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DearLiam, No sparnin SOITNDMIND-just puresubterranean slarndance.ponr britrn, hedoesn'tgetit. F{e'sevolvinginto an old buttonon aRever-nrenclecl sweater,gripinghereandthere,but, noneclf therantswind Lrpbeing just cooked-inrthe boornbox, headmush,$till" hc'sa huggable pussywilkrw but With A SOIJNDMIND? In seeingyour foims,hearingyour soinds,smiltinglhe odorus,et all, you do know wherethe madness canlencl?Sharethisglinrpselrorn T'orn with your cornpadres. I've seenyou uncl.er nry magni$ingglass-ail upside down,lost in tranceandrazor-sharp thiry tales, Enjoythis offering.It's yoursto bc consumedwith. Oh god,I have to peeandI'm now, following Slvl'ssauti$narywords,becomingscaredol my ow] "AmericanStandard"Toilet. He5 the.re 's a sornethingI who to Carleton'srneditativestalls?And rernembcr./i:,,,ilir,,riitr,itriJ!'j' W suppliedthe disposaltories :' asa 6thAve wisemaaoncesaid'oThoanswerto theuniverseis a question:,, ,li.lii,'::ttr. What'stheuse?" -TOM

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\\4 It hasrecentlycometo rny attentionthatmany peopleareconfusedabouttheturnip ratingsystem.It is not a ratingout of,ahundred,I don,tbelievein ,outof a hundred'rating systems.The numbersassignedare completelysubjectiveandhavenothingbut an arbihary connectionto something'svalue. If I wereratingthings out of a hundredI might aswell just give therna thumbsup or thumbsdown. But that wouldn't meananything.I arn not so self-centered asto think peoplegive a fuck aboutmy personalopinion. Who careswhat I like? Thathasnever / beenthepoint. Shawarmabeatis not aboutopinion. The turnip ratingschemeis wholly objective,scientific,and systematic.Thenumberyou seein the columnis the end productof a cornplicatedmathematical equationthat takes into accounttoo manyvariablesto go into at thistime. It's'l beendevelopedspecificallyto arriveat a numberdirectly ,,r representative of the overallmerit of the establishrnent in ,' question.For all you know I don't evenlike shawarma. Here'sa list of theplacesI've reviewedso f,ar, , alongwith their turnipratings,r

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As my local shawarmaspot,the Princeis responsiblefor a solid 30 to 40 percentof my shawarma intake. But it's not simplyconvenience thatkeepsme con'ringback. This is a high qualityestablishment.I bring peopleto the Prineeali the time. I'm proudof it. The ingredientsarealwaysfresh,theprice is right, they'vegot a full menu,andtheyevenhavewirelessinternet..On several occasionstr'vereceivedfreebaklavafor desert.Delicious. The Frinceprovesthat the downtowncoredoesnot have the monopolvon Eoodshawarma. /, trwish i hadonly goodthingsaboutthe Prince,but thereis onepoint that I needto address.A hrulytop notch shawarnaplacemusthaveconsistentlyconsistentgarlic sauce.AlthoughthePrince'ssauceis usuallyquitegood, onceor twiceI've noticedthatit hasbeena bit runny. It's difficult to preciselyjudge the consistency of garlic sauce within the sandwichitself. Whereyou're really goingto noticea differenceis with the potatoes.To determine whetheryow garlic sgucehastheproperconsistency, ask yourselfthesequestions.Doesit hold a shape? Doesit cling to the potato,or doesit slideof{? If you cansee potatothroughthe sauceyou know youorein trouble"Low viscosityis extrgmelyimportant. I fike the princeand\ feelthat he haswhat it takesto onedaybe a King I


Star Trek becamea part of my life when I was in elementary school, when I decided that my noncompetitive,community-league, softball career*u, ou*r. Thevoid wherethird baseoncewashad beenreplacedwith the fantastic(and over-ca{petedt) adventuresof the u"s.s. Enterpriseandher motleycrew. My sisterandI becameso immersedin this imaginaryplacethat everyday, folrowing school,we would both rush home to sit in front of the thought-provoking,laser-filleduniversewhere the united Nations mattered;better yet, a universewhere the united Nationshad SPACESHIpS. Gene Roddenberry,the grand vizier of science fiction, createda world where racism, class_antagonism, povefty andthe myriad of otherstinky afllictions,plguing the planet(s) today, could be conquered. tt was no-t technologywhich would spell salvation.we weretold that the contemporaryevils in the world today could be

I've beenhaving problemscoming up with topics for soundadvice,dear reader. So much trouble, in fact, that I havenotbeenableto comeup with anythingat all. So I thought that this installmentwould try and be a little different,I thoughtI would talk a little aboutmy personal experiencesthis time. If you're interested,read on, the wateris fabulous! Cunently,yours truly is a strappingyoungpolitical sciencesfudentat Carleton. What was it that led me to the scienceof politics,you ask? Two words,a colon, andthen threemorewords:Star Trek: theNextGeneratian. with Mr. L. Beer(a permanentmembirof ,ljropuct of a corrversation t$b LeBretonthink tank).

challengedthrough the power of ideas, motivated by charismaticindividuals. The world of Star Trek was a world of hope,a world wheremorality, scientificprogress andpersonalsecuriff could co-exist. The long-runfatalism that life had presentedto me beforeseemedto disintegrate; if the teachingsof StarTrek could allow my sisterand I to get along,wasthereanythingtheycouldn't do? The Enterprisewas a socialist Xanadu; a place where haircutsomeals and chest-cell phones were all I provided free of charge. Malthusian pessimismwas I overcomeby Wilsonian optimism. Despitethis material{ progress,the universeof StarTrek was not one without its I problems. It was one whers problemscould be solvedl throughexistinginstitutions,intelligentdebate,negotiation,I and the involvementof peoplewith degreesof all colours,i The greatestlegacyleft by Star Trek was the primacy ofl pragmatism; a doctrine evangelizedin every episode.j Socialills, military imbroglios,moral hazards-all of thesel could be confronted,synthesizedand bested,(in aboutanl ' ' hour)throughthepowerof reason, I The world of The Next Generationwas a wortd Il felt that I fit in. And this, dearreader,is why I feel ttratI fitlt I into PoliticalScience.

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listortionelementstossedin to makeit rough.You couldgetlost in this I md l.I'oa repetitivemusicalphrasesthat \ "rs u t-u s nazeclearlyinfluencedby psychedelial ;omehowsounddifferenteachtime.You couldprobablyhypnotizeyour SO\fA tre log with the overlappingbeatsandnoiseson top ofraw scratchyvocals' andsome.pret-t \ drummachines, Danceable PoPFYscreeching^keyboards, $At$KOM&ffi Piotr vocalist disc. this of pfove versatility the bossylyricsto belt out Iareckicanreallywail. To top it all off, a coupleof terrific n"mning revealthe inlluenoeof funk andiazz,This is onemixed-up basslines somescreaming,somedancing,andevena of post-everything: decoupage love sonsor tw0. GP is full of an energythat couldpowera windmill. Askedto comparetheir rnusicto food (by yourstruly, fbithftl rnediaservant "I would $ayouf in the interestofresearchandtruth),Jareckiresponded: ingredientslike surprising with a chili goulash or a musicwould haveto be ancl out ofbok'choi pockets rnade deep-fried tofu anrlpork, or rnaybe down? you that tum can How stuffedwith chickpea$." You cangetmoreinfo andbuy the discat: http://wwry.zebox.corn/ghettopony/

SleepingFilot * PanicSex(SonicDeadlineRecords) with my friendLar'lra'Shesaidif sheknew Xwasdiscussingthe apocalypse of heroin'The soundtrackto it wascoming,shewould ptoU't'tyi"tt do a lot This Ottawa5-piecehas Sex' the endof the world?SteepingPiiot'sPanic heavv'fastand'loud rp-;;A;L;t coupleof vearsiuilding a distinctly fans'F{ardcore' some to ,i*a *frirf, "moi,esinterestingly",iccording discemibie as stand these punk,dirty galage,meal, progi:ock:all throughclirnaxare innurnr*u. Sp'sipic buildupsandgrindingexplorations arealmosttoo that i**inirr.nt of tirosegreatsymphonic1lrytacl1bands performances live Birdwise's Scott fig io containtheir own sound.Vocaliit aimedat ofenergy' burst anddeliberatelyextroverted area self'conscious accidentalway that. itself,in that fitting andsometimes it. eachother.Birdwise'slyrics "ro*A from take nerformersandaudiencegluJto and

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deprivesme of the essentialnutrientsfbund nowhereelsein nnlur*, but in the fleshor excromentof fish, fowl, swine,heifer,andhnrno,I decidedto take vitamins.I wasn't surewhy I should,sinceI {.h*l pretty good without them, my hair isn't falling out, my fingenrni arenotturning yellow or curving into a u-shape,anrJmy coat is r*till glossy(all of theseI hear are signs of a healthylifes$rle,though l canot rernember which I got from the doctor frorn llurirru Without a good reason,however,I decidedto 6t' commercials.) through with buying somevitamins, ingestingthem, antl takl:lngit from there.I feel the sameas i did, but the bestpart about,itis thttt No jctkcs. when I pee after I take a vitamin it's bright yellow-green" When I first saw this I was fairly sure all the tirne I had sponl watchingmy food cookingin ttre microwavehad finally comebaclt to bite me in the bladder,but apparentlythis is just what happens with theseparticularvitamins.I though back to my childhoodandl how I never wanted to take vitarnins,even if they gave me thq,r opportunityto chew my favourite Flintstonescharacters.Eut, il' vitaminshavethe potentialto changethe colourofg$qe, I think my childhoodself would be on boardthe vitamin boat.

turningyour enemy'sblood red or brown, you coilld makethernal think their kidneysare shuttingdown. Further,performanceartist coulclcreatemasteqpieces from different colourerlurine and whol, new mediurnwould be born" A new genreof practicaliokes wii ernergeas 12 year olds try to trick each other into drinking thei lool multi-colouredurine. The elderly would have son"rething'to forwardto the five timesper night they haveto get up tn pee.Th, nnqsihilities ate endlec,n W


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, own farts,This fact hasbeenprovenby llu.,' uA, Musicreviewerslovethe smellof their be beencompilodandtheresults_have have reports condugted, been has Research science, .lhoughmanyhadalwaysspeculated it oannow be saidwith thatit wa$-true, publishecl. certaintythatto iate andreviewan albumonehasto lovethewaythattheir fartssmell' pointless,area a badthing.Musicreviews,thoughsonnewhat This is not necessarily your personal lot of fun to read.when a nrusicreviewergivesa thumbsup to oneof QvoSrites bandlealtvt]o it foelslike youjust won the lottery.You wereright ail aiong,your favourite. standar<ft rooklyou *d ifl yow p*rsonaltastehasbeenvalidatedby somemaile-upobjoctive, Hunah!Musicreviewsevenmorefun whentheylrashoneof your favourites.It's kindaliko ' rnakesfun ofyour norn, you know it's just ajoke" 'but no onetalks-about. whensomeone completewith nrarnathatway,not in my house.T'hereviewerbecomesa classioarchvillain, you hatehirn! I-{owcouldhe missthepoint of your favouritealbuml moustache, tlrehandlebar review..,we aremadeto feel like we shouldcareaboutsomsone a music fun of the This is else'sopinion.I fall for it everytime. fbt My friends,the musicreviewershouldnot be lovedor hated,sirnplyunderstood no1 bad' Neither own farts. oftheir srnell go1! love the people who they are is. whathe or she backto musicjoumalismi havedecidedlo .iurilu.t rou"". in the spirit'ofbringingbalance dive therna iiute t*tt of {heirown medicine.To write this articleI ieview the reviewers, inevitab'lyhadto learnto lovethe smellof,my own farts.I hadspecialdeviceconstructed of flatulencearrdpipedit into my nostrils'It hasbeena longhard the essence wtricrroapturea for my own gasto reviewa numberof gained enoughofan appreciation have I I feel but road,

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'fhis oncegreatrnusicandcuhureraghasgonesenilein its old age.Justlike the bandofthe samename,Rolling Stonehit it$ creativepeekin the latesixties/early seventies and hasjustbeensteadilyrollin' downhill (pardonthe pun)sincethen.This magazineis still relevantin thewaythatMick Jaggeris still sexy.T'hey'renot,Oh sure,on occasionyou may catcha glimpseofthey're formergreatness, but it's alwaysfleeting,for the rnostpartyour left staringat a driedup shellofwhatoncewas.BothoftheseagedRock'n'R.ollintuitions havel:.ii heenallowedto survivefor thenostalgiapurposes of our parentsandneitherhaveanything f' newto bringto thetable.,4sfor they'renrusicreviews?To describethemasboringandout of louchwouldbe kind, Why aretheystill writing aboutthe Beatles? Yes,the Beatlesweregreat, WE CET ITI Canwe please moveon. fi !'.

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seasoned sparnbo@ sharpshooter hasthoughtaboutdoingit. one suchsharpshooter was,named $ebastian, tnl finstsnealy"prayer to try.thissneakysneak.ybu canprobabry teilby nowwheretir" iru*u $ebastian $neak@ camefrorn.irestasiureoinatyouarenotciever enoughto puilthisoff ae so**o,',eln rr*rvr watching yourevery mpye:lt mlghtbea feilowprayer, butit herpsio picture fliispJrsJnas a.kindof FreddyKrueger readyrosriceyourneiryopen.iri*i plrtrru alwayskeep-s rny trousersmoistwhenever | filaySpambo6.n,u Punishmenl[ln-*"o"stian$neak@ * wartforFart7. is scaddorn@

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I'herearetwo thingsI'11alwaysrememberaboutthattirne,no matterhow sketchyor surueal therestof it mightget:how it staded,andhow it ended.trwantto startthere,at the endof, thememoryis fresherandhell, it's a goodstory. cverything,because pinpoint too. Whenthebuzzfinally died,that is. the exactmomentit happened, AndI can l,ikeanygoodhigh,it hadbeentenacious, hangingon for weekslongerthanit shouldhave who knowsthat beenallowedto, almostspitefully,like a little old wrinkledoctogenerian picked the coffin,they they've out black, thefamily is ready,they'veboughttheir funeral pieces fot sake,but there grief pick and move on, fuck's and up the wantto dealwith the just havingwaytoo rnuchfun. probablyisn'tan1'thing anyonecando, andrnaybeGrarury's .l hatedthebuzz,at the end,andthat final deathrattlewaslike cold wateron a burn. in somefrancodiner,Chezwhoever,off the rnaindragin f iureof death,2AM. It happened l)odunk,NorthernOntario, Thefuck wasI doingtherein the first place?I'd beendriving rlovrnone of thosehighwaysto nowherethat you only get up north, with that wali of boreal lbreston eithersidethat'll drivs you madevenif you aren'tcomingoff a two-rnonthbinge. I'd startedsweating,my handsshakingandslick againstthe steeringwheel,kneesjerking so badI couldn'tkeepa steadyspeedgoingfor morethana few secondsat a tirne. Some andI'd crankedit to drown stotickyAM radiomusichadbeenlicking out of the speakers, outthe soundof my breathdraggingitself in andout betweenmy grindingteeth,to distract I'd knownit wouldn't rnyselffrornthe dwindlingproportionof drugsin rny blooclstream. holdmefor longthough,andI'd veeredoff the highwayfirst chanceI'd gotten.Hencethe town. Hencethediner. l'heshakesweren'tgoingawayasI satandpouredalternatingshotsof saltandsweetener intomy coffee,andI knewthatthis time wasthe one. I'd madethevaguedecision rometimein thepastfew daysto let this thingride itself out,durnpingthe contentsof my cluffelbagalongthe desertedhighwayfrom my car window,gigglingat thevivid imageof throughthetundra. Now thatthe somemoosegettingtwistedon the stuff andrarnpaging paranoiahadhit, I wasmoreworriedthat somemorurtiepatrollitrythe coming-down convictsandrunawaydrop-outswouldfind it andlink it backto me, highwaysfor escapecl lbllow thetrail of drugsto this place,andin a frenzyof sirensandflashingblue lightsthey'd comeburstingin hereto haulmy assoffto jail. Wouldtherebe cameracrewsto transmit ruydownfbllto the folks backhomein the civilizedworld? Couldthe mediabe botheredto thatI couldcrashand comeall thewayup here?Probablynot, Thethoughtwasreassuring, to calmdownenoughto llurnandno onethatmatteredwould haveto know,andI managed signalfor the waitressto bring me anothercupof coffee. And maybesomewater. Cold waterin a big glass. leaving I neededto think. Getmy mind in order. WhatcouldI remember?I rememhered andquit the shittyparttimejob thathadmoreor iesscarriedme home. I'd just graduated else,somethingto kill throughthreeyearsof highereducation.I waslookingf'orsornething time and,I'd naivelyhoped,giveme a tasteof the realworld beforeI jumpedright into grad school.But thenwhathadbeena long time cominghadfinally arrived,andI couldn'ttake it anymore.I'd takena look aroundmy place,at my books,rny clothes,theposterson my walls,anclloathedall of it, loathedthepersonwho couldcollectthesethingsandput thern togetherandthink theysaidsomethingmeaningfulabouther. I'd hadit with this life in this I knew,thepersonI was,andld hadto leave. city,thepeoplein it, thepeoptre It hadoccuredto methenthatI hadnowhereto go. Not that I wasstuck. I wasuninspired, It wasanother1woweeksbeforeit hit, two weeksof no job, no school,no pu{pose,andby Maybethat'swhatturnedthe light on. Eitherway,I'd thatpoint I'd turnedpfettydesp$rate" liguredthat if I coulclsortout wtrratI waslookingfor - I still thoughtat thatpoint that I was

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aftersomething, som€answer- I'd knowwhereto go lookingfbr it. So. I'd beenwanting a tasteof the realworld. Therealworld. Reai,authentis...authenticity.And thereit was. havinggottenthedistinctsensethenof somethinghuge,like Theholy grail. I remembered maybewe'reall in this tr:gether,like it's the grail so we'rsthe crusaders.This hadn'tlasted, trtiraddisturbedme,for one,andmoreimpo*antlyhadgottenin theway of my contemplation of the innerworkingsof my ovrnmind. But it'd donethe setrf-alienating triclc. I wasgoingto go off on a questfor authenticity,andfinding it, I'd thought,would redeemaltrof existencein my eyes.I wantedto laughat myself,the kid I hadbeen- kid? It'd only beentwo rnonths!- but I wasn'tentirelysurcI couldstayon the right sideof hysteria.Thekids in theboothbesidemewerealreadygivingme funnylooks,andthe waitresswasn'tevsnhying to serveme anymore.Betterto keepasquietaspossible,and foous. I'd blowna lot oftimE andmoneyon this andI wasvaguelytenified that I would comeawaywith nothingto showfor it unlessI madesenseof it all asquickly aspossible, ascloseaspossibleto the originalexperience.Of course,thatwasjust the drugs. I'd have knolln better,sober.

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wasthe car Anyways.trhadthe what,when,andwhy. Thehow of the story,I clecided, I'd and the money beensaving rny beat-upFordEscort andthe money, More specificallyo plan epiphany, the authenticity right after to go to Europeto 'find myself. I'd nixedthat that" the where go frguringthe lastplaceto on this kind of missionwasEurope.Beyond places like this one, other diners the I'd been, wasn'tclear. I hadvaguerecollectionsof tell how bars, but I couldn't in smoky scratchymotelsheetsI'd slepton, sticlrycountertops and over again. I'd the one over remembering same manytirerewereor if trwasreally.iust plan my had been read Fart of to them. I bring myself takennotes,of course,but couldn't to stayclearof,cities,I knewthatmuch. Nothingauthentiothere,I'd thought,not among civil servantswho talk abouttheir pet causelike theydo thehigh-heeledbuttoned-doqrn not theirfavouritecoffeehouse, amongthe incliehipsterswho only enjoysomethingif it not arnongthehordesso skilledat posingand canbe donewith ironic detachment, pretension, I'd figured,thattheydidn'tevenknowtheyweredoingit, or knewbut wanted it, which wasworse,but whatever,I didn'twantanypartof anyof it. Smalltowns,then. I'd hadsomeromanticvision of sittingwith thehardworkers,the fatmersanclthe finishedhigh schoolandhadno reasonor labourers,the small-townfolk who'dbaretry desireto put on airs. I'd wantedto find thepeoplewho earneby whattheywere,whatthey liked anddisliked,whattheywanted,honestly,sincerely,authenticaily.'rVhichcovered thewho ofthe story. trcouldn'trememberanyof the details,really. Theywerethere,no doubtoandif they weren'tthey'dbe in my notes,but I couldn'tpiecetogetheranythingconorete.Thatdidn't matter.Thenamesandthe datesdidn'tmatter, All that matteredwasthat I knew,sitting on thatvinyl benchin thatdiner,that I hadfailed. Not becauseI hadn'tfoundany'thing I hadnot been authenticity.I'd failedbecause I hadn'tencountered real. Not because authentic,andremainedso,andhadalwaysknownit, andseekingauthenticityin the outsideworld, evenfindingit irereandthere,hadmerelyhintedat the depthof my own inabilityto do anythingaboutit. In the end,eventhese lack thereofandmy stagg€ring rvordshavemeantnothing. Theyaren'treal,theydon'tconveyreality. Theyaren'twhatI ttrink,whatI fbel. And that'smy failure, Not inauthenticity,but this continuedcynicism. Because, whatelsehavewe go1?Whatelseis there?An1'thingelsewould be inauthentic.

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