SNAP SHOTS

Illustrations by Iryna Presley

I love when I see little figurines hanging from bags or lanyards. Someone cared enough about a thing to carry it with them. As it's infused with qualities and characteristics, that object might come to have a name or even a little personality. Even things not generally character-shaped get this treatment; a stick we jokingly call Steve might exist only as a gag, but Steve the stick certainly exists, if only for a moment. And now there’s a stick named Steve sitting on the ground or in a bin somewhere.

I like to think that naming things gives them a permanence of sorts. Sure, Steve could become Susan, and Susan could become Sticky depending on who picks it up next, but each name is a memory for some time. While Steve the stick might never have the honour of becoming a wizard staff for some kid, the potential he carries to inspire someone’s imagination will always be worth something.

Kian Johnson

Last issue I wrote about how I think my dog, Hendrix, understands me. It’s only fair that I now write about Hendrix’s brother — a cat, named Jimi.

While I’m convinced that Hendrix understands everything I say through his years of intent listening, I can’t say the same for Jimi. It’s not that Jimi lacks the capacity to comprehend me; I’m sure that just like Hendrix, he could understand me if he just… wanted to.

Jimi seems to think he exists on a level above humans and our languages. In his mind we are mere peasants, blabbering nonsensically. I believe Jimi thinks I exist solely to sustain his lavish life - style (I’m looking at you, prescription cat food), and that the annoying sounds I make are not words he’d like to learn, but instead are hideous noises he purposefully tunes out.

As I write this, Jimi is sprawled out on his (my) bed, sleeping peacefully, probably dreaming up new and interesting ways he would like humans to practice their worship of him. Later, when I try to fall asleep, I guarantee he will gracefully (but not gently) drag his claws across my face to indicate that petting him would be a better use of my time. If you ever see me looking exhausted, you can be sure that Jimi is to blame.

Aasha Khoyratty

Canadian colleges and universities should prohibit admissions until students have spent a minimum of 18 months out of highschool. If you’re 18, and came up through the Canadian school system, you should not be in university yet. I know. It’s a lot. Hear me out.

I make this wild and inflammatory claim based on three important criteria: First, secondary schools no longer adequately prepare students for the stress, pressure, and requirements of post-secondary education. Secondly, studies show that today’s youth are socially maturing at a slower rate than previous generations, and that eighteenyear-olds today are of comparative maturity to fifteen-year-olds in the

ʼ90s. And thirdly, real-world experience is invaluable for prospective students before embarking on their collegiate journeys. Students who take “gap years” consistently perform better in postsecondary than those who do not. This is something that is obvious to those who have charted that path themselves. Life experience is important to growth, which is something you understand better once you’ve acquired some. School is invaluable, but it’s not the only thing that matters to our development as human beings. We require kids to get an education in this country. We should also require them to stop for a while.

Bradley Duncan

Noodles: warm, buttery, a little bit spicy, and sometimes with a fried egg on top — my new favourite food. As a child I was never allowed to eat them unless they were from a fancy restaurant, but what I really wanted was the block of dried noodles — the cup noodles I saw in all my favourite TV shows and movies. When I got to university it was finally my chance to live out my childhood dreams, and boy was it worth it.

The process was easier than I thought: boil the water for the noodles and then dress it up with as much fried garlic, shallots, sesame oil, and spices as my heart could desire. After that was done, I made a French pan-fried egg with a crispy bottom and a deliciously gooey runny yolk. The flavours mingled perfectly with the noodles. Lastly, as I’ve learned, my favourite way to end the dish is to top it off with fresh green onions. Enjoyable and fresh flavours just bring it all together. The experience was nothing like how my mom described it to me.

It was perfection — I had gotten my happy ending. The best part besides the taste is that it is cost-effective for my university student wallet. I’m going to eat noodles till I get sick of them.

Gianna Dinwoodie