Vol. 54 Issue 14 (Joke Issue)

THE STRAND DEMANDS

(or else) Please, for the love of God, just pay us for the work we do and we’ll leave you alone Academic immunity after production nights Immunity from norovirus A shower curtain The SEC condom bowl relocated to The Strand office Props Eloquent letters-to-the-editor Readers, any readers An alarm clock A team of highly-trained assassins to [sic] on trolls Superhero costumes 3D printer Therapy In-house wood-oven for pizza and our personal chef Kittens The reinstitution of Gatorade Fridays Adequate delousing stations Defibrillators Pensions Funding to do all elections twice Health coverage

HBO Sleep therapy Couples counselling for Strandcest The end of capitalism Equal rights Less advertising space Insurance covering male & female contraception Extra cheese Campus bar Photo studio for porn (we gotta make money somehow, y’all) Lifesize My Little Pony and/or RealDoll SimCity 2000 Voice recognition software Paid vacation Paid work Pheremone that’s irrestible to Varsity editors Captain Crunch Free meal plans Naptime Dunakroos Protection from teargas

Metropasses To be able to afford a Getty license A fancy lawyer Singing lessons Our own (unbreakable) karaoke machine A desigh office Gooch’s tie rack Cook’s cigar collection A signed copy of the Bob poster The boxset of Buffy the Vampire Slayer The ability to punch people over the internet Rekorderlig sponsorship A flag A sink that doesn`t try to kill you Swag Free love Don’t leave, Allie Everlasting fame/Everlasting Gobstoppers

PEACE OUT, BITCHES P.3

news \\ 2 {NEWS@THESTRAND.CA } THE STRAND | 13 APRIL 2012

Political climate amongst Toronto youths goes from apathetic to slightly less apathetic Strand Demands WILL PETTIGREW MUSIC EDITOR

After a tense year of protests, political Cirque du Soleils, Rob Ford-related rage-filled masturbatory sessions, and the NDP’s live televised rendition of Berlin Alexanderplatz, political discourse became cool for about 20 minutes among the much coveted 18to-23 year-old male/female attending post-secondary school demographic.

Literally dozens of students and others “just taking a year off” gathered in publican houses throughout the city to effectively tackle the biggest political issues on the cover of NOW Magazine.

“How did Rob Ford even get elected?” asked 21 year-old Will for the umpteenth time, who wished his last name to remain anonymous so that he wouldn’t have to try to explain to his parents why cutting Transit City is the swan song of “Hogtown,” knowing that his mother would only respond, “But I still don’t understand why they want to keep those freakin’ streetcars in the middle of the road stopping traffic everywhere.”

“It was the suburbs, man,” replied a Vic One Pearson stream graduate, who will be referred to only as “Tom” to protect his identity.

“Fuckin’ suburbs man. First the elections, then the Grammys,” quipped Will between gut-wrenching sips of Labatt 50, both young men unaware that it was an ass-nasty simulacrum of what ale is supposed to be. ...

“That wasn’t funny by the way.

Have you even listened to it yet? It’s been like over a year.”

“Fuck no.”

“Aren’t you like, the Music Editor for The Strand?”

“Shut up.” ...

The political discussions didn’t stop at just a few undergrads at a bar, as somewhere in the realm of 48 people regularly took part in the “Occupy” series of protests. Protesters demanding various things such as “equality”, “transparency”, and “death to Harper” wreaked havoc across the city, causing such destruction as minor traffic delays, excessive noise, and sleeping in parks. The protests fell on deaf ears, as most of these occurrences are actually pretty normal to Torontonians. They did, however, spur a movement of wearing politically conscious buttons and a reignited hatred of hippies not seen since the late 70s.

The collectives formerly know as “labour unions” have been added to the IUCN Red List of Threatened Species. Not since the seal hunt controversy has a single issue gotten so much screen time, and the byproduct of this has been a near-perfect understanding of the workings of unions and labour laws among the bar-going young adult/student scene, a social group considered least likely to ever be part of such organizations.

To simply walk into a bar is to enter the parliament house of the working class, where words such as “capitalism”, “true socialist reform”, “Rob Ford”, and “fuck you!” are delivered

with the same fervour and weight as our valued politicians in City Hall, Queen’s Park, and Parliament Hill.

The increased importance of being politically active has motivated The Strand’s masthead into unionizing and entering the first round of negotiations with “whoever is the boss of this place.”

After a standard union meeting involving open doors, open floors, and no advertising or invites, the newly formed Union of The Strand: Victoria University in the University of Toronto’s Student Newspaper since 1955(?) Masthead Workers (abbr.

UOTSVUITUOTSNS55?MW Local 52) put together a new collective agreement with “Really, who’s actually the boss of us?”

The terms of the agreement were laid out clearly and fairly and the union believes their demands are fair and justified. Thanks to a secret inside source, we are able to reprint some of their demands (see box). The rest of the extensive list of demands can be seen on pages 6-7 of this issue, so they’re not exactly much of a secret anymore.

One tipster let us know that at the meeting, concerns regarding freedom of the press, censorship, and full independence for content control were raised, but immediately shot down in favour of “Fuck it let’s milk ‘em for all they’re worth!”

The union has made it clear that they will cease all production until a mutual agreement has been reached or when the next school year starts, whichever comes first.

1) Additional Victoria University capital to be directed towards to already meager alcohol and pizza budget.

2) Salaries equaling those of UTSU, VUSAC, and The Varsity combined.

3) Increased readership through a provincial mandate to distribute The Strand to every mailbox in the province and forced weekly quiz on its content with a grade less than 80 percent resulting in forced rehabilitation delivering The Strand.

4) Paid vacation time equal to five days per each issue published.

5) Subsidized housing for graduates.

6) Concierge at The Strand office doors.

7) Q Water on tap (both still and sparkling).

8) Similar academic flexibility to what the University has had in agreement with the Union of Varsity Blues football players since its founding.

News editor buries the lede, corpse Student journalist desperate to write headlines makes them herself; The Strand needs a News Editor (again) NOT SABINA FREIMAN

Screeches were heard echoing down Charles Street between Bay and Queen’s Park on 26 Mar. as The Strand’s News Editor Sabina Freiman was dragged out of the well-respected campus newspaper’s office

by U of T Campus Police. Freiman, charged for attempted murder, had only been News Editor for a few weeks after the mysterious departure of the previous News Editor.

Lieutenant Desperée was in charge of locating the frantic editor.

When interviewed by The Strand, he had this to say: “I’ll never forget what she yelled as we tried to carry her from the computer: ‘There was nothing to write about!’” He paused, and then humbly admitted, “Well, actually, I’ll probably forget all about it. But it was freakin’ weird.”

As Desperée explains, the campus police force got a concerned call from a student living on residence, reporting “mysterious cackling” from underneath her window.

Although the student wished to remain anonymous, she disclosed that she heard someone murmuring, “Excellent, excellent.”

The campus police at first didn’t think it was an incident worth investigating. “It was getting close to that time where essays are due and exams are rolling in. Students always get a little bit crazy, so we just thought it was just another case of a weird exam ritual.”

BAHAR BANAEI

NEWS EDITOR

Freiman moved up to the position of News Editor earlier in March. The editors-in-chief assume that it was this newly added stress that finally tipped her over the edge. “We don’t really know her,” admitted Editorin-Chief Pauline Holdsworth. “She’s only been here for a month, and she’s been pretty quiet. We definitely didn’t see this coming. I mean, this has nothing to do with us. Really.

Please don’t sue us.”

The Strand visited Freiman in

her jail cell, where she sat curled up against the wall, sobbing. When interviewed, Freiman admitted that she was definitely in the wrong. “I don’t know what came over me. How did I not see this coming? I couldn’t write a story on a murder I committed!” Her eyes shifted back and forth, checking for listeners, as she leaned in and revealed: “It would count as a conflict of interest.” “Since we clearly haven’t had enough of those already this year…” commented

The Strand’s Copy Editor, Allie Chenoweth, also present at the interview.

After calming down, Freiman went on to reveal her motivations behind the crime. “School was almost over, and there was just nothing going on. The election results were out, the clubs were wrapping up, and no one protests things this close to exams! I had pages to fill!”

The idea first came to her when she was walking to class with a

friend, who wishes to remain anonymous and completely unaffiliated with her. The friend explained that, “[Freiman] did mention this fleeting thought about killing someone just to write about it. I thought she was joking, because really, who would do something like that?”

No connection has been made between the victim and the news editor, so it is unlikely that the murder was premeditated. Freiman refused to divulge any details of the case, fearing that “other papers might copy [her] sources.” Police are refusing to release the original article that was written, citing it as official evidence.

The original article is still located on The Strand’s computer. Those on the masthead who have skimmed through it say that although the article is interesting, Freiman does come off as “a bit of a lunatic”.

Though Freiman is upset that her article won’t be published, she is pleased that, at the very least, coverage on her actions has made for compelling content for the news section. “If the section is filled, my job is done,” she declared. That being said, the image she planned to accompany her original article has been recycled to be used for this article.

The hearing to set her trial date will be held later in April. Finally free of both newspaper and exam stresses, Freiman plans to write a book so that, “you know, Arts and Culture can have something to write about next year.”

opinions

YLVAS

Get me the fuck outta here

actually, wait - no My time at UofT is quickly coming to a close, and considering that many of my compatriots at The Strand are returning students, it’s with a (somewhat) heavy heart that I leave them behind and move on to bigger, better things. Or, at least, onto other things. Four years isn’t a very long time, and I fear that I may have missed out on a few big-ticket items on the undergraduate bucket list, but seeing as I’ll soon have all the time in the world, I can always just do them later. It’s that kind of attitude that got me this far, right guys? Right?

Allie Chenoweth Now that I’ve reached the point stuck between nostalgia for the whole feel-good, warm fuzzy, minimal responsibility student life and being ready to get the hell out of this school, I’ve been spending a lot of my time pondering what the post-UofT future holds. Most days, I feel like this: I got through university! I can do whatever I want! To quote Boris from the Pierce Brosnan-era James Bond classic Goldeneye: “I AM INVINCIBLE!!!!!” You can’t see me right now, but I am clicking my pen — A LOT. I’m gonna miss the shit out of my fellow Stranders, but I’m looking forward to freedom. I’m looking forward to catching up on sleep. I’m going to go to bed at 10pm like old people!

But then — wait for it, waaaaait for it — a shadow of doubt comes creeping ‘round. Sneaking up like a sneaky sneaking son of a bitch. What am I going to do with myself? How am I going to sustain my lifestyle of brand name pizza pockets, TTC trips when I’m too lazy to walk, and a shit-hole student apartment?

Are there even any cheaper, more shit-holier apartments available? Seriously, can I crash on your couch for a while? Can I send my Vanity Fair subscription to your address? Are you gonna eat all that?

This is what I may have to resort to doing with all my spare time:

1. Stop following my dreams by finally conquering my sleepwalking habit.

2. Experience the glory that is the Brunny. Prey on 18 year-olds; get preyed upon by 35 year-olds.

3. Attend a frat party. Drink all of the drinks, especially ones given to me by strangers.

4. Actually read during the third week of February.

5. Start exercising. I’m not entirely confident this won’t kill me, though. My idea of a solid work out is walking up the staircase of Victoria College.

6. Keep up with the Kardashians. I’m gonna have A LOT of free time on my hands, and VERY low self-esteem about my intelligence what with the not-going-to-grad-school. Two birds, one stone.

7. Recover from my crippling caffeine addiction. Replace with weeknight beer drinking.

8. Write essays for fun! YEAH OKAY. 9. I survived Ulysses, so the obvious next step is to read Finnegan’s Wake. I mean, I can get through anything, right? Except maybe DFW’s Infinite Jest. That one intimidates me more than regular exercise.

10. Try online dating. Feel no twinge of shame about it. If at first I don’t succeed, lie, lie in my profile.

11. Stop wearing pants.

12. Moonlight as a detective a la Jonathan Ames. Buy another trenchcoat to add to the collection. This will help with item 11.

13. Become a regular on the karaoke circuit. Sing Alanis 50 percent of the time. Get booed 75 percent of the time.

14. Audit classes in Con Hall on the sly. Write fake answers on all the midterm tests to fuck with the TAs’ heads.

15. Learn InDesign. Like, actually this time, I swear.

16. Adopt all the puppies and kittens. Know true happiness.

17. Start guerilla gardening. What? I went to Vic, deal with it.

18. Save all the children. Because a regular Mother fucking Theresa.

19. Travel the world; successfully become a cliche.

20. Sleep for six months to catch up on all missed sleep over the past four years. Be awakened only by true love’s kiss or the smell of brownies baking in the oven. Expect that by the time I awake, society will want to offer me all of the jobs for having a degree in literature! It will probably go something like this: Secret Service agent: “Allie, the President for you. He needs you to copy edit an extremely confidential document. The fate of the world rests in your red pen.”

Me: “Gee, I don’t know, I guess I could. There’s a Buffy marathon on Space though.

1. Occupy Toronto. I’m planning on somehow remaining an occupant of this city after graduation. Because moving back home to the suburbs is depressing.

2. Never pay my library late fines. YOU HEAR ME, EVIL TURKEY?! YOU WON’T GET A CENT BACK!! EVEN AFTER PENNIES BECOME WORTHLESS, YOU WILL GET NOTHING FROM ME!!!!!!!!!!!

3. Wait patiently by the phone for Usher to call me up and turn me into the next Canadian Teen Pop Singing Sensation (despite not being a teen girl). FYI Usher, I also rap better than Katy Perry. Just sayin’, I’m pretty versatile.

4. Update my blog more often because y’know, social media presence is really important for young up-and-comers. Spend more time on FaceTwitPinTumblrGram than time spent sending out resumes or volunteering.

5. Get ALL OF THE INTERNSHIPZ. Make NONE OF THE MONEYZ. 6. Have a CBS show pilot written based on my Twitter feed and/or pitch show to HBO with a hilarious, cynical script based on my life as a late-teens/early 20s undergraduate student in an urban centre navigating her way poorly through academia/college life/campus media.

7. Live in IKEA. Buy Swedish Meatballs with all of the spare change found in all of the couch cushions. Marvel at how organized my life has become.

8. When kicked out of IKEA, live in The Strand’s office. Sabotage Goldring construction to delay having to move into the less private, more frequently monitored office space.

9. Stop wearing deoderant. When I run out of money, it’s the first to go. Apparently, according to a recent Strand article, deodorant is more lethal than UofT, which is really saying something. But there won’t be much of a point in wearing it anymore since I won’t be stuck in any tutorial rooms or, y’know, employed in the future.

10. Remember when artists and composers had patrons? Like, centuries ago? We should bring that back in society. I’m gonna find me a patron to support me while I write my chef d’oeuvre/best-selling Swedish crime thriller. Sugar daddies welcome, apply within.

11. Realize that there is one giant corporation today paying an innumerable amount struggling writers/artists/musicians/actors: Starbucks. Die a little inside.

12. Make some cash by working in a brothel. Great timing, Toronto! How did you know I was graduating this year?

13. Learn more about squatters’ rights.

14. Cut all of my hair off, not for cancer, but to help fuel the garbage can fire pit for my luxury cardboard box condo. Also use pages from all course readers and textbooks that I couldn’t sell back because of stupid shrink wrap.

15. When all else fails hitchhike across America. Run out of money across the border, secretly expatriate. Write next Great American Novel. Don’t piss off Oprah.

VICTOR L. ATUNEZ

Here are just some of the many things I can do with all my spare time:

EDITORIAL \\ 6

BLAIRE TOWNSHEND

{EDITOR@THESTRAND.CA } THE STRAND | 13 APRIL 2012

OLD & BUSTED Fiona Douchecanon Pauline Holdsworthless

The Great Satan

P. Shitshow

Newb Consiglieri

Sabina Freiman Rich Boi Don T

Bropinions

Muna “Beez in the Trap” Mire

Features

Cody Crackson Catriona Hyphen Spaven Hyphen Donn

Farty Fart Ding Dong Town Associate

Leila Kant Anna Bruschetta Nate “Dogg” Watson

Milf Redditors/ Marlboro Sales Reps Ass-ociate

Alex Griffith Bill “Heavy” Pettingzoo Paula Razuri

Sad Trend

Fake “Hollywood” Howell Brandon “King Crab” Martin-Gray

Goodbye Things I'll really miss about being an Editor-in-Chief: Sleepless Tuesday nights Lawsuit threats Slander accusations Academic failure Trolls Sobriety Hating everything And lastly, I will really miss the dedication of our readers over at McLennan Physical Labs - shoutout!

But in all seriousness, dear, dedicated Strand reader, it’s been a slice. I hate to get all sappy on you, but I really love you, and, I can’t help but feel like this is the end of a really great thing between you and me. I hope you’ve enjoyed our publication this year as much as I’ve enjoyed working on it. I really will miss the bond we shared: you reading The Strand, and me, knowing that you are out there somewhere reading The Strand. I feel so fortunate to have had this opportunity and would like to thank all the wonderful people I’ve had the pleasure of meeting and working with as a result of this experience. All the best and have a great summer!

-Fiona BLAIRE TOWNSHEND

Dominatrixes-inChief

Hot Cop(y) Little Orphan Allie Chenoweth Associate Sara Deris Instagram Enthusiasts

Schtick Kotoulas “Annie” Narae Lee

Doodle Queen

BeBe Banaei

Spiderman Ryan “Jamie Shilton” Gosling Sex Minions

Blaargh Townshend David “Extremely Racist” Wang

Contributors Ron Paul’s Stupid Dumb Head, Warrin’ Goodwin, Jennifer Gosnell, Kareem Jarah, The Ghost of John Stossel, Heather McHugs, Herman “Cain” Train, Tom “Paws” Gundy, Crazy B and the gang Special Thanks The Varsity, for refraining from poaching any of our editors this year

...or not It’s the last production night of the year and it seems appropriate to breathe a sigh of relief. We hate to break it to you, but - we’re not actually leaving. So this is the production night of OH JESUS WHY FUCK MAKE IT STOP. Banking on the assumption that another year of this job fails to turn us both into serial killers, we’re looking forward to instituting the following changes next year: we will buy a printer like we promised (sorry, guys). We will give no fucks. We’ll do not one but two magazine issues, we’ll try to introduce a little more colour in these pages, and we’ll keep up the sassy rants you love so much.

This year we’ve also had the opportunity to meet student journalists from all over the country but, perhaps most importantly, we’ve been able to interact with a lot of the members of other papers here at UofT – the most exciting student media scene in the country, as far we’re concerned. People have been predicting the end of print media for decades now, and it’s at least a little heartening that so many small and independent publications not only continue to exist, but manage to consistently put out quality content as well. And as long as you’re around to read us, we’ll keep doing this. Here’s hoping for at least a

few more years.

We’re still pretty much at the same stage as when we started – completely clueless, basically – which is why we’re excited about our new Comrade-in-Chief, Muna Mire joining us for next year. If the past year is anything to go by, Muna will be be the one who’ll have to console us after a final round of edits disappears for the second time, or that one goddamn mystery line in the middle of the page just refuses to go away, in addition to regular EIC duties. Welcome to the team.

-Pauline & Pat

NEW HOTNESS

The Strand is published whenever we feel like it and has a circulation of five, of which three copies go directly into the archives anyway.

It is distributed all over Vic by unwitting student carriers, like a fucking hipster virus.

The Strand”s got it bad for its editorial autonomy. We’ve been there, done it, fucked around, after all that, this is what we’ve found: we got it bad.

If you’re looking for advertising information, man, are you in the wrong place. Do you SEE any ads in here? Plugs for various ciders don’t count.

Our office is located in the Strandcest Dungeon in the basement of Stephenson House.

For sale: one pair of children’s fox eyesockets, gently used.

Editors-in-Chief Pauline Holdsworth Film & Music Alex Griffith Muna Mire Bahar Banaei Patrick Mujunen Stranded Will Pettigrew Design Vacant Copy Blaire Townshend News Sabina Freiman Photo Thomas Lu Opinions Sara Deris Art Vacant Features Vacant Online Vacant Arts & Culture Paula Razuri

Want

to contribute to

The Strand?

We’re always looking for writers, artists, photographers, proofreaders, and design staff. If you want to get involved with the coolest (if not the most well-heeled) newspaper on campus, drop us a line at editor@thestrand.ca!

FARTS & CULTURE

giving voice to the voiceless Rarely does The Strand receive Letters to the Editor. Even less often do we print them. But occasionally, a message may arrive that cuts so deeply to the heart and culture of our newspaper that it is necessary to give it a full page in our summative edition. On this note, we present you with one such critical and timely letter.

To the Editor: Throughout the year I’ve been increasingly perplexed and concerned by the bias of your coverage. Articles in The Strand have ostensibly been displaying an “equitable” perspective. Sadly, in practice, this has amounted to fairly radical feminist censorship. It is somewhat predictable that this point of view has dominated in your articles, as it does so in most avenues. I still feel it important to point out that you have devoted no print whatsoever to the plight of one of modern society’s most mistreated and misunderstood groups: men.

As editors, you get to control the debate on gender equality in your publication. Completely ignoring any instance of gender inequality where women have the advantage reeks of irresponsible female supremacism. When it comes to divorce, the female is much more likely to receive custody and remuneration from the man than the reverse. It is not unthinkable that females exploit and capitalize on this unfair tendency — and other false stereotypes in our society.

You gave much coverage to events like the SlutWalk. The argument made by SlutWalkers is that women ought not be told how to dress by men in positions of power. However, it is also inequitable that men have to accept the directions of organized females. This is a clear example of the double standard of female privilege. We all know that men are not by definition perverted or perpetually horny, but men are still unfairly stigmatized.

In the name of equality, I strongly suggest that you look into the burgeoning men’s rights movement. Thanks to courageous trailblazers, we oppressed men are finally starting to speak up for ourselves and air our grievances. We face harsh opposition but we persist through it, knowing that there are men out there who need to hear our message and liberate themselves from female oppression.

If The Strand is truly committed to equity, it needs to recognize the voice it has been neglecting. Men of The Strand, I encourage you to take a stand. You have been put down for too long, and possibly misled into perpetuating this censorship. Females of The Strand: try to understand the plight of your fathers, your brothers, your mates — it may be difficult for you to fathom the discrimination and disempowerment they face every day. Though the mannists’ main goal is to promote men’s issues in the public discourse and to provide supportive spaces for men, females willing to recognize and fight against misandry are welcome allies.

Sincerely, A. Mann.

TReatures \\ 69 {FEATURES@THESTRAND.CA } THE STRAND | 13 APRIL 2012

DON'T TREAD ON ME THE STRAND GOES ON STRIKE BECAUSE EVERYTHING SUCKS

NICK KOTOULAS & ANNIE NARAE LEE

Treatures

MILFS & MUSIC \\ 8 {FILMANDMUSIC@THESTRAND.CA } THE STRAND | 13 APRIL 2012

ALEX GRIFFITH FILM EDITOR

Before I begin unpacking the Pandora’s Box of horrors that is John Carter, I should probably explain to you why it’s important that we still talk about this movie, even a month after its dead-in-the-muddy-water release.

Later, when America or the West or humanity or Earth has declined, I think future historians will see John Carter as a very special moment in our culture.

Not because it’s bad – you might have heard it’s not that good — but because John Carter exemplifies everything that is wrong with Hollywood.

Disney’s latest attempt to make another Avatar is a convoluted, complicated pile of shit, so unstable Derrida could spend weeks deconstructing it.

In this two hour and 19 minute movie, Disney has outperformed itself at

HUBBLE

Why John Carter is important underachieving. After Tron’s disappointing reception last year, the studio seems seriously fucked. If Johnny Depp’s aging charisma doesn’t do the trick in Lone Ranger (2013), then the execs at Burbank might have to unfreeze Walt Disney and set him on James Cameron, or let Pixar take the reins.

Here’s a little exposition: Captain JC (same initials as Jesus, clever that) of the Virginia cavalry teleports from Civil War America to Mars. On the red planet, which looks a lot like Tatooine, Carter is asked to fight for the blue faction against the evil red faction, who are really being controlled by prophetic Therns. There are also green humanoids, standing in for Native Americans, because this is all some kind of strange allegory of old

America vs. gridlocked, environmentally destructive new America.

It sort of is about America, but not intentionally. JC is important because we (as North Americans) deserve it.

We’ve been spending money on Pirates 2, 3, 4, and soon to be 5, computer-driven audience testing has obviously concluded we’re ready for a Spiderman reboot, and this halfhearted attempt at something “original” is the end result of Hollywood’s traumas in the digital age. It’s an old complaint that Hollywood never has new ideas. Now the drought may be really happening.

The Martian races are not really alien to Earth, they’re just non-Western, dressed in a collage of foreign looking garb – geisha headdress here, Aztec tattoos there – that Edward Said would have a lot to say about.

Fantasy writers are usually guilty of making other races look Eastern (Game of Thrones does this a lot), but rarely has it been this hysteric.

JC’s story of warring peoples and space travel is not based on a comic book, or a toy, or on other movies, but a novel called A Princess of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs. Now, Princess is not a classic of science fiction; Burroughs does not rub shoulders with Dick or other masters of the craft. He was the pulpiest of pulp writers, so it’s strange to me that some suit at Disney took a look at the book and said: “Westerns and aliens? Clearly two genres that mix.” His assistant mentions how poorly Cowboys and Aliens did at the box office, but the suit is already thinking up a captivating title for a new franchise. Like, say, John Carter.

I have to imagine moments like this, because I can’t imagine serious businessmen and women, who are responsible for billions of dol-

lars in annual revenue, going over Andrew Stanton’s script and thinking lines like “Warriors may change their metal, but they never change their heart,” make intelligible sense, let alone were likely to entertain the masses. The dialogue is not flat, but fat, bloated, knocking over tables and spilling coffee.

“As your Jeddack I swear, by Isus herself, to free Barsoom from the Zodangans!” How much nerd-dom do they think we can handle in one line?

If it’s Star Wars or Lord of the Rings, fuck it, that’s common knowledge.

But Martian languages from a dusty 1917 novel? Don’t ask me to translate Martian in my head, just so I can keep up with a quantum plot: the pacing is simultaneously too fast and too slow.

Also, please don’t spray-tan everyone — including veteran British actors I love from HBO’s Rome — in Jersey Shore orange. Don’t make the green race a bunch of savage, baby-stealing thugs, because that doesn’t work with your positive Native American allegory. And it’s cool to steal from other movies – people like Tarantino and Rodriguez are praised for it – but don’t steal podracers from George Lucas.

That’s right, folks. Andrew Stanton, director of Wall-E and Up, decided to rip off neither The Empire Strikes Back nor A New Hope. He thought all the cool kids wanted to be reminded of Episode I: The Phantom-fuckingMenace. In fact, JC is full of what I can only describe as Star Wars B-sides, like rejected concept art for Jar-Jar Binks or abandoned sets from Attack of the Clones. Disney must have paid someone to B+E Lucas’s apartment and scrape the bottom of his barrel of shitty post-1983 ideas.

Roger Ebert, on Freddy Got Fingered: “This movie isn’t the bottom

of the barrel. This movie isn’t below the bottom of the barrel. This movie doesn’t deserve to be mentioned in the same sentence with barrels.”

Well, Ebert, sir, I think that whatever sentence adopted Freddy could also find a home for Cpn. Carter.

Since JC steals from everyone (listing all the burglaries takes pages) it might be, mathematically speaking, pretty original, somewhere in the middle of a differential web of sci fi/fantasy/Western genres. That said, a 12-year old boy could have made JC, and I actually mean that as a compliment. It’s almost appealing to watch something so jumbled, so full of tropes you can quiz your own pop culture know-how by guessing what is going to happen next (“ah, yes, saving the environmental message for last”). At times JC triggers nostalgia for ol’ Westerns and adventure serials, approaching the kind of B-movie charm that Indiana Jones exuded.

But, at a certain point, the movie just looks too expensive, too serious, and too desperate, like Disney is eyeing Avengers and Dark Knight Rises with increasing worry. It’s hard not to see the contempt in the eyes of brilliant actors gesturing at green screens digitized into frog-shaped animals. It’s hard not to feel that Dominic West of The Wire, who plays the villain, is really thinking of Baltimore and challenging TV work.

Worst, or best, of all, Stanton et al. have the Mars-sized balls to end JC on the promise of a sequel. There probably won’t be a sequel; JC will lose about 200 million USD. We should all feel somewhat resigned to Avengers, and should humbly lower our expectations for Dark Knight Rises. Making even a mediocre blockbuster is apparently much tougher than you

The abridged history of Genesis and the Peter Gabriel/Phil Collins dichotomy WILL PETTIGREW MUSIC EDITOR

G

ather around, children, while I enlighten you with a long-forgotten part of the grand narrative of humanity. In the beginning there was Genesis, formed from the rib of Moloch in a strange crossover of mythologies due to the lax attitudes on recreational use of psychedelic drugs at the time. Peter Gabriel, spawn of Moloch and Moloch alone, not of a woman born, fronted this band with some other guys. They wrote some songs, blew some minds (mostly their own), and made sweet love to the three female fans they had (keeping in mind there were five members, all male). The crushing lack of groupies caused some people in the band to give up and quit.

In an effort to avoid this fate in the future, Peter Gabriel, at his most virile, enlisted the aid of Phil Collins, a local drummer and playboy whose sex appeal was undeniable (even in 1970). What Peter Gabriel didn’t realize was that this moment would forever haunt him and ultimately steer the career of two of the most talented and sexually tormented souls in the history of popular music (prog rock).

Phil Collins hit the ground run-

ning, having his first lead vocal and songwriting credit on his first album with the band, titled Nursery Cryme. The creative direction of the album was still under the iron fist of Peter, and it was apparent that he was already intimidated by Phil’s sexual prowess. Peter chose the juvenile themes in an effort to discomfort the listener in contrast with the pure sexual power coming from the vocal cords of these two stallions of erotic discourse. However, it backfired and in 1975 Peter quit Genesis due to a strange case of penis envy denial.

The years that followed were heated and controversial. Peter Gabriel’s breakout solo hit “Solsbury Hill”, which remains a mainstay on classic rock radio, dealt with his reasons for departing Genesis. A thinly veiled cover up, Gabriel hides behind a feigned epiphany and enlightenment of his new destiny, which upon a deeper, educated listen will reveal he has dedicated his life to one-upping his former friend and now arch-nemesis, Phil Collins.

Phil Collins naturally assumed the role of frontman for the postGabriel Genesis, and it wasn’t long (only four years) until Phil took Genesis to three consecutive fucking number one albums. This was probably because, as Wikipedia says, “mu-

sic historians later commented that Collins sounded ‘more like Gabriel than Gabriel did.’” This of course infuriated Gabriel and instilled a madness so deep that saying he has an “obsession with destroying Phil Collins” is an understatement.

So began the war of the ring. Peter made the first move, inviting his old chum Phil to play drums on his third self titled solo album (of four).

Some say Peter’s production style is what gave Phil his signature gatedreverb drum sound (see the song “Intruder” on the album in question then listen to every Phil Collins song after 1978). This was really a scheme by Peter to lead Phil down the garden path into obscurity, but it actually kinda worked for his style really, really well. I can only imagine the tension in the room when they were recording “Intruder”. There they would have been, in the sweaty throes of a recording session, Phil wailing on the drums with all the carnal passion of Mediterranean hotel bus-boy while Peter, under transparent guise, described how he only wished to break into Phil’s house and do evil things (seriously, look up the lyrics).

The next move was Phil’s, with the release of his crushing debut album Face Value. His magnum opus “In the Air Tonight” opens the

album with all the erotic force to cause even the most marathon lover to prematurely ejaculate only a few short minutes into the song as soon as the drums kick in and bring it to its glorious climax. The lyrics also deal with Phil’s newfound knowledge of Peter’s intent and describes rather sadistically his thoughts and feelings towards his former friend (like actually, really listen to the lyrics. It’s fucked).

Peter came back with his fourth self-titled album. Reeling from the mortal blow he had just received, he was weak and confused and somehow wrote the song “Shock the Monkey”, which academics are still trying to understand the significance of and motivations behind.

Phil took his gargantuan momentum and did the ballsiest thing yet: he released the Genesis self-titled album, 16 years after Peter started that band. It was actually popular and the opener “Mama” deals somberly with Phil’s uncontrollable sexual hunger through the true accounts of his chronic addiction to a prostitute named Mama (this is actually at least half true). “That’s All” is also on this album, and is actually a pretty wicked song that I can’t really warp into my thesis here.

No Jacket Required was the next solo Phil Collins album and the

two in his one-two brutalization of Peter’s ego. Unsuprisingly, it was a crazy hit with four top ten singles (two of which were number ones).

The sexually suggestive title and album art aroused the anglosphere and beyond, which cemented Phil’s position as the alpha male. Just listen to “Sussudio” and try to tell me otherwise.

This prompted Peter to finally sack up and he named his next album So, just to send a clear message to the pretender in Peter’s rightful throne.

Peter was fed up and reached his breaking point. He knew this was his last chance at glory/ever getting laid again since motherfucking Phil Collins somehow managed to out sex him. Peter put everything he had into his last gasp from the drowning pool of biblical loneliness in the form of the most pelvically ravaging anthem since Glenn Miller’s “In the Mood”: “Sledgehammer”.

The eroticisim was enough to make Aphrodite blush. Simply listening to the song is enough to condemn one to an eternity in the second circle of Hell. It was so intense that it stalemated their 16 year antler-bashing display of libido. Their careers thus ceased to be worth following. The end.

Don’t believe me? www.youtube. com/watch?v=g1mSJpOBXFU

THE STRAND

NICK KOTOULAS

L A E R ^

VICTORIA UNIVERSITY’S STUDENT NEWSPAPER • EST. 1953

DONE BY SCAB LABOUR 13 APRIL 2012 VOL. 54 NO. 14

WWW.THESTRAND.CA

Vic’s Principal to take one-year sabbatical David Cook reflects on his time at Vic, both as student and as principal MERAJ ZEFAR

Professor David Cook, who has served as principal of Victoria College since 2000, will be stepping down this summer at the end of his second term.

Seated comfortably in his office in Old Vic, Prof. Cook points to a spot by the desk where he first stood as an undergrad.

“I came in, met the Registrar, said hello, and of course I had no idea that years later I would be back as Principal of the College. As a student I would have thought the very idea was crazy.”

Discussing his memories of the college, he slips easily between his time as an undergraduate and his time as principal.

“As a student, it was an environment that was very receptive, very open, and Vic was the home. You would come back to the college for classes, for the library, and Wymilwood — which at the moment is not in very good shape — was the center of student life. Then, years later when I became principal, the college had matured, and had become far more diverse. And I still hope that’s true, that it’s a welcoming, open community that respects differences and is dedicated to learning.”

When Cook returned to become principal, Vic had expanded significantly. Northrop Frye had been built, and E.J. Pratt library had been open for only a few years. At the time, Prof.

Cook saw his and President Gooch’s mission as simple: “make the education worthwhile, get to know the students, and let students get to know the college and the professors.”

Through Vic One and the Victoria College seminar program, they set about trying to build that “different” first year experience. “I was for-

ANNIE-NARAE LEE

STAFF WRITER

Principal Cook stands on the steps of Old Vic

tunate that I could assign classes to myself and be part of it. That kept me

in touch, and gave me a really terrific opportunity to meet new students

and then watch them as they went through their university careers.”

Prof. Cook is quick to explain that encouraging potential students is the most important part of his job. “The students that you have the privilege of interacting with go on and do such fantastic things,” he says, mentioning a recent first-year dinner and dramatic readings by Vic students at an Ideas for the World evening. “Even when they don’t have their names up in lights, I think our students are just fabulous.”

When The Strand fishes for more personal compliments, Cook acquiesces with good humour. “It’s true, The Strand has been terrific. Student newspapers weren’t always of the highest quality, but there’s a lot of professionalism here.” After a pause he adds, “Well, Stranded is Stranded, fair enough, but The Strand’s really quite good.”

After a one-year sabbatical to reimmerse himself in his field, Professor Cook will be back on campus to teach Political Science and at the College. “I’ll happily go back to teaching classes. I’m not too sure which ones they’ll be, but I liked teaching first year students, and my political science course this year happens to be senior students — I quite enjoyed that mix.”

When asked if he’ll miss being part of the Vic administration, Cook is sanguine. “It’s part of a process that unravels over time — you do your bit for the time you have, and then it’ll be up to others to judge how the college has moved forward. As principal I’ve tried to [move Victoria College ahead], but I’m going to leave my successor a whole bunch of new challenges, which I think will make Vic an even better place. You look forward to seeing what the future’s going to be.

That’s why it’s a terrific place — it’s always new, it’s always fresh, always creating.”

Food service workers taking votes for a potential strike SABINA FREIMAN NEWS EDITOR

Since The Strand last spoke to food service workers almost two months ago, they have been fighting hard for higher wages, more hours, and basic benefits. After about a year and a half of negotiations, they were given a final offer. This offer was promptly rejected by all members — quite literally. “We 100 percent rejected the final offer,” said Rayappu Jesudasan, one of the food service workers.

Amarjeet Chhabra, who works for UNITE HERE! Local 75, explained that this final offer “is nothing that the workers deserve or need.”

Aramark and Compass, the companies that provide food services

for UofT and York, among other universities, was only able to offer a two percent increase in salary, and gave no leeway in terms of benefits.

The food service worker interviewed stressed that they wanted dental and medical coverage.

The pay is still very low. Jesudasan revealed that there is a man who has been working on campus for 16 years and still only makes $11 an hour.

There is another woman who is a single mother and makes only $10.25 an hour.

Reading Week left workers with very reduced hours. “That week we worked for only six to 12 hours for the whole week,” Jesudasan recalled.

“They want to cut our hours.”

With the final offer rejected and

not much hope for another, the food service workers are preparing for a potential strike. Workers at both York and UofT have taken strike authorization votes. The results have been unanimous, with almost 100 percent of the workers at both unversity campuses voting in favour to strike.

Of course, the workers are not entirely comfortable with the idea of going on strike right in the middle of exams, when hungry, stressed-out students may need food the most.

“We don’t want to go on strike,” Jesudasan said, but he emphasized that they were ready to do whatever it takes to win a fair contract.

Students have become a large part of the fight as well. The editor of The Underground, UTSC’s student

newspaper, wrote an article to call Aramark out on its lousy service. He spent a week as a sort of “mystery shopper,” visiting the Scarborough campus’s Tim Horton’s every day and recording his observations of how long he would wait in line and the service he received. He found long line-ups in which he waited for an average of 15 minutes and was served by unhappy cashiers. Aramark declined to comment.

Student support for campus food service workers has also spread to student groups. UTSU has agreed to lend their support by passing around a petition and getting the word out to the student body. Jesudasan believes that students aren’t blind to the issues concerning food service work-

ers. “They’ve been watching and asking ‘what’s going on with your wages and workload?’ People know we are working hard.”

Chhabra agreed. “We have been in contact with student unions and student clubs on campus. We have a lot of student and faculty support...

The article that just came out in The Underground makes it pretty obvious what’s really happening. These workers are a part of the university community, and this is a common understanding.”

To show your support for the food service workers at UofT and their fight for a fair contract, visit www. uniteherecanada.org and follow the top story to sign their petition.

Opinions \\ 10 {OPINIONS@THESTRAND.CA } THE STRAND | 13 APRIL 2012

I am...Michael Eligon Canada’s collective blind-spot

SUNSET PARKERPIX

nity to put Canada on a pedestal. The reality is that equally atrocious hate crimes occur in Canada, whether they are recognized or not.

For instance, consider the recent killing of Michael Eligon contiguous to the murder of Trayvon Martin. On 3 Feb. 2012, police officers shot and killed the 29 yearold black man, who had recently been released from the Toronto East General Hospital where he had undergone a 72-hour mental assessment.

Eligon was wandering around on a residential street just west of the hospital, wearing a hospital gown and was, according to witnesses, visibly dazed and frightened. In about 15 minutes, the case progressed from a call to the non-emergency police line to a fatal shooting by a police officer, backed up by six other officers. The explanation? Eligon was armed — with two pairs of small scissors, blades pointing down. So he was shot in the chest. The SIU has cleared the officer on the basis that front-line officers are not issued a Taser, so firing shots was apparently justifiable. Why the officer shot to kill, and not to disarm, was not discussed, nor was a witness’s account of several officers stomp-

SARA DERIS OPINIONS EDITOR

When we as Canadians comment on the Trayvon Martin case, we do so at an arm’s length. There is discussion of how overly permissive Florida’s gun legislation is, how racialized spaces such as The Retreat at Twin Lakes in Sanford make black bodies a threat, and connections made with Emmett Till from Chicago.

What is often overlooked is the very real prevalence of racism and hate

crimes in Canada. When it comes to discussing racism and other hate crimes in Canada, as a nation there seems to be a collective blindfold.

Canadians can be prone to making smug comparisons with the States, feeling safe and confident that nothing as awful as the Trayvon Martin shooting would ever occur here.

Instead of using the event as an opportunity to reflect on our nation’s treatment of its visible minority population, it becomes anopportu-

ing on and kicking Eligon after the shots were fired. This incident has the complication of being based on intersectional bias. However, shooting a man because he is black and shooting a man because he is mentally unstable are both hate crimes.

And they occurred in Toronto. This case received very little exposure, most newspapers running a short article on the incident. No major public outcry occurred. Few people know the name Michael Eligon, whereas Trayvon Martin has become a household name in and out of the US. Equally repugnant is our nation’s past, and current, treatment of Aboriginal peoples, which is nothing short of attempted genocide. Even if one puts aside the lack of governmental acknowledgment of guilt for such events as the residential schools system and the 60s scoop, the acknowledgement of the Missing and Murdered Aboriginal Women by government and media is lacking. On 17 Apr. 1995, Pamela George, a 28 year-old Salteaux woman who occasionally worked in the sex trade was sexually assaulted and beaten to death. Two men, Steven Kummerfield and Alexander Ternowetsky, picked her up with no money to pay her. They drove to the outskirts of Regina, forced her to perform oral sex, beat her severely, and left her lying face down in the mud. Her body was discovered the next morning so badly disfigured that her family was forced to have a closed-casket funeral. The investigation initially focused on the interrogation of Indigenous men — only a tip led police to Kummerfield and Ternowetsky.

According to a friend who testified at the trial, Ternowetsky, when questioned regarding the brutal beating of Pamela George, responded with “She deserved it. She was an Indian.” This blatant, despicable

hate crime was met with two counts of manslaughter and six-and-a-half year sentences for both men. The case was tried before a white judge, with an all white jury, and Justice Malone instructed jurors before their deliberations to bear in mind that Pamela George “indeed was a prostitute” when they considered whether or not she had consented to sexual activity. Both men were released from prison early. Do you

The murder of Trayvon Martin prompts more from us as Canadian citizens than an indictment of the United States and a sigh of relief that we live in Canada. think anyone out there owns an “I am Pamela” t-shirt?

The murder of Trayvon Martin deserves more from us as Canadian citizens than an indictment of the United States and a sigh of relief that we live in Canada. An examination of hate crimes in Canada, and the frightening lack of exposure and outcry, is necessary. The hate crimes taking place in Canada are no less deserving of public recognition than similar crimes in the United States. Collectively, we as a nation must stop lessening the discrimination perpetuated in Canada by only examining it in comparison with the United States.

BRYCE WARNES THE UBYSSEY (UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA)

VANCOUVER (CUP) — Peeked Interest is a website for people who are afraid of talking to people they are attracted to. The way it works is, you sign up, and then you post photos you have covertly taken of strangers you want to fuck. The strangers will (maybe) go on the website and see that someone they don’t know wants to fuck them. Then they might contact that person. Hopefully, in the end, everyone gets fucked.

Peeked Interest was invented by a University of Victoria grad named Darryl McIvor. Right now, the site’s scope is limited to the University of British Columbia and UVic campuses.

I have been spending a lot of time on Peeked Interest lately, checking out pics of my fellow students as they rush around campus, busy not knowing they are being photographed by strangers who want to fuck them.

Peeked Interest is totally groundbreaking, but it isn’t perfect. I’ve spent enough time studying the site in-depth, and I know exactly what it needs to achieve true greatness.

One thing that’s absolutely essential

is some sort of virtual currency, perhaps called PeekBux, which you can purchase through Paypal with real-world money, but also accrue through online activities.

Say if you really like this one person, you could earn extra PeekBux by taking lots of photos of them. This will encourage people to keep tabs on their crushes, and develop the sort of micro-celeb web-cults that Gen Y is all about.

The website would be more interesting if you could track certain individuals and see pics of them doing various activities, i.e. hanging out with friends, going on night-time jogs, visiting their families, towelling off after hot showers, etc.

Once you’ve earned or bought PeekBux, you can spend them on special services, like “VIP Access” to certain crushes, which lets you find out where they live, their phone numbers or what types of medication they’re on.

I understand, though, that having people snapping pics of you all the time could begin to feel intrusive. That’s why, if you catch someone photographing you, you can report them online, and they will be fined some of their PeekBux. This will encourage your fans to take pictures while behaving tastefully

and concealing their activities, maybe by hiding in bushes near your first class of the day, or installing a surveillance system that is rigged to take a photo of you every time you leave your house.

Alternately, some people will find that they are not getting enough attention.

For instance, when I first went on Peeked Interest, I expected approximately half the photos to be of me, with comments like “hey sexy luv ur sexy walk its sexy” and “you have amazing hair.”

To make a long story short, I was disappointed.

That is why, with PeekBux, you will be able to hire others to snap pics of you.

You get the attention that fuels your will to live while skilled mini-paparazzi will be able to make PeekBux on the side when they are not busy following attractive people.

These changes should not be too hard to implement, and I really believe they will make Peeked Interest a legit game-changer. Peeked Interest could allow us to take our First World Problems to the next level and Tweet about the paparazzi following us to the grocery store, laundromat and public washroom.

Only then will we, Generation Y, reach our apogee.

FLICKR CREATIVE COMMONS

Want to post covert pictures of your crush?

Arts & Culture The ambivalence of labels Talking to organic farmers about their place in agriculture

Springing for sprouts: The 1km Diet SONYA SURACI STAFF WRITER

LEILA KENT ARTS & CULTURE EDITOR

Remember when we were younger and there wasn’t a screamingly green aisle in every city grocery store?

When words like “local”, “organic”, and “natural” didn’t pop up as reasons to pay a premium for certain foods? In the time when our parents were young, asking for the organic food section would’ve earned blank looks and maybe, if you explained what you meant, a dismissive comment about “hippies”. In our lifetime, organic labelling has been embraced by the mainstream — and yeah, that isn’t fresh news by any measure. But there are interesting implications for marketing and consumption trends, along with the actual farming practices that produce and are produced by labels like “organic.” A Certified Organic label means that an external body has monitored the farming practices and products to ensure they are in line with the standardized rules. Good stuff, right?

I happened by the Sorauren Park farmer’s market and spoke to a couple people I thought might be big defenders of the explosion of interest in organics. What I found surprised me — it appears that even for them, the meaning and importance of this term can be elusive, especially in the case of small-scale producers.

Corry Ouellette works with the West End Food Coop, a non-profit multiple stakeholder co-op whose members include producers, eaters, workers, and community organizations. During a lull before the market take-down got in full swing, I asked her what the term “organic” meant to her.

“I believe that when you’re using the term ‘organic’, in a very basic sense, that you’re going to assume there’s no pesticides or herbicides used on the land.... So no chemical additives are being put on the land that are going to damage the soil, or the water systems if they end up there, or harm animals or insects.”

“As far as it goes with the [Sorauren Park farmer’s] market, there are different focuses - there’s people that are not getting certified [organic] because it takes a lot of work. There’s actually more controls that are placed on people that are trying to get a label saying ‘organic’ versus what is now called ‘conventional farming’! Which isn’t so conventional — and it shouldn’t be [seen that way].”

“So there’s farmers we have here that are not certified organic, because it costs so much to go through the certification - but they are using organic practices. So I think when it comes down to it, it’s putting the onus on the shopper to go [ask the farmer] — and not to feel shy about that!”

“Organic is great - but it has to make sense. It has to make sense in the ecology, in the ethics, and in the practicality as well.”

“In my opinion [the certification requirements] should be reversed - the people that should have to be checked out and label their products are the people putting things that are not organic into their land. You know, if you bought something and it didn’t say anything, then you could assume that it’s organic.”

“I think that when some of our farmers did get certi-

fication, it was something they were really proud to do — you do spend a lot of time to get your land to a certain point.”

Mathieu McFadden works with Chocosol Traders, who sell pedal-powered, stone-ground, horizontally traded chocolate, grown in Mexico and crafted in Toronto.

“We don’t really identify so much with the labels as such. We understand them, we understand what a lot of them mean but we try not to get lost. Certification bodies and certifiers can create disconnects with producers, and you’ve got things like fair trade and organic certification, and it all seems like it’s a step in the right direction, but sometimes it just makes it more difficult for small subsistence and sustainable type of populaces to engage in markets, and trade in general. So we’re not so much about certifying everything, but we do strongly believe that we should be growing organically as best we can. We’re also not extremists in that everything has to be strictly organic. We believe there are middle grounds, especially being in Canada.”

“So for us, organic is great, but it has to make sense.

It has to make sense in the ecology, in the ethics, and in the practicality as well. It’s more practical to grow cacao organically.”

“If a plague hits cacao crops [like Witches Broom Disease in Latin America, and Black Pod Rot in West Africa] — if that hits, the [monoculture plantation growers are] kinda screwed, whereas we’re working with growers who are using forest garden methods and are growing multiple different types of crops, so that if a plague hits, they have something to fall back on.”

“For us it can be a bit abrasive at times to get certified bodies into small communities, especially when you’re dealing with Indigenous communities.”

“But organic is the way to go as far as agricultural systems in Ontario. We all have organic plots that we grow within urban areas, in downtown Toronto, and we try to work with organic producers as well. But we’re not limiting ourselves to that. We’re open to seeing the broader realm.”

“I think people are too reliant on pricing and labels when they’re deciding what food to buy. So the farmer’s market is the place to engage with your farmer, to bridge that gap and to go beyond just what’s written on the label of a product. I think farmer’s markets are really important for education and to give people a different understanding. You know, I’ve met a lot of people who are like, ‘I only buy organic.’ But they buy from California, or Mexico. So engaging in the dialogue about sustainable organic practices that may not be fully organic by the standards the certification bodies have established, is, in my opinion, really important.”

Across Ontario, Canada, and around North America, fields are being readied for their summer crops. The demand that we consumers put on food markets can effect how those crops are grown — and how they arrive in our stores. All the same, consumer pressure may be diffuse and vague — and doesn’t necessarily have any overarching justifiable logic to it. The 2011 BrandSpark Canadian Shopper Study found that many Canadians were both confused and skeptical about organic foods. 50 percent said they trusted “natural” food over “organic” — though calling a product natural requires no certification or standardization. Casting a critical eye over the feel-good trends in food can yield some interesting results, and the spring is as good a time as any to begin.

SONYA SURACI

LEILA KENT

As finals approach, the omnipresent list of student woes continues to grow. Along with an ever-expanding sleep debt, we now have the springtime additions of a chronic misjudgement of appropriate outerwear, and an evil, yet shockingly persistent, longing to play in the sun and drink sangria in the park. The mild comfort provided by the end-of-term respite is somewhat muted by the knowledge that the last bit is undeniably the hardest.

That said, a little bit of sunshine is all you need to get your inner green buzzing with the anticipation of summer projects. With positive energy everywhere, now is the perfect time to transform some sustainable choices into ingrained habits to carry you through the summer months.

Riding the hype of this past Saturday’s Earth Hour, some students may have realized that flicking light switches and conserving energy happens to be exponentially easier than other highly-publicized enviroefforts. What’s not easy is eating local. With Earth Week, Earth Day, and other Earthy-themed events planned for the month of April, Toronto is being plastered in varying hues of emerald, olive, and avocado. Between the popularity of terms like “The 100 Mile Diet” (transposed to “The 100 km Diet” for those of us north of the 49th parallel) and “food miles”, it’s certain no one needs reminding of the importance of eating locallysourced and/or organic foods. Unfortunately for many students, “eating local” can involve trekking across the city to get to any of the farmer’s markets — hardly as “local” as we’d like. But even if it just means snagging some organic goods at the Good Karma food store on Palmerston Ave., eating local can mean heavy knapsacks, bruised veggies, the majority of a Saturday afternoon, and hefty sum totals. Time, money, and muscles aren’t always things we’ve got to spare here at UofT. However, two surprisingly simple options have recently appeared on the local radar to aid the strapped-for-cash in the quest for sustainable living. The first is having a home garden without an actual garden, while the second is a charming campus dining establishment that takes on all the “local” responsibilities, so you only have to be concerned with the “eating” part.

Sprouts are nutritious and delicious, especially when tossed on a salad or piled high on a sandwich of whole grain bread and cream cheese, and you can grow them in your own kitchen without ever getting your hands dirty. As for equipment, you’ll need an empty jar (grabbed from the recycle bin), a piece cheesecloth (or screen, or strainer), a trusty elastic, and an inexpensive bag of alfalfa seeds, which can be picked up at any health food store. Googling “grow your own alfalfa sprouts” yields hundreds of results with step-by-step instructions, but in short, all you have to do is toss a few spoonfuls of seeds into the jar, cover the seeds with some cool water and let them soak overnight. In the morning, drain all the water, and leave the jar sitting on an angle so any excess water can continue to drain out. Then, every morning and evening for seven days, rinse and drain the seeds with water. After about a week, you have a delicious and inexpensive addition to your personal menu, regardless of the season! And with all the growing and harvesting happening on your kitchen counter, springing for sprouts is about as local as it gets.

To take a break from your own harvest, head over to the friendly folks at Harvest Noon. Located on the top floor of the Graduate Students Union building (16 Bancroft Ave.), this cozy, sunlit loft offers vegan meals for under $5. Everything is made from local, organic ingredients, and is cooked and served by their delightful volunteers. With a new menu every week, a summer-long schedule, and startlingly low prices, Harvest Noon gives the UofT community an inexpensive and sustainable lunch date without the guilt of eco-unfriendliness. Check it out at www.harvestnoon.com.

Whether it’s your kitchen counter veggie grow-op, or the occasional meal at an ethical student diner, small choices can make a big impact.

Turning the “100km Diet” into the 1km diet, the hot Toronto summer can be made a little more green by choosing to support operations like Harvest Noon as you take the initiative to stay fresh and environmentallyfriendly when school’s out for summer.

FILM& Music\\ 12 {FILMANDMUSIC@THESTRAND.CA } THE STRAND | 13 APRIL 2012

Rachel Weisz’s new movie fails to engage, ignite SARAH NEIDOBA STAFF WRITER

D

irector Terrence Davies’ film adaptation The Deep Blue Sea leaves the audience with the feeling of having shared a series of intense personal memories – but perhaps not the ones you’d like to watch. The film, based on Terence Rattigan’s 1952 play of the same name, follows the sordid love affair of Hester Collyer, portrayed by the ever-talented Rachel Weisz. Set in post-war London, the film follows the course of one day in Hester’s life – the day she attempts to take her own life. A series of hazy shots backed by jarring violin music portray her botched suicide attempt, followed by a sequence of memories explaining what drove her to her final decision. Through Hester’s eyes we’re first shown her passionless marriage to an elderly judge, and then a one-sided love affair with a dashing but distant war pilot.

The performances are all, without exception, beautifully acted. Simon Russell Baele is the perfect choice for the aging husband, deftly walking the line between the timid man-child and the frustrated controlling spouse.

He summons up both sympathy for his character’s situation and scorn for his indecisive nature. Likewise, upand-coming actor Tom Hiddleston is the picture of the beautiful tortured war hero – Hester lives to love him, but he can’t bring himself to truly care about anything after the war. Rachel Weisz portrays an aching vulnerability that seems to pour out of her in every scene.

Try as they might the actors can never make the dialogue sound natural, and the only thing worse than their strained romantic arguments is the filmmakers’ attempts to pass them off as everyday conversation.

MONGREL MEDIA, 2011

However, Weisz and her co-stars have little to work with. The dialogue is campy and clichéd, making it difficult to empathize with any of the characters –especially

Hester. Try as they might, the actors can never make the dialogue sound natural, and the only thing worse than their strained romantic arguments is the filmmakers’ attempts to pass them off as everyday conversation. All of the dialogue seems to be dragged out to an almost painful degree, with long beats separating dull and listless lines. Audiences will find themselves on their edge of their seats waiting for a conversation to finally finish, only to be faced with more of the same.

It doesn’t help that the actors have to compete with the blaring strings of Samuel Barber’s 1939 “Violin Concerto”. It’s easy to see why Davies chose the piece for the film, as it’s frantic pace and jarring notes do much to enhance the image of Hester as a confused frustrated woman, suffocating under the pressures of 1950s British society. If used in moderation, the violins could have added nicely to the film, but the constant use of the piece at extreme volume means it’s sometimes difficult to concentrate on anything other than the splitting notes of the violins – it’s certainly not a sound that goes easy on the ears.

Despite its lacklustre dialogue and grating soundtrack, The Deep Blue Sea does have several scenes that go beyond words, where Davies is at his best. Hester rushes to a subway platform, contemplating throwing herself in front of a train, and suddenly time moves backwards to show her pressed against her husband’s side in that same station as bombs thunder above them. In that scene, the citizens congregate around the tracks to sing a mournful haunting song, and Weisz’s face reveals Hester’s deep need for security. Similarly wordless scenes between her and Middleton are captivating purely for Weisz’s facial expressions, which deftly convey Hester’s emotions – her all consuming need for her lover, her uncertainty of anything else. Scenes like these do what they can to pull the movie along its slow, meandering path.

The Deep Blue Sea is a film that seeks to convey deep feelings with its audience through the medium of memories. It succeeds in giving the impression of a series of recollections, tied together with haunting strings and long emotion-filled looks. However, its failures lies in the communications of its characters: the stilted dialogue and unexamined personalities leave the viewer unsympathetic to both Hester and her men, frustrated by the drawn out scenes of empty relationships. As a result, while its themes are meant to be difficult and unenjoyable, the film becomes exactly that.

Rachel Weisz and Tom Hiddleston share a pint and some saliva at the local pub

Notes from Hollywood

In the hopes of re-enacting their Oscar success, filmmakers announce their latest follow-up projects: -Martin Scorcese will be back with Leonardo Dicaprio and Robert de Niro (in a fat suit) with Chavez, the sequel to Hugo.

-M. Night Shamalyan is writing That time in a Ford Thunderbird with Jack Lemmon, a spinn-off of My Week With Marilyn.

-Neurotic Michigan intellectual shooting film inspired by Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris. It will be called Midnight in Detroit: Avoid eye contact.

-Former Blockbuster CEO hired as janitor at Netflix facility.

-Pillsbury Doughboy to play New Gingrich in new biopic.

The music of everyday life:

Hart House Orchestra SARAH CRAWLEY STAFF WRITER

The clitter-clattering of our heels as we walk down the hall approaches and mingles with the sound of bows on strings and chair legs on floors: scraping, clinking and tuning. Into the corridor of the Great Hall, we see through the glass panes into the courtyard of Hart House, the dusky evening turning the hedges cold and blue.

Last Thursday, 5 Apr., the Hart House Orchestra finished its 20112012 season with Mussorsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition, Ravel’s Bolero and Introduction and Fanfare, composed by William Rowson, Assistant Conductor of the Hart House Orchestra. By 8pm, the Great Hall was filled with music-lovers eager to hear the HHO, whose concerts are free but whose music is extremely professional.

The HHO has been around in its current form since 1976, composed of amateur musicians from all levels and fields of studies at the University of Toronto. The current Music Director and Principal Conductor is Henry Janzen, aided by Assistant Conductor William Rowson, both have whom are also prominent composers.

Russian composer Modest Mussorsky (1839-1881) wrote Pictures at an Exhibition in 1874, one year after the death of his friend Viktor Hartmann (1834-1873). Hartmann was an artist and architect who had become acquainted with Mussorsky in around 1870. The two artists shared a fascination with traditional Russian art, folklore and literature, which inspired their respective arts. In early 1874, a retrospective exhibition of Hartmann’s work was displayed by the Academy of Fine Arts in St. Petersburg, giving Mussorsky the idea of writing a composition that emulated his experience of walking through the gallery, and of remembering Hartmann.

Not finding seats, we wonder if we can make it to the balcony that runs above the Great Hall. We walk down the corridor and find a set of stairs. It is empty and bright. But we can hear the music as we walk and it seems as though we are in a movie: Mussorsky’s Promenade emulating a walk through the exhibition, us winding our way through the stairwells and hallways of Hart House. It seems to us to be the perfect way to attend a concert.

When we return to the Great Hall, we can see people standing at the doorway and on the sides; craning their necks to see and turning their ears to better hear the music. A small family seems to act out some of the ten suites that make up the piece. The father pushes a stroller back and forth outside the Great Hall in time with the Promenade, his young boy sleepy from the day. The mother of the family comes later with their older boy, who runs up and down the corridor then up to the stroller, into which he peeks and says hello to his brother. The two are quiet and cheerful, in sync with the

feel of the suite Tuileries (Dispute Between Children at Play) yet contradicting its title. Then in a funny way their scenario seems to suit the theme of Bydlo, a suite depicting an oxen cart, as the father begins to wear a little at having to endlessly push the stroller up and down the hall to keep his little boy quiet so that he (and everyone else!) can hear the music.

It seems lovely to me that not only is the HHO a group of musicians whose love of music is not a professional pursuit but a passion which they fit into their everyday lives, but that the evening of Mussorsky’s music was accompanied by a few friends exploring Hart House and the scenario put on by a small family: simple everyday scenes set to beautiful music. It all seems fitting with the beliefs of Modest Mussorsky, who once said: “Life, wherever it reveals itself; truth, no matter how bitter; bold, sincere speech with people—these are my leaven, these are what I want, this is where I am afraid of missing the mark.”

BAHAR BANAEI

Shallow, pale dialogue