “became the first in a series of areas dedicated to public use and recreation by the Grand Valley Conservation Authority.” Above it, three flags ripple in the wind. In the shade, a touch of chill, the looming winter, hits my face. As the leaves crunch under my feet, sounding far too much like snapping snow, I am reminded of the time when I stayed here in the hazy days of summer, trying to find the safety of shade from the glaring sun and sticky air. When I stayed here, I did so by myself. A liberating experience at the tender age of 30,

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photo Lisa Olsen

I finally overcame my fear of the dark and my fear of strangers. Finally. The park offers tubing down the Grand River. As I walk past the rental hut, its gates pulled down, I almost see the kids running up to the teenage girl working the booth, her head slumped in her hand, looking off to the distance. On their tippy-toes, and their hands on the counter, the two young girls peered at the tube-girl and told her about their dog, who was trying to run in the opposite direction, pulled back by its leash.

through, even on the off season, confirms it. As I walk past the campsites right next to the rolling rocks, I imagine a family on its first trip, young children running around with sticks, full of immortality, and nerve-wracked parents repeating once again that they come away from the edge of the cliffs. Or a young couple, on their first trip away together, judging whether their relationship can withstand being stripped of pretense, makeup and blow-dryers. Through the creaky windblown trees, I see the raccoons, breathing a sigh of relief at the lack of disorder only humans bring, yet missing the open bag of potato chips left on the picnic table overnight by inexperienced campers.

“What’s your dog’s name?” I asked. The two girls hesitantly answered. It must have been the lack of uniform making them uneasy. As an avid camper who has been far and wide to sleep out under the stars, this is still my favourite park, and walking

After two hours of walking the trail of the park and running into just one middle aged woman walking her dog, I’m left in a cloud of nostalgia, a sense of awe and a haze of imagination. The park is full of wonder during the summer months, but has a completely different sense of wonder in the off-season, too. (Lisa Olsen)***





“Friendz,� oil on panel, Graham Houston

Mad Love ValuMart at

I should be right now but I'm fucking depressed. Big surprise. I'm thirty years old, still kind of drunk from last night, and just finished a shift at a store called "Pink" where I sell sexy clothes made by Third World children to rich Waterloo 'tweens. I'm not even a manager. The manager is even sadder than me. Her dream of having a little Tiara Tot to force into pageants is looking less and less likely as she nears forty and is still single, despite her multiple E-harmony accounts under various personae. Said manager "reminded" me of the dress code today. This made me feel like an off- off- off- Broadway Oliver! level raggamuffin. Now I've got this crippling reminder that I've wasted my life weighing on me like a hunch back, and my self-esteem has plunged to depths not seen since junior high. What's a girl to do? I drag my sorry ass to Valu-Mart.



All I want is to get into bed and gorge on meat and cheese and self-rising crust and Google celebrities. I have to say hi to you even though I'm feeling subhuman in my drunken attempt at business casual. We are the only two people in the frozen foods aisle and I didn't see you early enough to pretend that I didn't see you. It's so unfair that the people I make nice with under the glittering lights of The Starlight dance floor (or in a bathroom stall of The Starlight if I'm lucky) expect me to be as enchanting and erudite in the nauseating light of Paolo's No Frills after a day of back-breaking retail toil, working on two hours sleep and nine pints of

beer and three "porn star" shots coagulating in my gut. I have no idea what we talked about last night, or what I should know about you, other than what I've gleaned from scouring your Facebook account, which I did first thing this morning when I saw that you added me. I had forgotten that entire part of the night until I saw your friend request. I can't remember how I started kissing you. I just remember being really, really, sloppy. I think I went in and out of consciousness during it. And now that I've run into you in this surreal domestic sphere, I hope you don't remember when I hiccupped in your mouth. It's unfortunate that you're not my type because you're really nice and pretty and smart. If I'd been sober I wouldn't have talked to you. I am made uncomfortable by the active listening skills displayed by neo-hippies. I am surprisingly critical of others for someone reaching for the last offbrand meat-lovers pizza from the back of the freezer, with salt-stains on my jeggings and crazy BO from this huge winter jacket. But can I help it if I am exclusively attracted to brooding butches who make me feel bad about myself? In my cart, I have chocolate pudding cups and four 69-cent boxes of noname Kraft dinner. You're getting frozen blueberries, a box of organic greens and 3 avocados. Typical. We make small talk and I can barely focus my vision or form words I'm so out of it. Even though I don't want to talk, my ego is hurt when I perceive that you don't really want to talk to me either. I slouch back into the freezer feeling like a sad sack and get my pizza. Of COURSE we end up at the same checkout. Your hand crocheted toque is ballooned by your white girl dreads, the tips of which are framing your porcelain, cute-as-a-button face. I can smell patchouli and Tom's of Maine deodorant. If the machine says Insuff Funds I wonder if you'll offer to give me money, and if so whether I can accept it. I really want this pizza. Mercifully, my faultless budgeting skills have not failed me and my groceries come in just under the last ten-something I have in my account. You've packed your re-usable hemp bag. How the hell do people ever remember to bring those things?!?!? After a lukewarm goodbye, I walk home with the plastic handles cutting into my numb fingers. The whole way the handles threaten to break and send my precious bounty tumbling onto the icy sidewalk as a punishment for being a horrible person.***

“I love you/Get off me,� oil on panel, Graham Houston




Ellie Anglin is a Toronto-based writer of prose, poetry and creative non-fiction as well as a visual artist working mostly in collage. Her work has been published in Blueprint Magazine and The Hart House Review, and in February 2012 she was the featured writer in Papirmasse. Her first book, a fusion of fiction and collage entitled Tender Buttons, will be available in June 2012 and is generously supported by the Toronto Arts Council. She called Waterloo her home until the tender age of 25.

After City Limits The taxi bumped block after block as Emil watched the streetlights flick past him above. The street numbers counted down until he was at the bridge, and then onto the highway out of the city. The traffic fanned out and Emil sped up, hoping this fare wouldn't run him late. He stretched his back and turned down the radio as he changed lanes. "Is it much further?" There was no reply from the well dressed man in the back seat who sat with his leather gloved hand on a box on the seat next to him and his bowler hat on his lap. Emil had picked the man up in front of a nice place in a good part of town and he'd sat in stony silence ever since, except to give one direction at a time. That was alright by Emil, he just wanted to get home by fouro'clock. The man was dressed like a banker, though his gloves and sunglasses in the wee hours of a summer night suddenly seemed menacing to Emil. The well dressed man never took his hand off the box, Emil noticed. The dull black finish on the two-foot perfect cube reflected no light and its razor straight edges sealed unbroken metal panels. Emil wondered what he was getting dragged in to. What earthly business would a man dressed as he was have with a perfect cube at three-in-the-morning? "Next left," said the well dressed man as he straightened his tie. Emil changed lanes in the highway's thin traffic and saw the city limits sign pass. He turned his lights up as he turned onto a dark road. They were alone with the box as they bumped on the gravel. The trees grew into each other overhead and the night sky was blackened by their India ink silhouette branches in which crows sat like leaves. They broke back into clear night sky after a few minutes and the road ran along open farmland where they could see the warm sky's stars marshaled by the high, full moon.

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Art by Nigel Strothard

Emil looked at the man in the mirror and said, "I'm going to smoke a cigar." The man's silence was permission enough and Emil reached into his shirt pocket and bit the cigar he'd been saving for the drive home. He struck a match and held it to the end of the cigar, puffing quickly until the blue curls of smoke were almost too thick to see through. He cranked down his window and tossed the match out and let the warm summer air blow cold over his arm while the smoke poured from the window. Emil saw the man grimace in the mirror and he smiled a little. This was his last night on the job, he might as well have a little fun. At six-thirty he'd be on a train going north to work the oil fields. A few friends who'd gone out had made a year's salary in four months. Five of them were going to be sharing a hotel room while they were out there to save money and because there were no apartments to be had in the boomtown economy of rich oil. He was to go out and work for six months then spend the balance of the year in

been caught. He coolly puffed at his cigar and put his eyes back on the road. "Pull over next to that gate," the well dressed man said and Emil felt a chill.

total freedom. "Right." "Right it is," Emil saluted, pressed his lips and fumed smoke from the cigar. "Are we gonna be much longer?" Silence. The well dressed man looked blankly out the window and Emil watched his hand gently, absentmindedly stroke the box. In the dark of the road, in the shadows in the cab, the black box was invisible, though Emil still felt its weight. The well dressed man tapped his finger and Emil glanced up, feeling as though he had

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Emil eased on the breaks and stopped the car in front of a tractor gate leading into an early summer field. Emil stopped the meter and, when he looked back, the well dressed man put two crisp hundred-dollar bills into his hand as he opened his door. Emil watched him in the rearview mirror and saw how carefully he slid the box out. The well dressed man adjusted his bowler hat and walked with the box under his arm through the endless moonlit field. He and the box cast long shadows on the rows of perfectly milled dirt. Emil got out of the cab, leaned on the hood and smoked his cigar while he watched the well dressed man wade out into the dirt field with his strange box. The moon hung and hung and hung as he walked and walked, die straight in no particular direction.


The gunshot hit the well dressed man in the shoulder and spun him around on his feet. He dropped the box and the second shot punched him to the ground. His bowler hat spun on its brim four-feet from the box. Emil approached carefully and heard the well dressed man breathing. Emil closed his eyes and listened to both of their breathing. He knew he could do it and counted down from five.

On five he took two quick steps towards the wounded well dressed man and squeezed off two shots into his head. Now he heard only his own breath. Emil stuffed the gun into his jacket pocket and picked up the box. He forgot about the man laying next to it and walked back through the same moonlit field, through the same dirt tracks, casting the same shadow as the dead man had.

"One. Two. Three. Four..." he quivered. It was his now. Whatever it was. ***

You Leid Me

down I'm overgrown and underuseda blunderbuss without a fuse. An ingrown hair, a crooked stairan ace that beat a pair.


A spoiled plot within a film, a spoiled plota grave. A face I made that cost a knave his life I'll never know. But in this empty there is a-plenty: a man you never knew.

Thomas Parent is just a guy who is a bit reclusive, lives in Cambridge and likes to write.

Please come to me you troubled shrew I will make sure whatever was (or is to be) you've never hadI'm new.***

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Michael Daly began on a typewriter and the originals of his first two manuscripts read like braille. He was once denied boarding for carrying it in a suitcase and is currently working on an account of those travels. He lives in Kitchener.



The little story of

Craig Cardiff

and the Junos

By the time this article comes out, it's no doubt that Craig Cardiff's head will be twirling in a haze of anticipation and his body bubbling with nerves. That's because it'll be mere hours before the Waterloo native finds out if he's a Juno winner. His latest album, Floods and Fires, is up against legendary folk heroes Bruce Cockburn and David Francey for the title of Roots and Traditional Album of the Year: Solo. And no one was more surprised by the nomination than Cardiff. Running errands with his daughter, he received a text message congratulating him. He thought it was a joke. Then his phone beeped with another text. Then a phone call. And he thought to himself that the messages were either a well orchestrated joke or they were actually true. It's the typical underdog story: Cardiff isn't signed to a major label, he doesn't have a manager, he records in an in-home studio, and during recording, the engineer of the album came and lived with him for a year. He's also known for playing in some atypical locations: schools, churches, house shows and even a boat on Lake Nippissing. That, and because he was so focused on finishing the album, he wasn't performing enough to pay the bills. Which means he ran out of money. "We reached out to people on Facebook and to the mailing list and asked if people would support it early and basically pre-buy their copy. And that's what allowed us to finish the album," said Cardiff. With years and miles stretched between him and Sandowne, MacGregor and Bluevale schools, Cardiff has released a large number of albums in a relatively short time: 18 recordings in 15 years, to be exact. Many of those were intended to be recorded in a studio, but whether it was to capture the energy of a live performance or simply due to lack of funds, they were released as live albums instead. For Cardiff, finding the inspiration for all those songs was easy. "I just think there are so many stories floating around that we project onto each other or that we hold about each other and to tease those out into songs, or even just to pick them up and hold them a bit in a song is a pretty neat thing to do," he said.

Photo submitted

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"So I think there'll be another hundred or two hundred albums left." He got into music because he was terrible at sports; out of all the activities he could do, it was what felt most comfortable; what shirt fit best. "It felt exciting that you could say big, honest, open things wrapped around a few chords;� things that most people aren't comfortable talking about in conversations. His interest in secrets, depth and what is at the core of all humans doesn't stop at music. He recently released a book, The Book of Truths; a collection of anonymous secrets scribbled onto scraps of paper. The idea came after having moment at a show in Peterborough, Ont., where he recognized people who had been supporting him for a while. Because of time constraints, he never had a chance to connect with these people, other than a quick hello. Finding these shows to be a bit one-sided, where he put his thoughts out into the open air but wasn't able to catch anything in return, he got his fans to write down their secrets, their truths and their desires - anonymously - and bound them into a book. He could have done so on a website, but he wanted something tangible. "When I'm 80 and I've forgotten everything, I can go through some of these books and be fascinated by the murder confessions or these loves that will never go anywhere and these loves that are perfect and all the silly mistakes that everybody makes," he said. "It's pretty fascinating, the range of stories that people are willing to share when it's anonymous." Floods and Fires features Rose Cousins, Robyn Dell'Unto, Paul Mathew of Sarah Harmer and Good Lovelies, and Joel Stouffer of Dragonette. (Lisa Olsen)***

UPCOMING SHOW April 5th - Maxwell's Music House, Waterloo

Baby Eagle and The Proud Mothers Backed by members of Attack in Black and former bandmates from The Constantines, Steve Lambke swoops into town in support of his latest solo release, Bone Soldiers. It is his fourth solo release, and the second under his own label: You’ve Changed Records. "I'm hoping some people hear this record that we made a few months back, I'm hoping some people listen to the tunes. I'm really looking forward to playing a bunch of shows with the band, just hanging out with those guys and celebrating this music we can make together and our friendships and brotherness," -Steve Lambke

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photo submitted

q a and

What's your songwriting process?

My process involves never committing to a process! Whenever I've thought I've figured it out, it dries up immediately. I try and be open to any method or approach. Sometimes I start with a line or a title or a guitar bit. If I can recognize it as a song I'll work on it endlessly until it feels done; when I feel like I can't add or take anything away from it. And then I take it to the band and don't tell them what I was thinking or what I imagined it was going to sound like and see what happens. If that ends up going totally wonky, I might say "actually I was thinking it should sound more like the Stooges," but usually I'm just really excited about what they bring to it.

Tell me about your best show. I don't know, I just try and take them as they come and be present and enjoy it no matter what. As long as I feel like we're making some good sounds together, I'm happy.

Tell me about your most memorable fan. Oh, boy, anybody that tells me they like what I'm doing, I basically just love them from the bottom of my heart.

In a world that is increasingly online, you don’t have much of an online presence. Why is that? I'm trying to be mysterious! Actually I don't really have a gauge of my online presence. Now that you ask me, I'd say it's probably because I spend a lot of time maintaining the You've Changed Records website, Bandcamp, Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, SoundCloud, what have you, and it all seems like such nonsense after a while that I think it best to just get off the computer entirely and go outside.

photo submitted

Musically, if one day you were able to sit back and say to yourself, “it doesn’t get any better than this,” what would that look like? I can't imagine ever feeling that. I can imagine saying "This isn't worth the heartache and pain;" actually I can't even really imagine that, but I can imagine not putting out "records" anymore, I mean deciding not to press LPs and CDs because it costs so much money! what would it look like? maybe a bowl of popcorn and an open beer. Or a happy, sleepy cat.*** Get a free Baby Eagle and the Proud Mothers mp3 at

UPCOMING SHOW: April 4 - Starlight, Waterloo

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everything you find in the magazine, plus: show listings free mp3s forum / classifieds calls for submissions




W E D N E S D AY A P R I L 4


Bahamas april 10

a Peter Katz



steve strongman cd release - may 4





photos submitted

LNDMMML (you pronounce it land mammal)

ineering bikes, and shapes aks. Peter Toenders: Guitars, engand stage dives. Also edgebre riffs s Bas rs: James Toende anxiety/worry/ulcers and Michela Stinson: Yelling/words es. Sleeping like a kitten. nois ce spa and Alex Kehn: Drumming

Discography: Stop Sleeping- May 2011 Sinusoids- March 2012 Varying tapes of questionable quality were recorded on an old fashioned tape recorder and given away for mere pennies before then. We do not name them nor know where they are. We were also part of a digital comp called Sovereign Songs put out this year by our good friend Matt Cuthbert who runs a label called A Mountain Far out of Toronto. If you had to pick a genre for your music to fit into, what would it be?

Spazzy noise/garbagepunk/facepunch, that's a thing right? How long have you been together? We've been together since the dawn of time and have been playing as LNDMMML since May/June of 2009, which is a really long time ago. We are almost three. What Piaget stage is that again? Always in this form? Definitely not. We started as Michela, Peter and James playing bass/guitar/theremin in Michela's second floor apartment living room in the dead of summer. None of us could play instruments and we used a drum machine and lots of ambi-

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ent noise to cover that up. In summer of 2010 we added our bestie Tyson Brinacombe as keyboards/noise pedals and Michela stopped playing theremin and was free to run amok and yell in people's faces. Alex joined on drums in 2010 (R.I.P Dr. Rhythm), and we played as a five piece for a while. Things really started to come together musically and become more real when Alex joined, it was terrifying and really destructive. We broke a lot of gear. After a while Tyson moved to Guelph, and since he has no phone, no internet, and no money, we don't know if he's even alive anymore but we still love him to death. So that's the current incarnation. We still don't know how to play our instruments, but we don't hide it anymore.

How did you meet? Michela used to live at Commotion House (207 Erb west)q. There were a lot of shows thrown there from 2008-2009, and Peter and James used to go to them. Michela and Peter (miraculously) got to talking about noisy awkward music and somehow decided playing some together was a great idea. James was roped in through being next-of-kin. Later on, Tyson was met through us going to shows at Trepid House, and Alex was sort of absorbed after he started living with Michela in 2010 but he's been a friend since the early days. Peter Michela and Alex all live together now and James lives just down the street. We seriously keep it all in the family. It's sort of cute/creepy.

Base (12 George Street). It's called Sinusoids because Michela's a psychophysics nerd and believes in wavelengths.

When are you releasing your album? What's the title? It's being released next week (5 days from the time I'm writing this)! On March 17th at Echo

Where can someone pick up your recording? The tapes are available through A Mountain Far distro in Toronto, Uncross Your Armz! distro in

What formats are you releasing it on? It's being released on cassette, along with a digital download card. In your opinion, what's the draw to cassettes? Cassettes are rad! You can throw them in your walkman! They're cheap, they're easily digestible and they're not CDs. Vinyl is too expensive and somewhat inaccessible. A tape can fit in your pocket. You can use the case to store money or cat treats or heroin.

Get a free LNDMMML mp3 at

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Kitchener/Waterloo, and (hopefully) Already Dead Tapes distro in Kalamazoo, Michigan. People can also grab one directly from us if they email or contact us at or come see us play live! Musically, where do you plan to be in 5 years? We barely know where we plan to be in the next 5 minutes/weeks/months, let alone years. But it would be neat to do a tour. One time we played two shows in a day, that was sweet. It would be cool to do that for a bunch of days in a row. Like normal bands who aren't caught in school/a death trap of retail experiences. We wish. But if we're not musically 'here' in 5 years, or have not evolved into some sort of demon/noise mammal/robot hybrid, we might be in Iceland learning to be carpenters and managing orchestral pop bands.***



Jon Johnson

photo: Ilia Photography

Jon Johnson is a self taught screen printer and graphic designer, who has talked his way into doing design and layout for some local businesses, including designing show posters for the Starlight and Jane Bond. He does private work as well, such as eye-popping wedding invitations. In 2010, Jon started a small business called BRFC: screen printing items in his basement and selling them at craft shows such as the local Stitch 'n' Kitsch sales (the next one being on April 14 at First United Church, by the way). BRFC is growing and items are now on sale in boutiques in Ontario and Nova Scotia. Jon loves typography, iconic images and t-shirts. Screen

printing is an ideal medium for him as it can combine all of these things. And it affords him the chance to share the images he creates with other people. With every new project, Jon continues to learn new techniques; he is always striving to become a better printer and designer. Jon's next learning experience is in the field of event booking. He is excited to be bringing one of his own favourite designers, Aaron Draplin, to speak at the Princess Twin Theatre in Waterloo. The event takes place on April 26 and tickets are on sale at*** /



screenprinted coasters Jon Johnson

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tour poster Jon Johnson

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DJ poster Jon Johnson

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invitations Jon Johnson

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Hula Hoop Hoopla These hips just aren’t going to lie

You’ll need: A blow dryer (I prefer to use my boyfriend's "Hotstuff 1200," but any model will do.) 3/4" PVC tubing (white stripe). They’re found at many hardware emporiums Tube cutter tool One 3/4" poly coupler Different colours of electrical and duct tape for decoration Scissors Exacto knife *Optional - beads or dried lentils for shake-shake sound

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If needed, clean tubing off with a wet rag or paper towel. It tends to be kinda filthy when you buy it. Create a loop to approx hip level with the tubing. And by hip, I mean the bone in your body and not what's cool with kids today.

Cut! With tube cutter. Be careful! Ask parents or roommate for help.

Get your coupler and hair dryer. Blow dry the ends on high for a few minutes to soften them up. A little sweet talk doesn't hurt either.

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Coupler should now easily insert half way. If you want your hula hoop to make shake-shake sound, you can add some dried lentils or beads in to the tube

Muscle in the other half of the coupler to close the hoop. Keep the blow dryer going to keep the tube more flexible. Using some of your electrical tape, roll around the seam a few times.

Your hula hoop is almost done! Decorate it!


Pick whatever colours of tape you want and start wrapping. try different ways of wrapping the tape. Now is the time to get creative!! Keep the spaces between the colors as even as you can if these sorts of things bother you.***

Jasmine Adams was born at exactly 46° 6’ 19”’ N, 64° 48’ 18” W, with glitter glue and pom-poms in hand. After some misguided approaches to cheerleading, she discovered crafting. Not surprisingly, her loves include: Kraft dinner, Kraftwerk, HP Lovecraft, aircraft and when time allows, witchcraft. "Crafting is the only thing in life I take seriously." Photos and assistance by Mike “swell guy” Sousa.



Contribute to What we’re considering: Creative non-fiction tell us the stories of the people, places and things in our pretty cities; interviews, historical essays, conversations over the dinner table at Christmas. Anything goes, really. As long as it’s real. And we’re not above fact checking.

Opinion Articles tell us what you think about things that matter to us. Local, national or international topics are good. Just keep in mind that there can be a delay between submitting and publication.

Fiction about anything. Just open our minds, or blow them, whatever. We're looking for stories that will feel like they've given us, the reader, a small chunk of your soul. We can ask for a chunk of your soul, right?

Artwork / Photography for around the site/magazine, to complement stories, to make the writing a little bit prettier. Keep in mind that although your work may be used online and in colour, the pages of the magazine are black and white.

Riddles, games, entertainment, etc. Anything else we haven’t thought of but you think we would like to read.

MUSICIANS/ARTISTS: Contact us for information. Send all inquiries, submissions and questions to

more details available at

fuss magazine - April 2012  
fuss magazine - April 2012  

A monthly arts/alt/literary/music mag for Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario