The Varsity Magazine: Fall 2014

Ta ble of Contents 4

Portraits of transition

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Online counselling changes how we talk about mental health

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On condos and the Annex’s transformation

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The trials of finding “the one”

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In conversation with two emerging Toronto hip-hop artists

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Successes and failures of music genre mixing

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Making music magic with the right venue and sound

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The unique struggles faced by mature students

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“Safe Memories,” artwork by Emily Scherzinger

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Melding minds with the Hatchery

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Breaking down constructs of sexuality

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Relationships between neighbourhoods in Toronto’s east end

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Connections between third culture kids

34

Has online media killed print?

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Chessboxing and joggling: meet hybrid sports

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Fiction and poetry

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“#instacollage,” artwork by Shaquilla Singh

THE

VARSITY MAGAZINE vol. viii no. 1

21 sussex, suite 306 toronto, on, m5s 1j6 (416) 946–7600 thevarsity.ca EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Danielle Klein

editor@thevarsity.ca

MAGAZINE EDITOR Samantha Relich features@thevarsity.ca PRODUCTION MANAGER Catherine Virelli production@thevarsity.ca MANAGING ONLINE EDITOR Shaquilla Singh online@thevarsity.ca DESIGN EDITORS Mari Zhou design@thevarsity.ca Kawmadie Karunanayake PHOTO EDITOR Jennifer Su

photo@thevarsity.ca

SENIOR COPY EDITORS Lucy Genua copy@thevarsity.ca Rose Tornabene ILLUSTRATIONS EDITOR Julien Balbontin illustrations@thevarsity.ca VIDEO EDITOR Jamieson Wang

video@thevarsity.ca

ASSOCIATE SENIOR COPY EDITOR Hunter McGuire EDITORIAL ASSISTANT Emma Kikulis COPY EDITORS & FACT CHECKERS Karen Chu, Julia Hanbury, Emily Johnpulle, Emma Kikulis, Jynessa Marczuk, Hunter McGuire, Malone Mullin, Sean Smith, Maria Sokulsky-Dolnycky, Jonathan Soo, Suhas Srinivasan, Jessica St James, Michaela Vukas, Elliot Wright, Yi Fan Yin DESIGNERS Saveen Chadhad, Jasjeet Matharu, Janice Liu, Vanessa Wang, Tiffany Wu, Mari Zhou COVER Photo: Nicole Wong PHOTO & ILLUSTRATION Rusaba Alam, Julien Balbontin, Brittany Gerow, Elena Iourtaeva, Alexandra Scandolo, Emily Scherzinger, Shaquilla Singh, Catherine Solomon, Vivek Srikanthan, Jennifer Su, Nicole Wong CONTRIBUTORS Reshara Alviarez, Fiza Arshad, John Cockshutt, Joseph Ianni, Emily Katz, Emma Kikulis, Nishi Kumar, Jacob Lorinc, Sofia Luu, Victor Matak, Malone Mullin, Roberta Natale, James Lee Lord Parker, Corinne Pryzbyslawski, Ayla Shiblaq, Emily Scherzinger, Sandy Wang, Alec Wilson SPECIAL THANKS Nicole Wong, Sarah Niedoba, Kawmadie Karunanayake, Emily Scherzinger, soup & cookies & burgers, office cat, Murphy’s Law

Letter from the editor

Letter from design

Making a magazine boils down to a series of choices.

Months ago, when we began the process of producing the pages that you now hold in your hands, we had a vision. Naively, we thought it would all turn out according to the blueprint. The final product reads nothing like those expectations — just like, if I’m being honest, my life today bears almost no resemblance to the vision I had for myself at the start of university four years ago.

In this magazine, we explore the ways in which ideas, people, and things interact with, and subsequently impact, one another. The stories within illustrate how intersections and interactions create identity and innovation. Writers explore the overlap between neighbourhoods in Toronto’s east end (27), the relationship between print and digital media (34), and the deconstruction of labels in sexuality (23).

As students, our lives are in near constant flux, riddled with uncertainty as we question how our adult lives will take shape. In the pages that follow, contributors point out the paradoxes of young adulthood, exploring what it’s like to let go of memories (20), to put yourself out there in the dating world (10), and to let go of childhood memories and expectations (7).

Part of growing up is trying new things — experimenting with what interests us, what music we listen to, who we date, where we work, and more. The end product is rarely according to plan, but is instead the result of the choices we make, the challenges we overcome, and the streets that we cross. The only constant is change — the opportunities to discover yourself at each junction, not following the path you once imagined, but veering, curving, and crisscrossing towards where you’re meant to be.

It sometimes seems that we are always in transition. In the production of this magazine, that was definitely the case. In the course of designing these articles, we threw out countless ideas, tweaked visuals, and started from scratch more than we had ever anticipated. Producing this work was a journey in and of itself.

In many ways the process of designing this magazine was reflective of the content inside — always in flux, constantly evolving, and indicative of developing ideas within. The cover depicts a literal crossroads — the intersection of Queen Street West and Spadina Street. It represents the themes of change in the magazine, coming together at the beginning of production and serving as an anchor for its design — for once, the cover was the easy part.

The content of the magazine reflects a diverse range of people, interests, and spaces.

In designing these pages, we tried to mirror this diversity, individualizing the design to the text. From the literal intersection of the cover, we transition into more conceptual iterations of interaction to inspire our readers to think about the transformation we continuously find ourselves in.

Transition is not easy, and necessitates that we let go of the past in order to move forward. We tried to break our moulds with this magazine, push ourselves, and create a design that reflects the potential that comes with change.

— Samantha Relich Magazine Editor, 2014–2015

— Mari Zhou Design Editor, 2014–2015

Exposures A R T I C L E A N D PH OT OS By A LE X A N D RA SCANDOL O

Ben

E m ma

third year

second year

“I’ve tried a lot to identify or create moments of clarity in which I realize — either organically or not — that I'm finally an adult. I don't think that you truly know when you've grown up until you stop obsessing about the milestones in your life. I'm not there yet. My family lives in five different cities right now, and I'm the only one in Canada. Being somewhat separated from your family and not being able to see them more than a few times a year makes growing up a much more solitary experience.”

4

“I don't really feel fully like an adult. Sometimes I have adult moments, often in the grocery store when I put down something like Goldfish for something like whole wheat bread. I feel stuck in between though — adult enough to need to pay for hydro and decide my routine but young enough that it feels like I'm not ready to do either. I think there's a misconception that being an adult means having it all under control. Technically, I'm 18, so that means I’m an adult. I [don’t] buy into that misconception because I would never classify myself as one. I know people who are 25 that don't think of themselves as adults. I think it's about having a modicum of control and responsibility — and maybe not being as scared as I am.”

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Ar ika

J a m ayc a

second year

second year

“I don’t even know if I can consider myself an adult yet...

I know I’ve definitely matured over the years but I still do childish things occasionally. I’m kind… [of] in that stage where I’m not really a child but not fully an adult yet. I also don’t think I’m ready to embrace being an adult yet...

Sometimes you just don’t [want to] grow up.

For me, being an adult means that I am ready to take full responsibility for my actions and live independently (and happily) on my own. Being an adult also means prioritizing what is best for myself and understanding that it is necessary to make sacrifices sometimes.”

“I feel as though we put a lot of emphasis on attaining a certain career goal, or we all have individualistic values that are tied with the meaning of adulthood. You become an adult, you decide your career, you go to school for it — I feel like we sort of forget that people aren’t islands.

Everyone is connected... in the context of other people and in relationships with other people. I think that we forget that becoming an adult is learning how to live with other people.

In young adulthood, the emphasis is always on us: taking care of ourselves, going to school for ourselves to get a career… When we become an ‘adult’ and we start families... suddenly we are expected to care for other people.

There is emphasis on embracing this generosity. We often forget about that piece.

In my eyes, becoming an adult should emphasize a sense of community more, and we should use this time to practice being less selfish.”

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Changing with the times Online counselling is an accessible and efficient alternative for some students

By SANDY WANG

illustration By catherine solomon

I

n the act of balancing school, relationships, and other personal obligations, the average university student is no stranger to stress.

We all have different ways of coping, but sometimes the combinations of different stresses and anxieties can feel unbearable.

Recently, mental health has been subject to increased attention in our society, but responses to related issues are still in their infancy. Although the University of Toronto has some existing psychological well-being services, more initiatives are being established for students today in an active effort to improve mental health services and support on campus.

Many students are familiar with the Counselling and Psychological Services (caps), which offers short-term, face-toface, individual-based counselling and psychiatric resources. Although caps offers student support on a variety of mental health–related issues, it is often criticized for its long wait times and consequent alleged inaccessibility.

However, a recent initiative has emerged offering a new form of psychological service on campus that may benefit students en masse — a branch service under caps called Counseline.

The idea of Counseline was developed based on input and feedback from the 6

Health & Wellness Student Advisory Committee, which aims to provide students with wellness support across campus.

Counseline was launched by the FactorInwentash Faculty of Social Work in collaboration with the University of Toronto Sexual and Gender Diversity Office.

Janine Robb, executive director of Health & Wellness at U of T, says that the program “provides another option for Faculty of Arts and Science undergraduate students to access online and/or in-person counselling.”

Similar to traditional caps counselling services, Counseline offers short sessions via email or live chat to address immediate issues students are facing. Counseline is available to students experiencing mental health issues including interpersonal difficulties, challenging relationships, anxiety, depression, and issues related to sexuality and sexual orientation.

“Counsellors are able to provide students with various techniques, tools and resources to help address students’ counselling goals and to make positive behavioural and emotional changes,” says Robb. She adds that a goal for Counseline is “providing broader access to services, [and] increased options for students wanting counselling.”

Although counselling is traditionally conducted in-person, it has increasingly THE VARSITY MAGAZINE FALL 2014

developed an online presence. Individuals may prefer online counselling for various reasons — for example, many may find opening up in a face-to-face environment difficult and may find online interaction to be more conducive to expressing their concerns. On the other hand, some students may feel that this removes the human element of support and that it is challenging to develop trust with the invisible counsellor typing to them.

The main advantage of Counseline is the shorter wait times, making the service more accessible to a greater number of people; an online counselling service works well within the busy schedules of university students.

The reception of this initiative is not yet clear. Nonetheless, it does create an additional option for students looking for assistance coping with stress.

“Health & Wellness views mental health as a continuum from health to illness. There are many campus resources that will assist students in maintaining mental health wellness, including fitness and recreational facilities, healthy eating, meditation and student clubs, and a variety of health promotion programs and workshops. We encourage students to adopt a proactive and active approach to their mental health,” says Robb.

Lost in transition A glimpse into ongoing changes in the Annex and what they mean for the communi! and the ci!

By jacob lorinc photos By jennifer su

A

djusting to change is always difficult. After spending your life interacting with certain places and surrounded by particular landmarks, it is hard to watch as the layout and demographics of an area shift.

In March 2014, Honest Ed’s department store held a massive sale, giving away its extensive collection of signs and posters from as low as 50 cents. As I stood in the grueling eight-hour-long line to purchase the mementos, I was hit by an overwhelming gust of nostalgia, reminding me of all the times that I was hopelessly lost in the beloved store that is soon to be shut down.

Instead of seeing the iconic sign that reliably lights up the intersection of Bathurst Street and Bloor Street West every night, Honest Ed’s is set to be torn down and will very likely be replaced by another addition to Toronto’s already extensive population of condominiums.

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UNSUSTANAIBLE COSTS Turnovers in building ownership are hardly limited to major neighbourhood landmarks like Honest Ed’s — it is a challenge that the majority of business owners in the Annex are facing, caused largely by the ever-rising cost of rent.

Tony Merant, manager of Seekers Books — tucked away in the basement at the corner of Bloor Street West and Borden Street — has some colourful things to say about renting out space in the Annex.

“The rent is ridiculous in this area. It’s out to lunch, and it’s not good at all,” Merant says dolefully. “The rents are so high that we can’t cater to students without raising the prices, and then we just scare their business away. Even I’m having trouble, and I don’t pay the rent like others here.”

As the owner of Seekers Books for the past 27 years, Merant has seen the changes to the atmosphere and architecture of the Annex unfold around him. According to his account, in the past decade, the Annex has gone from a moderately priced neighbourhood to almost unbearably expensive.

“The bottom line is, taxes are getting too high. I pay $12,000 a year in property tax for this space, and this is just a basement space. So, what does that mean? It means that I have to sell $20,000 in books just to cover that tax,” Merant says, adding, “When I started out 27 years ago, it was about $350 a month. It’s gone through the roof, and it’s bullshit.”

In the same building as Honest Ed’s, a Bad Boy furniture and appliance store has set up camp where music icon Sonic Boom used to reside. The store’s move was not unprecedented; in 2011, Sonic Boom vacated its original spot beside the Bloor Cinema due to lease issues — eventually closing its Annex location.

The changes do not stop there. Book City was essentially run to the ground when the ownership became unable to afford the cost of renting out the space. Their struggles with 8

rent were heightened by competition with bmv Books, whose prices are substantially cheaper.

Mike Murray, the manager at the bmv location on Bloor Street West, had little to say about Book City’s closing, but had a similar opinion to Merant’s on the Annex’s current financial quandary.

“The rates around here are going up,” Murray admits. “It’s unfortunate to see places like Honest Ed’s closing. Everything changes in this neighborhood, and a lot of it has to do with the rates of square footage.”

A LOSS OF CHARM The closure of neighbourhood staples is only the beginning of the Annex’s new reality. As these iconic locations disappear, often accompanied with the demolition of their buildings, something new must inevitably take their places.

Neighbourhood transition isn’t always negative, however. Many Toronto neighbourhoods, including Parkdale, the Junction, and Regent Park, have undergone or are in the process of transition.

In Parkdale and the Junction, the change has been for the better, including, among other aspects, the flourishing of a vibrant cultural scene and an increasingly engaged community.

These transitions, however, are in many ways unlike the transition in progress in the Annex. These neighbourhoods had a clearer impetus for change — namely to improve the standard of living in the community.

On the contrary, transition in the Annex has been largely driven by rising rent prices accompanied by businesses simply not making money. These changes amount to new architecture coming to an old neighbourhood and a loss of historic charm.

In just the past few years, condo developers have moved into the area, planting one oversized condominium after another in an area that is often recognized for its unassuming shops. These hip storefronts now exist in the shadows of mega-towers, loom-

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ing above the neighbourhood’s original architecture and serving as a reminder of how unbearably expensive so many areas of Toronto have become.

Paul Bedford, Toronto’s former planning chief and guest professor in the urban planning program at the University of Toronto, explains that these changes disproportionately affect small businesses.

“Perhaps the key challenge is rising rents for small merchants who do not own their buildings. There will likely be a continuation of this given market trends if there is a demand for new and higher-end shops,” he says.

A COMMON PROBLEM Bedford also notes that these challenges are in no way unique to the Annex. “This is a common problem everywhere [in Toronto],” he adds.

In Merant’s opinion, even if you are able to afford to live in one of these condos, it would not necessarily be worth your while.

“I’ve heard from friends who own condos that pay $800 a month in mortgage,

and their condo fees are $700. They ask, ‘What am I getting for these condo fees?’ and the owners say, ‘Well, we clean the swimming pool once a week.’ ... Who uses the swimming pool anyways?” he says.

For students, the cost of renting in the Annex is often unmanageable, and the possibility of eventually living in a charming downtown home in the Annex seems increasingly unlikely as the city becomes more gentrified and housing prices skyrocket.

According to Louis Ceriz, the manager at Suspect Video, “[The Annex is] becoming less of a cultural hub, and more of a place to go eat and buy clothes, and that’s it. In terms of any kind of culture significance, it’s lessening, unless what replaces the stores when they’re displaced are other interesting establishments. But I can’t see that happening since usually the rents are jacked up, so no idiosyncratic store can open up in this place, and it just ends up getting homogenized.”

As condos gradually arise not only in the Annex, but also in the entirety of downtown Toronto, living in niches like the

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Annex will become much less plausible and the exodus of residents to the ever expanding urban sprawl of suburbia is likely.

Having grown up on the outskirts of the Annex, I have a certain attachment to the buildings that are no longer there, or that will soon be gone. The image of Honest Ed’s — from its outlandish signs to a line of jacketed Annex-dwellers swathing around the building waiting for their free Thanksgiving turkeys — is embedded in the cultural memory of Toronto. The highly nostalgic landmark being bulldozed can seem like “a goddamn tragedy,” as one local passerby dropping into my conversation with Ceriz poignantly suggests.

But in the natural life of a city, beloved buildings disappear and are replaced with new, modern architecture in cycles. In a burgeoning global hub like Toronto, the pace of change is remarkable, but somehow, the allure of the city seems to persist — and the Annex, with its streets of old Victorian houses, short buildings, and students ambling along the sidewalks, is weathering its evolution for now.

9

The death of dating

One student’s story of the trials of meeting the right one in a world of wrongs

O

n my first day at the University of Toronto, I realized I was only qualified to take one of the five classes I had signed up for.

Cursing my mistake, I asked myself how I would possibly be able to cope with moving to a new city, living alone, and keeping up with coursework if I could not even understand rosi.

I rushed to the registrar’s office at 9:00 am to resolve this academic catastrophe. It turned out, the office didn’t open until 9:30 am, so I spent half an hour chatting with another student, Jack*. When I emerged from the registrar’s office, I found Jack waiting outside to ask for my number. Jack was in a band, and he wanted me to come see him play that weekend.

I grew up in a small town with a minuscule dating pool. I’ve known everyone that I graduated high school with since nursery school — and there’s nothing that turns you off a date quite like the memory of your suitor eating his own boogers.

So when Jack asked me on a date just days after I had moved to Toronto, I was sure that I had reached the Promised Land.

I looked forward to going to cool, new locations with cool, new guys every week à la Sex and the City. I could hardly have been more delusional.

The Friday after I met Jack, I assembled four of my newfound friends to accompany me to watch his set at a popular bar in the Annex. Upon arrival, we were struck with an

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By anita penn* illustration By julien balbontin unexpected realization: with the exception of Jack and the wait staff, we were the only people there under 50. Jack was onstage, jamming with four geriatric jazz musicians.

“Which one is your date?” quipped one of my friends.

Although it was not what I had expected, I still enjoyed myself — I was looking forward to the party Jack had invited us to after his set. The “house party” ended up being a housewarming party that consisted of the new homeowner, his close friends, and us.

As I spent the evening trying to get to know Jack, the other guests smoked copious amounts of weed and wondered who had invited five girls fresh out of frosh week.

I count this as one of my most successful dates since moving to Toronto.

Since meeting Jack, I’ve been on my fair share of horrible dates. Recently, I went out with a guy who took me out for a drink where he works — except it turns out that he does not work in a bar. Instead, he led me to his start-up’s office, where he invited me to sit on a bean bag chair while he poured Baileys into Solo cups for us — “At least he has a job,” I thought to myself.

I comfort myself with the fact that I’ve had no shortage of “original” dates. A potential suitor once invited me to watch a movie and share a bottle of wine with him in a residence common room.

I liked the idea of a casual date. I approved of buying wine ahead of time and in bulk instead of worrying about the dreaded cheque THE VARSITY MAGAZINE FALL 2014

scramble, and I didn’t mind staying in our college residence for the evening. That was before I found out that he did not, in fact, live in residence; needless to say, I didn’t attend his proposed soirée of getting to know each other over wine and breaking and entering.

I don’t expect a lot from dates. All I really want is the opportunity to get to know someone better. But these days it seems impossible to see a potential suitor face-toface and in public without tediously texting and Tinder-ing. Even then, dates are reduced to ambiguous “hangouts” and “meet-ups” so that either party can pretend they were never really interested if things go south.

The date, I’m afraid, might just be dead.

Despite the overwhelming evidence of my personal experience, I remain hopeful. Just this week a man invited me to join him for brunch. Not only was he willing to commit the entire duration of a meal to spending time with me, but during daylight hours to boot. We might even stay sober.

I look forward to this date and to any others I may venture on. I anticipate that I will continue to encounter some misguided venue choices, awkward silences, and people that I am simply not compatible with. But in dating, as in most things, perseverance is key.

Personally, I will continue to root for good, old-fashioned courtship and chivalry — minus the chaperones, bustles, and patriarchy, of course. *Name changed at author’s request.

Transitioning to the forefront In conversation with two up-and-coming Toronto hip-hop artists

By corinne przybyslawski photos By jennifer su

O

f the niches that exist within the music industry, it is hip-hop that has earned a reputation as a genre whose sonic trademarks are in a constant state of evolution. With production that is heavily rooted in sampling, it is no surprise that the criteria to qualify as part of the genre have become so malleable. Every artist who emerges at the forefront of this musical niche inevitably becomes a leader for a new generation to follow, making hip-hop a constantly evolving and transforming genre. Sitting down in conversation with two emerging Toronto hip-hop artists illuminates the complexities and challenges of making it big while retaining individual sound.

Toronto native Devontée is quickly reaching a sophisticated maturity in both verse and production. He is an alumnus of the Audio Engineering and Production program at MetalWorks Institute, but an education alone is rarely enough to breed respect in the hip-hop industry, especially among ovo (October’s Very Own) members. With support from Boi1da, Devontée has performed as a rapper in Atlanta at a3c, and at producer showcases in Toronto, demonstrating why his multifaceted talent holds significant promise for a career in the music industry.

The Varsity: Who do you keep up with most in Toronto, and who are some of the artists that you personally keep up with and feel have the most influence over your work, if any?

Devontée: Of course Drake. I like PartyNextDoor. The artists at ovo have great music. To say what artists I really go out of my way to keep up with in Toronto, nobody — and it’s not because I don’t fuck with them. I’m not trying to make the music they’re making. I try to find new shit I could bring here. It’s because I know all of them, [but that’s] not to say I don’t listen to them. I listen to every artist. Jazz Cartier, Tory Lanez, Daniel Caesar.

Tory’s big now, he’s out of here.

TV: Have you worked with Tory or any of the other artists you mentioned?

D: I haven’t worked with Tory, but I was working with an artist named P. Reign. I was in the studio with him for a couple of months, during his album creation. Tory

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Lanez came to a couple of the sessions, and they were just making music. He’s a really cool guy, very talented. He can sing, he can rap. I don’t ever knock talent. I’m not here to do that. The one thing that I do not like about Toronto culture is that everyone feels like they’re the only ones able to make it and no one else should or can. It’s not a good mentality. I don’t think they understand what we could do if we all came together.

TV: How does Toronto differ from other hip-hop cities?

D: I don’t think it’s Toronto’s fault, I think we could change it. I think the only way to change it is to lead by example. Not even just music, but Toronto in general. I think we should smile more.

TV: It’s true, everyone you see on these streets seems miserable.

D: I don’t think it’s that they’re unhappy, I personally feel like they think they’re too cool. I was in Atlanta, and there was a street where I performed called Edgewood Avenue. There’s a whole bunch of stores, bars, and venues. All of the hot new artists like OG Maco, Makonnen, Key! and them, they all fuck with each other. They just show up at venues and work together.

TV: Do you see yourself as someone who’s at the forefront of that sort of mentali!?

D: Hell yeah. I’m a nice guy. Very nice guy.

Talkative. I used to get in trouble in school because I used to talk to everybody.

TV: It’s almost like if you tell people you’re great, they don’t believe you. So

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if you’re an emerging artist here, how do you break past that wall?

D: Just do it. Don’t care about what other people think about you, don’t try to impress anybody, don’t try to ‘make’ … If you want to make music for these kids and for your friends, then do it, [but] I’m not trying to just do that. I’m trying to be legendary. I want to make music for the world.

TV: What does your creative process look like?

D: I produce all my own music, so I start with the beat first. I go through random sounds, and once it starts unfolding, unless I’m driving and have a random idea, then I’ll try to build something around that. I don’t try to make a specific record. I never really organize it like “yo, I’m gonna go into the studio and make this type of a record.” Not a lot of artists produce their own music, or are that good at producing it. I think I’m pretty good at both.

TV: You’ve earned attention from notable figures like Boi-1da. As a result, do people ever try to put you in a box in terms of your sound, or compare you to Drake?

D: I’ve heard comparisons. Some people say Kid Cudi, I’ve heard someone even say Common. I don’t think I sound like Drake. I’ve gotten Kanye comparisons on my intro “By Now” in terms of my musical choices. If I ever get Drake comparisons, I mean, hey. I just know my flow and my voice don’t sound like Drake, but if my sound choices are compared to Drake?

That’s pretty cool. He’s the best out right there right now.

The term “rapper” has grown in the last five years to encase far more than simple, spoken word verses laid over uncomplicated drum loops. The thirst for greater success has driven artists to expand their talents into vocals, independent management, and digital production. Raz Fresco of Brampton has honed this mentality and become fluent in Reason, a production software, trademarking his production with eclectic and strategic sampling across hallmark decades in every genre. He’s performed as a rapper alongside A$AP Rocky and Joey Bada$$ across Atlanta, New York, and Toronto. With the release of his latest mixtape, Screwface on August 25 of this year, Raz has proven his ability to modernize the golden eras of the industry into a contemporary sound, earning him a pedestal at the forefront of the Toronto scene.

The Varsity: Where does your sound fit in Toronto?

Raz Fresco: The game is on a wave, a huge turnout wave right now. It needs to refresh its outlook. I feel that as an artist, I offer a different outlook, especially with this Bakers Club project. The shit I’m coming out with is sonically different. Personally, I’m trying to ride the wave with what’s going on. Toronto has seen a huge emerging bed of artists, it’s really bubbling, but I’m trying to offer a different look.

TV: Is it difficult to break into the Toronto hip-hop scene?

RF: It’s not at all like it’s in the States here.

It’s a bigger industry in America. Lot more energy, bigger network of things going on.

All the main labels and offices are there.

There’s way more market there and that makes it easier to break through, because there are so many lanes. Here it’s a small city, you’ve gotta put your foot down. The only way to gain musically here is to export.

TV: How do you export to the States?

RF: Use your resources. Artists out here know that too, and that makes for even more competition. We all know the music business is in the States. You can be popping out here to a degree, but you’re still not anywhere and that means you need to go to bigger markets. That’s what makes it harder to make that crossover and get those eyes, because everyone’s looking for them.

For Toronto kids specifically, coming up has been a little easier because we’ve had a lot more eyes. Definitely with Drake coming off the back heels, Kardinal. We’ve seen artists represent this city. Every generation makes it easier for the next generation to come on. I’m blessed to be part of this situation, because the Drake generation is behind me now, I feel like he’s had his own generation, and it’s a good thing that it’s coming off. It’s opportunity.

photo courtesy of RAZ FRESCO TV: How do you carry over from the past generation into a new sound and still stay relevant?

RF: You’ve still got to be able to translate whatever catches here to over there. I mean, hip-hop started in the streets. You can’t forget that it started without export. That’s a certain amount of scene that’s actually missing in Toronto. If you make it timeless, the era can pass, and only the best will stand out. It comes down to very unique personalities and charms at the end of the day. Stay close to your roots, but at the same time, don’t go over the heads of your audience. Get down to the understanding of your audience. Try to pose a formal question instead of preaching.

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TV: If the scene is missing in Toronto how do you find you way into it?

RF: Develop your own network, branch out. It’s never what you know, but who you know. From the jump, I wanted a larger network. I loved how far reaching it was and could be. That’s how Bakers Club started.

The Coma, P Black … I mean I’ve been making music forever, I don’t remember when I started rapping. [I’ve been writing raps] since first [or] second grade.

These interviews have been edited and condensed for clarity and length.

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Mixing magic The successes and failures of music genre mashups

By JOSEPH IANNI

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ometimes two music genres can come together in an unsuspected merger of minds that results in a novel, exciting mix sure to delight listeners of both sounds. Other times, two genres come together and we’d all rather forget that they did. Here’s a rundown of some artists who made mixed music magic — and others who should probably stick with what they know.

Hi t s Ed Sheeran — “I See Fire” (Kygo Remix) Norwegian musician and remixer Kygo isn’t the first producer to incorporate tropical tones into electronic music. However, his experimentation with folk and country songs tips into a completely different territory. The final products are downtempo and minimal tracks with a pop that makes them a great fit for a beach setting.

Mi s s e s Avicii — Hey Brother While the attempt at combining the highly marketable genres of indie folk and stadium house is admirable, the track “Wake Me Up” off Avicii’s album lacks the build-up need for a wowworthy dance track and misses on the opportunity to incorporate the choral vocals or intimacy of indie folk.

Avril Lavigne ft. Lil’ Mama — “Girlfriend (Remix)” It’s not exactly outside of the box to pair rock music with rap music. In fact, it’s been done several times quite well. But this pair’s attempt to meld the genres really fails to keep any of the redeeming qualities of pop rock and just becomes a generic pop song for Lil’ Mama to lay some vocals over.

Skrillex and The Doors — “Breakn’ a Sweat”

Post-hardcore and new wave never met in the ’80s, but Future Islands asks, why not now? The tour de force track on the band’s latest album Singles reunites two long-lost siblings separated in the punk movement, juxtaposing distorted guitars and raw vocals with eerie synthesizers and percussion.

Part of a project to pair DJ/producers with musicians of an older generation, this track just falls flat. It doesn’t stir up any kind of nostalgia or reminiscent feeling regarding The Doors or make for a meaningful experiment. A few bells and whistles circle round a synth line sandwiched with a carnivalesque guitar riff. It’s a miss — but I would have been intrigued to see the interaction in the studio on this one.

M83

Nelly ft. Tim McGraw — “Over and Over”

Electronica, shoegaze, and ’80s music are the cornerstones of M83’s long career. Most known for their mainstream breakthrough album Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming, the innovators of synthesizers in shoegaze provide a clear medium between rock ’n’ roll and electronica that is often hard to find.

If you are going to make a valiant effort to bring rap music closer to country, firstly, good luck, but secondly, good idea to call Tim McGraw. Unfortunately, I would hardly describe what Nelly does on this track as rapping. The song might actually benefit from Nelly just stepping right out of the track altogether, but then it probably wouldn’t count as cross-genre.

Future Islands — “Fall From Grace”

Foreign Beggars — “Contact” These uk rappers took the dubstep movement to new heights when they added their bombastic personalities and vocals to the wobbly basslines of producers like Skrillex and noisia.

Foreign Beggars, among others in the uk grime movement, embraced the opportunity to amplify the volatile elements of dubstep to greater heights with an added rap vocal.

Joanna Gruesome — Weird Sister A flurry of different genres from noise to punk rock to indie pop feature in this musical project. The culmination of this mixture is often abrasive but not without ear-catching pop tendencies. Oscillating between these two modes is often a hard task, but Joanna Gruesome effortlessly wields explosive punk rock with catchy indie sweetness.

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Punk Goes Pop These compilation albums bring post-hardcore and screamo bands together to cover current and classic pop tracks, but quite often the result is simply comical and ultimately results in completely devaluing the efforts of pop rock and pop-punk.

The whole album follows the following format: clean vocal verses, breakdown, and comical throat vocals choruses.

Spaces and sound A look at the intricacies of the soundscape and the science of acoustic ecolo!

By AYLA SHIBLAQ PHOTOS By EMILY SCHERZINGER

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cried when I got home that night.

When I saw Tim Hecker live, it was the first time I felt like I had lived a performance, rather than admired it. I had never imagined that my soul could possibly escape my body — but I swear, it did. I was willed into the darkness by the music, and, ecstatically, I followed.

I couldn’t entirely discern what I felt, what I saw, and, more importantly, how Hecker had managed to create an out-ofbody experience in a tiny room filled with festival-goers looking up the location of the next nxne after-party.

The creation of a soundscape involves a complex relationship between music and its environment — a science known as acoustic ecology.

The concept of acoustic ecology emerged from Simon Fraser University in the 1960s in what was known as the World Soundscape Project. The study was, essentially, a bunch of guys with glorious beards recording around Canadian geographic landmarks.

Though it may seem ludicrous, what they were doing is known today as the discipline of acoustic ecology — the study of the relationship between living things and their environment through sound.

Acoustic ecology asks how sounds impact the environment. The science investigates how the way you hear music is impacted by whether you are at a concert, in a recording studio, or running between classes.

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VIBES AND VENUES There are some artists that, without question, you have to see live.

From Flying Lotus, who is well known for his integration of 3D graphics on his current You’re Dead tour, to artists like sbtrkt and Bonobo who accompany their show with lasers and images on the screen, many musicians incorporate different elements to create a vibe.

Many audience members relish in the atmosphere of a concert, never objecting to an artist’s request that they dress up for a show, like during Arcade Fire’s Reflektor tour, or to St. Vincent’s insistence that audience members turn off their phones. The reasoning is intuitive — abiding by these requests allows you to be more immersed in the performance and to see the music in action.

The way the artist works with the venue and vice versa also impact the vibe of a live show. Venues come with their own host of characteristics and idiosyncrasies, and sometimes these dynamics are enough to prompt you to skip a show or, alternatively, frantically buy tickets.

The size of the venue, the design, and the location all play a part — for some, it would take a certain kind of artist to entice them to visit the Air Canada Centre or Sound Academy, whereas an artist playing at The Great Hall or anyTHE VARSITY MAGAZINE FALL 2014

where with a capacity smaller than 400 is almost always appealing.

INDIVIDUAL EXPERIENCES The experience of soundscapes is, however, very individual. Helen Geng, Grace Liu, and Danielle Sum, all musicians and students at the University of Toronto, agree unanimously on one thing: sound should be the priority and, if it sound’s good, nothing else matters as much.

Speaking from her experiences with classical music, Geng highlighted various venues specially designed for classical orchestras including Roy Thomson Hall, Koerner Hall, and Massey Hall. “If the venue looks good, sounds good, it will make you happy,” she said.

Sometimes the venue doesn’t make up for a bad audience, though. Geng described a talent show she participated in that was rowdy because the audience was predominantly drunk — ultimately, she was not compelled to play at all.

Some musicians go as far as to highlight when the audience vibe just isn’t right, like Sun Kil Moon’s Mark Kozelek did at his 2011 Lee’s Palace show. Someone decided to call out a prediction for what song would be played next and Kozelek retorted, “How the fuck do you know what I’m going to play? I don’t even know what I’m going to play.”

Of course, musical performances aren’t limited to live environments; you also

have screen time. Liu has her own YouTube channel where she performs covers. She finds that the ability to edit her performances for web viewing gives her a lot of freedom.

“I feel like everyone wants to express themselves. It’s not a matter of holding back or not, it’s a matter of doing what you want. You’re on there because you want to perform and be found. There’s a lot less judgment, too, unless it’s [from] people you know, but even then there isn’t really a reason to be judged,” she says.

The recording studio is a different matter. There is enormous pressure to get it right and to do so on the first try, since the cost of recording is astronomical for young artists.

On her experience recording, Sum recalls, “I found that it dampened my creativity and execution of the piece. Practicing alone has

so much less pressure, whereas my mistakes are immortalized on a recording.”

LINER NOTES Music has a way of not only capturing your state of mind, but also emphasizing aspects of your environment — such as listening to music that seems tailor-made for the weather.

“When I was a kid, I used to make playlists for when I was sad or happy. Nowadays, most of my music is angry and I find that now I just listen to that consistently,” says Sum. Liu found that emotions affected her musical choices more as she got older. “If I was really sad for the day I would play [a sad or dramatic playlist] and cry myself to sleep,” she says, continuing, “but if I was happy, I would play very summery music. For me, I feel like emotion affects my music choices more than the environment does. It’s defi-

THE VARSITY MAGAZINE FALL 2014

nitely different for everyone.”

For many music lovers, curating music to your state of mind and surroundings is a natural choice. I create playlists to fit the weather and sometimes fit my mood — whether it’s listening to The National or jazz when it rains, or calling on Sharon Van Etten during a typhoon, I carefully curate the soundtrack to my life.

Whether your personal soundtrack is based on emotions, environment, or both, music has a way of meshing to experience — the right song often seems to serendipitously find its way into your ears in the right place. I don’t know what the hell Hecker was feeling that night, but I know it was dark. That he could create, with sound, a piercing, tangible environment that I could lose myself in is the undisputed beauty of the soundscape.

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The dilemma of experience Exploring the unique challenges faced by mature students

By Malone mullin

By Malone mullin

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hen I started researching this article, I asked a classmate, who is 38 years old and in the first year of their undergraduate degree, to share their story about what some might call an unconventional situation.

“It’ll be a good thing,” I said. “You’ll let other older students know they aren’t alone.”

They agreed that talking about their experiences would probably help other mature students, some of whom undoubtedly feel a common sense of alienation in a school dominated by young adults. But they declined to have their story publicized out of concern that it would only exacerbate the difficulties of integration. It was hard enough to make friends already, they pointed out.

Navigating the trials and intricacies of university is harrowing as an 18-year-

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Illustration By julien Balbontin old, but can be even more difficult for those in their late twenties and beyond.

Starting university at a later age comes with a host of unique obstacles.

St u d e n t p o p u l at i o n gro w i n g yo u n ge r Generally, the University of Toronto defines a mature stuhdent as anybody over the age of 25. The Mature Students’ Association (matsa) extends the definition to include students who have several years of work experience or took time away from formal education, or who have “family responsibilities that the average undergraduate student doesn’t have.”

In 2012–2013, approximately three out of four students enrolled at University of Toronto are between the ages of 18 to 24. Yet despite the approximately 13,000 students who are 25 years and older, the median age of full-time unTHE VARSITY MAGAZINE FALL 2014

dergraduates is dropping. In 2003, the median age was 21.2; 10 years later, that number had dropped to 20.9.

For part-time undergraduates, the drop in average age is dramatic: students had a median age of 28.1 in 2003, but a decade later, that number had plummeted by five years to 23.1.

Dr. Thomas Socknat, academic director of the Academic Bridging Program — a program that aims to reintroduce mature students to formal education — agreed that students over 25-years-old may find returning to school daunting due to the prevalence of younger peers.

“Returning to education when one is over 25 years of age has its own set of issues,” he says, adding that there’s a “lack of confidence to compete with younger students fresh out of an educational environment,” such as high school.

Susan Murray, a mature undergraduate and treasurer of the Association of

in

Part-time Undergraduate Students (apus), knows what it’s like to compete with students who are used to being students.

“One of the more challenging aspects of being a mature student has been to compensate for the lack of foundational knowledge that most of my classroom peers possess,” she says. “This requires additional prep time for assignments and tests, along with very intensive study and reading.”

Unique responsibilities Another life circumstance that is often relevant to mature students is a high degree of family responsibility — whether it involves caring and providing for an aging parent or young children.

“Students who are parents face many challenges,” says Dr. Amy Mullin, viceprincipal, academic and dean at utm.

“One of those challenges is financial, because we live in a society where it is typically assumed that parents should bear the overwhelming majority of the responsibility for the costs of their children’s care, at least until those children reach school age,” she adds.

Raising children while on campus is expensive, and perhaps in many cases, cost prohibitive. Mullin points out that there are often waitlists for subsidized, city-run daycares, while childcare centres run by U of T, such as the Childcare Centre on Charles Street West, can charge up to $1,989 every month for infants. And even though the Ontario Student Assistance Program (osap) provides loan funding for childcare, Mullin says, “the amounts it recognizes are considerably lower than the child care costs many parents must pay.”

“Changes to osap to more fully account for average costs for paid care for children at different ages would be a very important way of making it possible for more parents to pursue higher education,” Mullin adds. While oncampus childcare fees at Early Learning Centres are subsidized by levies on tuition — lowering the out-of-pocket cost to $12 per hour for one child under five — Mullin believes that, given declining per-student provincial funding, “governments are the most appropriate source of funding for student parents,” not universities.

The issue of devoting time to family life is also one that is often encountered by older students. Writing papers requires time and concentration, and as Mullin acknowledges, “children’s needs can be unpredictable.” Mullin encourages students to request flexible deadlines if a dependent becomes ill or requires other assistance, but warns that this

initiative might be met with resistance.

“Some faculty and students might assume that most of the people taking classes at the university are young, supported by their parents, and do not have considerable family care obligations of their own,” she says.

Since this kind of alienation exists — which leaves student parents “feeling invisible and alone,” as Mullin states — it can be a challenge in itself, and Mullin encourages students to reach out and share their experiences, especially with other student parents.

The Family Resource Centre provides a venue for families at U of T to interact at no charge, and can be a valuable support network for student parents. Students may also consider part-time studies to accommodate family needs, using facilities such as apus to stay connected with peers.

Ma k i n g t h e mo s t Even for those mature students who do not have significant family-based demands, the age disparity itself can result in feelings of isolation. There are no universityrun centres for mature students, and the student-run matsa is not equipped to provide the resources and infrastructure

skills in the process.”

Murray went back to school at the same time as her adult son — both are enrolled at Woodsworth College. She believes Woodsworth has helped both of them adjust to student life. Although her academic experience has been challenging at times, she says, working towards her degree in art history has been largely rewarding.

“I am fulfilling a significant personal goal,” she says.

Socknat echoes this sentiment explaining that the reasons that compel a mature student to return to school are mostly personal, rather than financial or social.

“Most mature students embark on a general arts and science degree because they want to improve themselves and feel they have missed out on something and crave the learning experience,” explains Socknat. “And sometimes they have their heart set on a specific career that isn’t accessible with a college diploma and feel ready for that commitment.”

“It is about quality of life and not quantity of financial reward,” he adds.

For many, returning to school is an opportunity for personal enhancement and a chance to build a new set of skills, perhaps in pursuit of a career change or

“[A degree] is about quali! of life and not quanti! of financial reward... In fact, most mature students would probably agree that the universi! experience changed their lives.” necessary to facilitate a smooth transition for mature students struggling to make connections on campus.

A potential age gap should not necessarily deter one from taking advantage of the 800-odd clubs here at U of T. One of the best things a mature student can do, according to Murray, is dive into a variety of extra-curriculars.

“My academic experience has been greatly enhanced through volunteer involvement with campus clubs, societies and as a part-time student representative on Governing Council,” she says.

Murray elaborates that socializing outside the classroom is key to avoiding feelings of alienation. “It is through my campus life experiences where I have strengthened relationships with other mature students and student parents,” she says. “I have built new invaluable THE VARSITY MAGAZINE FALL 2014

other long-time goals. I asked Socknat whether he thought a university degree would increase the employability of older students compared to their younger peers.

“Yes,” he says, “an undergrad degree does help mature students achieve their career goals and perhaps, depending on the individual and circumstances, they may be more employable than younger students because of experience.”

“In fact, most mature students would probably agree that the university experience changed their lives,” Socknat adds.

Murray agrees. “I have faced many serious personal challenges in my quest for a degree,” she says.

Despite the difficulties, she adds, “there is no other place that I would rather be at this stage in my life.”

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“Safe memories“ photo BY Emily Scherzinger 20

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Incubating collaboration The Hatchery facilitates partnerships amongst students across diverse academic disciplines

By Emma Kikulus photo courtesy of William ye

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ith the largest student body in Canada — including a staggering 67,128 undergrads and upwards of 700 undergraduate programs — the University of Toronto is not the easiest place to make meaningful connections. Students are further isolated on several structural levels, including year of study, faculty, and specialization.

The Hatchery is trying to change this.

Created nearly three years ago, the Hatchery is one of the university’s most innovative solutions to building bridges across different faculties. The program is designed for students who think they have a marketable idea that they are interested in pursuing, but don’t know where or how to start.

Carmen Choi, a communications manager for the Hatchery, stresses the importance of academic diversity at the heart of the Hatchery and encourages students from multiple disciplines to get involved. “[The Hatchery] allowed me to network outside my comfort zone and meet people in more technical fields,” explains Choi. She has a humanities background and received a Bachelor of Arts in English literature and economics at U of T.

IDEA MAR KETS Networking is an important aspect of the Hatchery experience, and part of the first step in the program’s three-tier system: entrepreneurial evangelism, the Hatchery 22

process, and the startup launch. Phase one is designed to provide students with the opportunity to collaborate with one another outside of the constrictions of faculties and programs.

“The evangelism section happens throughout the academic year and feeds into the application process,” says Choi. She encourages students to attend Hatchery events, even if they don’t have a solid or coherent business plan, in order to connect with other, often equally apprehensive students.

Weekly “Idea Markets” act as informal mixers, which serve to facilitate networking and collaboration among students in a neutral, non-academic environment.

“The market is a casual way to bounce ideas off people and get a sense of what the public might feel about it,” explains Choi, who stresses the importance of interaction at the markets.

BUI L D I N G D I VE RS E T E A MS The goal of the Idea Markets is to establish relationships towards building a strong, multidisciplinary team for the next step in the program: the Hatchery process and application.

Stage two of the process emphasizes the importance of inter-faculty and inter-program collaboration, as well as proactively encourages women to become involved in potential startup teams.

According to Choi, women are a minority THE VARSITY MAGAZINE FALL 2014

in the program. “Entrepreneurship is tied, typically, to engineering and computer sciences, where, structurally, there is a deficit in women,” says Choi.

“The mandate of the Hatchery is to open up the space,” explains Choi, adding, “We want to tackle the problem [of female involvement] from a more equalizing space so it’s not gender[ed] or discriminatory.”

ME N T O RS H I P A N D L A U N C H The third and final segment of the Hatchery process is the startup launch. In this phase, which is only available to groups who are successful throughout the evangelism and application processes, students receive funding as well as support from influential members of the Toronto entrepreneurship community.

The mentorship program is essential for students who plan to pursue their startup as a full-time career.

“We have mentors who are on the board of directors,” says Choi, “[They] are entrepreneurial alumni who are interested in helping younger students ease the transition from being a student to someone who’s running their own business.”

“We maintain a relationship with [the teams] so that they’re not pushed out into the open and have to fend for themselves — our doors are always open. We really want to help them with succeeding,” she adds.

ARTICLE EXTENDED ONLINE at var.st/hatchery

BY Emily Scherzinger illustrations By BRITTANY GEROW

Exploring the complex, individualized spectrum of human sexuali!

Deconstructing discourse

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exuality is a contested concept. It is a topic that has long been locked behind bedroom doors, only to be discussed in hushed, sterile conversations. In recent years, sexuality has shifted outside the confines of private space and slowly and carefully into mainstream conversation. While gains have been made to liberate the topic of sexuality, it remains an enigmatic and untapped field, undiscussed within wider society.

“Sexuality is very broad, and it escapes definition,” admits Veronica*, a University of Toronto women and gender studies student.

“Sexuality involves all that has to do with attraction, unattraction, self-attraction, self-knowledge, knowledge of your sex organs and how they operate, appreciation or lack thereof of said organs and their functions,” she explains, adding, “It’s really anything to do with your reproductive or non-reproductive actions with another person that you’re attracted to. There [are] thousands of definitions of sexuality.”

S E X U A L I T Y T HR O U G H T HE Y E A R S This may be the contemporary understanding of sexuality from a student who specializes in the topic, but sexuality was not always as well understood as it is today.

Michel Foucault, an influential sexuality theorist, explored how sexual24

ity became “rigorously repressed” at the turn of the seventeenth century because it was “incompatible with a general and intensive work imperative” — essentially, everything was being measured in terms of wealth and productivity, and sexual expression for pleasure, economically speaking, contradicted the new system of capitalism.

Since then, the topic of sexuality has found its way into every aspect of human life, including social relations, academic institutions, and political affairs.

Today, however, reactions to expressions of sexuality have taken a dissonant turn. Open expressions of sexuality continue to be condemned in many circles, while simultaneously appearing to be desirable within public discourse.

For example, recently, many celebrities nude photos leaked — referred to as “The Fappening” — resulting in excessive judgemental Internet backlash against female celebrities’, who were simply expressing their sexuality through the act of photographing their bodies. Many Internet users blamed the incident on the victims of the leak for taking the photos, rather than pointing to the hackers who stole them.

At the same time, the media has become paradoxically more sexualized as a result of targeted marketing, making the concept of overt sexuality seem desirable. A flip through most commercial THE VARSITY MAGAZINE FALL 2014

magazines or a stroll down a city street postered with advertisements proves this.

In this way, sexuality is both vilified and idolized. Physical acts that express a person’s sexuality, such as sending a nude photo, are demonized, while the media continues to send sexualized messages to sell their products to their audience. The public, then, struggles to construct a healthy sexuality amidst a bombardment of contradictory messages.

IN R E A L I T Y When sexuality is manifested in public discourse as a mess of conflicting messages, subverting repression in pursuit of healthy sexuality becomes a challenge.

It is easier to do so today than ever before as open sexuality has finally entered the public discourse — but only within specific classes of Western society.

“For the upper echelon of society, I think you’re expected to have a few experiences with people in college, and then you… get married, have babies, reproduce heteronormativity,” Veronica says. “But when it comes to lower classes… there’s more of a push to experience more sexually… [But in] hipster culture, for example, you’re expected to have at least five sexual partners by the time you’re, like, 23 or 24,” she adds.

Some may argue that the “low” culture, which is associated with a new, youthful generation, is increasingly

more accepting of diverse sexualities, and, as a result, society will eventually be fully accepting of these sexualities; however, this is not necessarily the case. “[T]hose people, who are of high status, are reproducing other people of high status, and those people… who are within the same generation as us but are within a higher class, still operate within the same status quo as their parents,” Veronica points out, adding, “So they’re still expected to get married, to reproduce heteronormativity.

Maybe politically, there will be more leeway, but that’s just more… space available for people of different sexualities… [W]hen you think of your average country club… the kids who are born into that lifestyle… are going to want to reproduce that lifestyle, because it gave them… power, right? So it’s all just about power dynamics.”

While there may be more space available within the heteronormative political system for people of diverse sexualities, violence is still experienced at the hands of people attempting to reinforce this heteronormative power dynamic.

“When I was a kid, I used to get made fun of for being gay constantly,” Curtis*, a third-year student, admits. “[T]here was always the guys’ team versus the girls’ team, and I always went to the girls’

team… I never felt like I fit in with the guys, because they were… generally more violent. They didn’t really want to talk about the emotional side of things, and I always wanted to more,” he adds.

“It was upsetting,” Curtis says, continuing, “I kept on trying to reevaluate if what I was doing was actually acceptable. I felt pretty okay with what I was doing, and I don’t think this made me less of a guy, and I don’t think this made me less of a person.”

T HE F L U ID I T Y O F S E X U A L I T Y What is generally missed in the reinforcement of the heteronormative power dynamic is the fluidity of human sexuality — the fact that an individual’s sexuality cannot be measured, erased, hidden, or avoided, because it can subtly or dramatically change from day to day.

Sexuality is no different from every other aspect of the human experience and has been the subject of much measurement and debate. Many theorists have attempted to create tools to measure a person’s sexuality, including the controversial Kinsey scale, which attempts to gauge a person’s sexuality at a given time, using a scale from zero to six, in which zero is entirely heterosexual and six is exclusively homosexual.

Many theorists argue that the Kinsey scale is not comprehensive enough to cover all of a person’s individual sexual identities; however, it has been accepted in the public consciousness as an easy way to understand sexuality.

The notion of fluid sexuality, alternatively, is entirely individual, and thereby fundamentally unable to fit into any measurement constructed by another person. What one person defines as their sexuality may have the same label as another’s, but it will be an entirely different experience for both.

“I’m more accustomed to the idea of fluidity,” Curtis admits. “Honestly, if you talked to me in high school… I was like, ‘No, it’s necessary… Categorization is great.’ But now… [w]hat does it even mean?” “[Labels] provide comfort in times of uncertainty,” Veronica acknowledges, “but, for me, it really hasn’t been the best thing because, whether I identify as completely heterosexual or completely homosexual or bisexual or whatever, there’s always something left out… When I went to [one] end of the spectrum, it was a total pigeon-hole, and that didn’t feel right.”

Expecting people to put a label on their sexuality is a dangerous presumption within societal discourse. While it

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can be a comfort to some, it can cause trauma for others.

“I think just completely cutting myself off from aspects of myself was a violence,” Veronica admits when asked about her “coming out” and subsequent movement into visible queerness, adding, “I went way far off the deep end… I plunged into this idea of what it meant to be queer and to be a queer woman, just to make myself fit into a different circle of people… I completely reconfigured my whole identity around an idea that I had about myself without doing any deep analytical work or self-care.”

Let’s talk about sex

P O P UL A R D I S C O UR S E Within pop culture discourse, women are visibly objectified and hypersexualized. This is no more obvious than in today’s music videos, featuring celebrity look-a-likes performing sexual acts for the pleasure of males. The centrality of female bodies in these images fosters the belief that women are always dilapidated, vulnerable, and entirely submissive to the male gaze. fka Twigs, a 26-year-old British artist who defies genre classification, attempts to subvert this through her intense music that explores topics such as modern sexuality, as well as healthy and unhealthy relationships, open to all genders and sexualities.

In “Two Weeks,” one of the singles off her debut album, LP1, Twigs speaks with an aggression unmatched by female artists today, singing, “Feel your body closing, I can rip it open / Suck me up, I’m healing for the shit you’re dealing / Smoke on your skin to get those pretty eyes rolling / My thighs are apart for when you’re ready to breathe in.”

The interplay within these lyrics of violence and submission is a small example of Twigs’ revolutionary approach to sexuality in music.

Further, Twigs’ use of the word “you” to detail the subject of her songs allows the listeners to fill in the pronoun with their preferred gender, defying heteronormative classifications.

Twigs’ video for “Papi Pacify” also points to her assertion of more realistic images of sexuality. The video features a man cocking back Twigs’ head, repeatedly inserting his fingers into her mouth while she attempts to keep eye contact with the camera. This may seem like an expression of sexual violence to some viewers, or, to others, a never-ending embrace of rapturous submission.

Though the image may seem completely submissive to some, it can also be interpreted as Twigs being in complete physical control of the situation — representing a new way of depicting female sexuality in music videos in portraying females as willingly aggressive instead of passive and ready to be dominated.

IND I V ID U A L E X P E R IE N C E S Even Twigs admits that she finds sexuality entirely individual and confusing, varying, morphing, and changing from one day to the next. “... I’m 26, so I haven’t really figured it out yet,” she says in an interview with The Cut. “Sometimes I feel 15; other times I feel fully grown and mature and handling all my business. It can waver from day to day, hour to hour.”

Despite the societal tendency towards a binary approach to sexuality, it is entirely individual. While some experiences borne from social expectations of sexuality can be construed as universal, sexuality is experienced differently by different people.

“Why does everything about sexuality have to be so happy?” Veronica questions fiercely. “I don’t want to be happy. I want to drown in my misery and fuck some… dudes and chicks… Why can’t my personal depression and sadness and my anxiety go hand-in-hand with sexuality, and why can’t that work together? If I want to have the saddest fucking crying sex, why is that something to be ashamed of?”

“To me, it doesn’t really matter,” Curtis says triumphantly. “I am who I am.”

An umbrella term for people who reject normative sex/gender identities; the term can be applicable to queer heterosexuals, as well as non-queer homosexuals.

F l uid i t y: The concept that sexuality can subtly or drastically change from day to day, essentially calling for a breakdown of sexual divisions and appreciation of each individual’s personal expression.

He t e r o n o r m at i v e : A term that draws attention to society’s sexuality hierarchy, which places heterosexuality at the top as the default sexuality, instead of being one of many possibilities.

H y p e r s e x u a l i z at i o n: The depiction of bodies (commonly the bodies of women and girls) as sexual objects within the media, which filters into society and alters the way women and girls see themselves and are viewed by others.

S e l f- c a r e : The pursuit of care for one’s own wellbeing, both physically and psychologically.

Violence:

*Names changed at students’ request.

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Queer:

Within the context of sexuality, any harm inflicted upon an individual that is related to their sexuality, either psychological, emotional, and/or physical.

THE VARSITY MAGAZINE FALL 2014

By nishi kumar photos By vivek Srikanthan

Ci! of neighbourhoods Profiles of intersecting communities in Toronto’s east end

THE VARSITY MAGAZINE FALL 2014

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T

he corner of Homewood Avenue and Maitland Street is a complicated one. Looking north towards Wellesley Street, a nearly 40-storey condominium looms over historic brick apartment buildings. South towards Carlton Street, the Allan Gardens Conservatory greenhouse shelters homeless people from the rain. In the mornings, condo owners drop by Red Rocket Coffee on their way to work while young students play tag outside of Our Lady of Lourdes Catholic School. At night, transgendered sex workers meet their clients along Maitland Street. The view from my bedroom window shows Toronto — old and new, wealthy and poor — all coinciding along one street.

In our city of neighbourhoods, people often define themselves by where they live, and for good reason. With unrelenting condo development, a single city block can double in property value practically overnight. With more immigrants than almost any other city in the world, you can hear several different languages just by crossing the street. The boundaries between Toronto’s neighbourhoods matter in our day to day lives.

After several years of living in Toronto, when I finally ventured east of Yonge Street, I landed at the intersection of three

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distinct Toronto neighbourhoods: ChurchWellesley Village, St. James Town, and Cabbagetown. These neighbourhoods share much more than geographical boundaries: historically, this corner of downtown has been home to Toronto’s poor and marginalized communities. From those similar beginnings, these three neighbourhoods have evolved in stark contrast to each other, reinventing themselves to adapt to Toronto’s ever-changing population.

CABBAGETOWN In a city where green space can be hard to come by, Cabbagetown houses boast beautifully landscaped front gardens. The streets east of Parliament Street are lined with mature trees. It’s a quiet, family-oriented community, but it’s also only a quick ride on the Carlton streetcar to the bustling downtown core. Riverdale Farm and the Toronto Necropolis draw a steady stream of foot traffic to local, independently-owned businesses. The neighbourhood flag — featuring a bright green cabbage — flies above many homes along the streets.

Like so many Toronto neighbourhoods, Cabbagetown began as an ethnic enclave; the original residents of the area were Irish immigrants fleeing from famine in the mid1800s. The city’s British majority coined THE VARSITY MAGAZINE FALL 2014

the name as an offensive jab at the newcomers’ makeshift vegetable gardens. Cabbagetown was considered one of Toronto’s worst slums for decades — until savvy buyers noticed that the location and housing stock had serious real estate potential.

“This started back in the late ’70s, when there were a couple of real estate agents and investors that started to buy properties and started renovating them, and that basically gentrified the area and changed its landscape,” says Addy Saeed, real estate agent and Cabbagetown Residents’ Association board member.

Today, Cabbagetown is one of Toronto’s most sought-after neighbourhoods, with home prices to match: in 2012, the average price for a detached home was $1.3 million.

Since its rebirth about 40 years ago, the neighbourhood has made a concerted effort to build its reputation as Toronto’s architectural destination. Thanks to local activists, much of the area has been designated as a heritage conservation district by the province, making the neighborhood one of the largest areas of preserved Victorian homes in North America. The annual Cabbagetown Tour of Homes lets apartment-dwellers peek into the renovated interiors of these heritage mansions.

The front doors and fences are adorned by

plaques, telling the stories of the famous Canadians who once lived and worked in the neighbourhood.

Other than its quirky name, there aren’t many reminders of Cabbagetown’s former identity as an impoverished immigrant centre. Today, immigrants account for less than 30 per cent of the neighbourhood’s population — though still a significant figure, it is less than average for Toronto.

“Because of the prices being so high [in Cabbagetown], a lot of the immigrants are coming in and looking for cheaper shelters… they tend to be moving into apartment buildings,” explains Saeed.

High-density apartments and condo buildings have never been part of Cabbagetown’s landscape, and because of its heritage designation, that’s unlikely to change anytime soon. “So that’s where St. James Town comes into greater importance,” Saeed adds.

ST. JAM ES T OWN Moving north on Parliament Street, the scene shifts dramatically. North of Wellesley Street, the sidewalks become emptier and the inviting restaurants and shops disappear. Instead, imposing concrete apartment buildings dominate the streetscape.

St. James Town was built on a dizzyingly

large scale, a stark contrast to Cabbagetown’s charming low-rise storefronts. It feels surprisingly quiet, given that this single square block is officially home to 18,000 people — though local estimates suggest that the actual population is 25,000 — making it the most densely populated neighbourhood anywhere in Canada.

While Cabbagetown evokes images of the Victorian era, St. James Town is a relic of mid-century urban planning. Rather than revitalizing the existing buildings north of Wellesley, entire blocks of dilapidated Victorian homes were razed in the 1950s and ’60s to make way for modern “Towers in the Park” for Toronto’s middle class.

If St. James Town feels isolated from the rest of the city, it’s because it was designed that way — the principle at the time was to keep people, roads, and retail segregated from each other. Modern high-rise apartments, surrounded by expansive swaths of green space, were envisioned as a solution to the problems of over-crowding and pollution that plagued Toronto’s downtown.

It might be invisible to many of us, but within the collection of concrete towers is one of Canada’s most culturally diverse communities.

“There’s probably 60 to 70 different cultures,” says Chris Hallett of Commu-

nity Matters Toronto, a grassroots organization that facilitates employment and education programs for St. James Town community members.

St. James Town is home to over 11,000 newcomers to Canada who are looking for an affordable place to begin their new lives.

This commonality, along with the close living quarters, creates a unique sense of community cohesion in St. James Town.

“Because [constituents of St. James Town] share a common interest of trying to become established and trying to learn about Canadian culture and trying to learn about where they are… there’s participation in each other’s cultural festivals, there’s an attempt to learn different languages… But it’s all done as a group, it’s not done as individual cultures,” says Hallett.

The area is poised for new condo development soon, but it’s unclear how even greater density will affect the services and amenities in the community. St. James Town is a highly educated community, but the average income is less than half of the Toronto average.

Hallett says that most residents of the apartment towers are focused on their immediate financial needs, leaving little time for the type of civic engagement that has helped to mitigate the negative impacts of

condo development for other communities.

However, that trend seems to be changing: from advocating for healthier garbage collection policies to organizing the St. James Town Festival, community members have recently been joining together to make improvements to their neighbourhood.

“Before we had a very unorganized group of small, poorly resourced agencies… that void was filled by the community itself,” says Hallett.

This newfound sense of ownership could help St. James Town adapt to the changes and challenges that lie ahead.

C HUR C H-W ELLESLEY VILLAGE A little further west on Wellesley, rainbow flags fly on street signs and in shop windows. The business activity is more eclectic, from swanky cocktail lounges to fast-food chains to independently owned hardware stores.

The homes are a mixed bag too: there are a few of the high-rise apartment towers common to St. James Town, and a handful of heritage buildings more reminiscent of historic Cabbagetown. At night, there’s a steady stream of drunken party-goers on the street; by morning, couples with young children stop for brunch. Church-Wellesley is the picture of a neighbourhood in transition.

“The Village” has long been the epicenter of Toronto’s lgbtqqip2saa community. Its origins trace back to 1826, when the land was purchased by Alexander Wood, a British merchant and, some suspected, homosexual. The public began to refer to the area as “Molly Wood’s Bush” (“molly” being a derogatory term for homosexual at the time), and local lore suggests it has been a meeting 30

place for gay men ever since.

A mural on the northwest corner of Church and Wellesley depicts a timeline of milestones from the community’s lgbtq activism campaigns. The artwork is a sobering reminder of the political battles that have taken place in the neighbourhood.

From protests against bathhouse raids to aids activism to present-day Pride Week celebrations, the community leaders in the Village have been advocating on behalf of Toronto’s sexual minorities for decades.

As attitudes towards the lgbtq community have shifted, the Village’s identity is less certain.

“Gay people don’t have to go to the one area of the city to feel safe anymore,” says Laurence Heath, a resident of the area and sales associate at Northbound Leather, a leather shop near the intersection of Yonge and Wellesley whose products include corsets, harnesses, and bodysuits.

“You could go almost anywhere, especially in Toronto anyways, and feel fine,” he adds.

The Village is no longer exclusively gay; same-sex couples are moving out while straight couples are moving in. Although this greater acceptance is undoubtedly a good thing, it does change the face of Church-Wellesley Village, particularly for business owners who have historically catered to lgbtq clientele.

“You can’t just open up a business, put a rainbow flag out, and have all the gay men flocking to your store to patronize it.

It just doesn’t work that way anymore,” explains Heath. Northbound Leather hosts a monthly fetish night and describes itself on its website as “a proud supporter the leather, fetish, bdsm, gay, transgender, and THE VARSITY MAGAZINE FALL 2014

alternative communities.”

Alongside this cultural shift, gentrification of the area is evident. New condo developments are cropping up along Carlton Street and Wellesley Street, while major retailers buy out space along the commercial strip.

Heath explained that the independent businesses are struggling to keep up with the rising rents along Church Street. It’s a fate that Cabbagetown seems to have miraculously avoided.

“I see that little stretch of Parliament, from Wellesley down to Carlton, as being very similar to the way that Church Street used to be,” he says.

A N U N E VE N PA T H Like so much of Toronto, the northeast corner of downtown is a patchwork of disparate communities. These few square blocks have historically had an important role for those who were excluded from the rest of Toronto society, from early working-class Irish settlers, to lgbtq activists, to new waves of immigrants to Canada.

The histories of these communities play an integral role in their identity, but, as time passes, the connections to their origins appear to be weakening.

New infrastructure and demographics are moving in and replacing neighbourhood characteristics that once defined the areas’ identities and their place in Toronto’s patchwork of neighbourhoods.

The view from my bedroom window shows the overlapping layers of Toronto’s past and the uncertainty of its future. It’s an intersection that reflects our city’s haphazard history, the messy divisions that still remain, and the change that is undoubtedly to come.

On the move International students share their experiences of moving across the world and reconnecting with former peers at U of T

BY Alec Wilson PHOTOs BY RUSABA ALAM

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lexander Marshall, a third-year student at Woodsworth College, checked his Facebook to find an unexpected message waiting in his inbox. It was from a former classmate whom he had known years before when the two were attending an international school in Bordeaux, France. Included with the message was a photo of Marshall as a young boy with a group of other children.

“She asked me, ‘is this you? I haven’t seen you for about 10 or 11 years!’” he recounts. The message went on to say: “I remember your name. I still have a picture of you.”

Serendipitously, as it turns out, she was once again a classmate of Marshall’s — this time at the Univeristy of Toronto, hundreds of thousands of miles from where they had first met.

Depictions of reunion in film and television are often dramatic scenes marked by a swelling orchestral score as one character’s eyes meet another’s across a crowd. This particular reunion, despite a lack of a background score, was in many ways as implausible as something out of a cinema.

Hailing from places as far-flung as Iran or Brazil, or as a familiar as the us, U of T’s international student body — which, at 10,276 people, makes up 15.3 per cent of the total undergraduate population — represents a broad diversity of experiences. Individuals who grew up in a culture that is not their parents’ for a signifiant portion of their childhood years are called “third culture kids.”

The world is undoubtedly expansive and would not seem to lend itself well to intersecting paths on a mass scale. Yet, if mapped out across time and space, individual lives cross and connect with more frequency than could be imagined.

FROM MOVE TO MOVE Marshall was born in Chicago to a British father and Norwegian mother, though he only stayed in the us for a matter of months before getting on a plane bound for Holland as a baby. It was the first in a series of moves tranversing both oceans that would take him to France, India, Shanghai, England, Hong Kong, and finally, Canada.

The extent to which Marshall seems to find himself stumbling in and out of relations with former acquaintances is staggering.

Though they were never particularly close, Marshall and Steve Shi, a third-year Rotman Commerce student, had also met before 32

they ran into one another through a mutual friend on Bloor Street last year.

Shi, who was born in Vancouver in 1994, is the son of Chinese civil engineers who had found work in Canada. He left Vancouver quite young for Singapore before continuing on to Hong Kong and Shanghai.

Like Marshall, whose father is an international commodities trader, Shi’s father was also the catalyst for transplanting the family over the years. “Every time he found a better opportunity, he would just go for it. I don’t think he was concerned about moving too much,” he says.

Shi admits that the pace of travel throughout his childhood impacts his recollection. “It’s kind of hazy, to be honest,” he says of recounting his childhood years and the many temporary locations.

It was in Shanghai that Shi attended an American international school while his brother attended the British international school with Marshall.

T R A N S IE N T H O ME S Another expat, Jerome Newton, a fourth-year student at Trinity College, was born in the uk in a small town of less than 100,000 called Southport, about a 40-minute drive from Liverpool. But he has spent relatively little time in his country of birth — making “home” a rather challenging concept to articulate.

As a word, “home” bears all kinds of subjective significance, especially for someone who has spent most of their life in international transit. “I suppose home would always have to be where my parents lived,” Newton responds after careful consideration.

“Home changes all the time it’s not the uk anymore, and it hasn’t been for many, many years,” he adds.

Like many of the university’s international students, most of his younger years were spent travelling, following his family from place to place, continent to continent. His father’s job has required constant relocation and meant that, growing up, Newton was only ever able to spend three to four years in a single country.

Newton explains that the constant movement quickly became a part of his identity, particularly in his love of travel. “I find it comforting to travel,” he says.

Before arriving in Toronto in the fall of 2011, Newton had spent short blocks of time in the uk, New Zealand, Australia, and Sin-

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gapore, where he graduated from high school at the United World College of South East Asia.

C O N S TA N T C H A N G E Ironically, it would be Marshall, now one of Newton’s roommates on campus, who would provide the initial social link between the displaced Brit and another globetrotting student named Jamieson Wang, also The Varsity’s video editor.

Wang’s family left Tokyo before she was born, returning to her mother’s native Singapore so that their daughter could claim citizenship. Like both Newton and Marshall, she spent little time in her birthplace before moving. Her father works for Singapore Airlines, which has required him to shuttle between sales offices across Asia during Wang’s childhood.

Change was a constant fixture in her life, even during periods where her family was settled. She described the experience of international school as perpetually in flux. “Having new kids every year was so common, and having your friends leave every year was so common,” she says.

“I got used to [moving] very quickly,” she adds, “I kind of knew that it was what I had to do.”

She attended schools in Japan, Indonesia, South Africa, Spain, and finally returned to Singapore to graduate from the Overseas Family School.

Wang and Marshall met during his frosh week in 2012, when she and Newton — yet to be introduced — were already in their second years at U of T. Though she would not meet Newton through Marshall until 2013, the two were separated by only

eight kilometres for a year in 2009 when he was down the road at United World College.

It was in Japan at the Nagoya International School (nis) that Wang crossed paths with third-year student Yukari Kosaka.

Unlike the others, Kosaka stayed at nis from pre-school as a toddler through to high school. “It was a tiny, tiny school, probably around 300 from preschool to high school, and I graduated in a class of 17 students,” she describes.

Wang was not in that graduating class; nevertheless, the two recognized one another when, years later, Kosaka enrolled at Woodsworth College. Across continents, this small group of people has managed to bump into one another time and again, and inevitably coalesce at U of T — but having engaged in so many communities, knowing others across the globe is normal for these students. While this repeated shifting can be polarizing, for many internationals, the act of moving has become an important constant in their lives.

Rachel Hillcoat, a political science and international relations student enrolled at University College and former classmate of Kosaka and Wang, was born in Canada but moved with her family to Japan shortly after. She describes experiencing a sense of disparity between her cultural identities. She hopes to eventually find a career that allows her to move around a lot, ideally between her two homes in Canada and Japan.

“Probably because of my upbringing, I definitely see myself moving around a lot in the future,” she says, adding, “I don’t think I could ever stay in one place my whole life.”

Printing digital

By Sofi a Luu & Emi ly Katz

Adapting to the new industry landscape in publishing requires an understanding of both print and online

I

t’s challenging to tell a story in 900 words.

Nine hundred words is only about three pages double-spaced. It’s the number of words we were assigned for this piece — which we slightly exceeded, but will likely be trimmed down to by the editor. This isn’t a number that’s been pulled out of thin air — it’s a very informed amount that provides a glimpse into how print media works. It’s a number dictated by the editor’s plan and what they have in mind for this particular story and where it stands in relation to the other stories in this magazine. It’s a number that reflects the resources at the publication’s disposal, design limitations, and visual specifications. It’s a carefully chosen figure, one that can make telling a story in its entirety very hard — but this is the reality of print.

There are several tropes that plague discourse around modern media consumption, such as social media addiction, listicles, and the catch-all phrase that “print is dead.”

In the last few years, a common step for many longstanding print magazines has been to stop print production entirely.

These shifts are usually hailed by critics as proof of a dying industry — but transitions to web may not necessarily be the death knell they are often perceived as.

AN EVO LV ING INDU STRY The fact is, print isn’t dead — its impression as such is emblematic of wider evolution in the publishing industry.

The most profitable magazines today are tabloid weeklies, glossy fashion publications, and lifestyle magazines from the likes of Oprah Winfrey and Martha Stewart. Owned by media conglomerates, publications such as these face fewer financial challenges than smaller-scale, niche products.

David Rose, a publisher from Lapham’s Quarterly, differentiates between the power of strong editorial design versus business make-up. After almost two decades of publishing experience, he argues that the opposite of what we may think is true: a magazine with low-quality content will sell if the business model works.

Despite these challenges, magazines like Hazlitt are inverting traditional standards with new editorial approaches. Ha-

zlitt was founded on the notion that good writing can make anything interesting — even a dense finance story.

Haley Mlotek, editor of The Hairpin, is inclined to agree.

“I really think that if I chose the writers and the articles I believe in, if I publish articles I really believe people want to read, then I’ve done my job,” she says.

Mlotek admits that it’s not an exact science, adding, “My faith, if you want to call it that, lies primarily with the writing first.”

The publishing giant, Random House of Canada — now Penguin Random House — created Hazlitt as their digital space to showcase good writing on any and all topics. Random House is straddling the space between print and online, employing its traditional model of publishing in the web realm.

TH E E L A S T I C I T Y O F D I GI TA L From a creative perspective, there are no technical boundaries to what you can publish online.

The internet comes equipped with hundreds of different platforms and tools designed to make using it easier.

Sites such as Wordpress, Tumblr, and Medium have opened up the act of publishing to pretty much anyone with a decent WiFi connection and valid email address. Articles have the potential to come alive with the addition of multimedia and interactive elements such as audiovisuals and infographics.

“Online, there are some things I can do that you can’t do in print, like publish really timely pieces or not worry so much about things like word count or page layout,” Mlotek explains, adding, “It’s more flexible to the writing.”

Digital content is also more universally accessible to readers. Physical magazines are only available in certain locations to those who can afford them. When we’re reading online, we don’t have to purchase an entire issue of The Atlantic just to read one feature — and, if we really like that one article, we can save it to revisit and share it on social media towards facilitating a conversation about it.

Print publications often cater to a target readership. When you’re a digital publication, however, you might have a target readership in mind — but if one THE VARSITY MAGAZINE FALL 2014

article goes viral, your audience can dramatically expand in a matter of hours.

For print, the number of issues being produced and the amount and value of advertising space being sold are strong indicators of a magazine’s health — but measuring success online is more challenging.

There are a number of things that an editor can consider to gauge how well an article is doing, such as page views or the number of shares on social media.

Mlotek emphasizes that success in terms of page views doesn’t necessarily mean a positive public response, however. “I can think of a lot of articles published online that are technically successful because people ‘hate read’ them,” she explains.

“On the other hand, it’s really important to me that I see some reaction… I want to see what readers think about a piece, how they feel, what they like or don’t like,” she adds.

NOT DEAD YET Rose argues that the reason print magazines fail is not due to poor quality, but merely lack of publishing expertise.

Looking back to a decade ago, when the digital sphere was rapidly expanding, print publishing skills were often entirely cast aside to make way for their digital counterparts.

It is not uncommon for magazines to experience success online and then flounder when looking to expand into print — which Rose attributes to a lack of knowledge of the fundamentals of print, including balancing a budget, marketing strategically, and management.

Today the digital magazine industry is showcasing innovative editorial visions — and while the online model allows for complete creative freedom, it is the intersection with print that measures the resilience of these publications. The loss of each small, independent magazine is used as fodder for the growing idea in our minds that print is, in fact, dead. Print does, however, live on — in some cases with great success. The fork in the road between print, online, or both presents a choice for publications. The decision they make depends on their preparedness in tackling the medium, not on a flaw in the medium itself.

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Chessboxing, anyone?

Hybrid sports bring creativi! to athletics

S

ome people stubbornly insist that there’s no sport out there for them. They’ve tried the usual suspects, from volleyball to tennis, to no avail. But beyond typical activities, there exists a far greater realm of possibilities than those that the traditional sporting world offers — one of the best examples being hybrid sports. The world of hybrid sports may not seem particularly rich beyond the soccer-baseball days of middle school gym class — but, in fact, there are several activities that fuse together sports to create new niches within the seemingly static world of sport. Over the past few years, these inovations in sport have been rising in popularity.

From chessboxing to joggling, the possibilities for bringing creativity to your athletic endeavors are endless.

FULL ARTICLE ONLINE at var.st/joggling

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THE VARSITY MAGAZINE FALL 2014

By Reshara Alviarez illustration By CATHERINE SOLOMON

Interactions/reactions Fiction and poetry exploring intersections and transformations E x er cis e in Se t t ing

Iner t i a

John Cockshutt third-year

Roberta Natale

From the height of a primordial shore, I saw for miles in every direction. Down below, the bay was stretched out before me: the bright blue reflection, the white caps, the chill swells and the brisk. Gulls careened this way and that, never beating a wing, carried about on the powerful arms. The sun was out, but it was not sunny. Nor was it cloudy. It was a mysterious sort of day, with a sky that beckoned azure but gave way indiscriminately to a kind of haze that dampened the light.

The wind carried inland from the bay, sifting through the now bare woods of late autumn.

On it went, in my direction.

Eventually it met the foundations of the primordial shore, now the ridge. Nowhere to go, it ascended. The wind went over the dales and the brooks and the clear cut valleys of sweet maple and virulent pine and barbed firs. It cut through the dripping wet rocks and over the crunch of the leaf floor that covered everything. The wind came for me, standing alone on the edge of that hilltop that had once been its own shore, countless years before.

What mineral deposits lay under me? What crustacean fossils were embedded deep within the igneous shapes? I was buffeted constantly by the ascending wind, which swept over and around and through me, howling giddily on my ears.

My polyester coat rubbed the wind and chafed it, making all kinds of zipper like noises.

The palms inside my red mittens were sweaty.

I was very Canadian in that moment. There was not even a shred of dread that I could draw out of the whole landscape. This was where my grandfather had spent his last years.

What did he see? Was it what I was seeing?

Was that all? Was it all just sentiment?

I looked out again and the uncertainty cast itself over the bay. A cloud must have rolled by overhead, obstructing the day star. The gulls had gone, down over the shore. The wind had picked up. Now it was overwhelming. I moved back onto the path, the satisfying crunch of leaf bones heralding my every move. The path was wet pebbles. It was that season — everything was inexplicably wet. The path crunched under my feet too, but this sound was more pleasant, and as I listened to it while I walked, I fancied that it sounded like the steps of multiple people in unison.

An army perhaps?

Ahead, two pine trees guarded either side of the path as it led into the empty woods.

Only a few words spoken and everything is different.

The seam suddenly separates and the ground disappears.

Centrifugal force called to action, Don’t look down.

I am a diver treading the murky waters of a disturbed ocean floor With heavy chest and weary wringed lungs.

The golden key is floating within my reach—like a baited hook.

Stand naked on the other side or stay here, cloaked in armour; I simply cannot decide and the moment passes.

Standing where I was, cracked ground beneath my feet, The three sisters snicker—how foolish to think I had a choice.

Roll the rock uphill, again and again.

Imagine what could have been, the neverending game And play out what I would have done if Hercules was my name.

R equiem f or T ho se W ho M at t er James Lee Lord Parker third-year, humanities Afraid they’ll talk about him in the news?

It wasn’t at a major intersection.

Here’s to you, oh, Hitler, Stalin, Gandhi—names we won’t forget.

The ones we’ve chiselled, painted, spoken of, composed as silhouettes for future youths to know the moral dos and don’ts that they should follow— lessons bigger than the whole or holes in which the dead must wallow.

Tell me now: If death’s a measure of the absence of your presence, what’s the value of some jumper’s pin-sized crater of importance?

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B at hr o om a nd H a l lway Victor Matak fourth-year, history specialist It’d been about five minutes now, the mirror light flickering; you could see how it made you look paler. My breath was fogging the glass, and everything seemed more vivid. The velvety air seemed different in this part of the house, and I effortlessly followed the dipping and turning of my face as it moved with the mirror. Then I looked at my upper lip (a metal pipe), nose (falling down the stairs), ears (sporting events), and eyes (birth). I squatted down, releasing air out of my knees; you could hear the clap-clap-clap of water running in the toilet. I could feel everything more than I would have liked to.

Then I turned my back to the mirror.

I guess this is what it feels like, when you suddenly notice you’ve aged.

The prevailing voice in the room, myself, reminded me that I was brooding. I thought about the places I had spent the worst nights of my life: dark nightclubs, bars, movie theatres, street-events, beaches, people’s faces, homes, and cars (places I went searching for comfort and wound up feeling nothing but uncomfortable). That thing, that ghostly wraith that flies through the world, that thing that had killed my mother, was in the room with me. I wasn’t confronting it, I was embracing it. I suspect, in exceptional cases, self-loathing is healing. It’s a tough thing to do, being honest with yourself.

I shut the tap; I listened to the puttering of the sink end.

The hallway looked endless, I wondered if I would get lost walking down it, if it would really never end. Then I began to walk towards the bedroom. Then I went into the washroom, cleaned my teeth, and splashed some more water on my face. I measured the length of the bathroom, some five or six feet long and eight feet high. Then I went back into the hallway, turned around, breathing rapidly, a sinking feeling in my chest, and went back into the bathroom, back onto the toilet seat, back to looking at the room’s height and width.

I sat on the toilet seat and looked around.

There wasn’t much, toothbrushes, paper towels, the absence of a medicine cabinet, some lipsticks and mascaras dispersed around the sink. Nothing to explain why I hadn’t noticed any of it before. I ran the bath, I ran the sink, I ran the toilet. Then, I realized, it was too quiet and I began to look around all over again, thinking, don’t let yourself slip, don’t, don’t, don’t, let yourself slip.

Somehow I’d missed the photograph of my family on top of the sink. I took it off the wall and readjusted towards the bathroom door, catching the light. I went to lean my hand on the doorframe but I missed and it landed on the wall. Then I pleasantly let myself slip down. I was sitting on the floor now, my back against the door. I brought the photograph up to my

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eyes; it’d only take a minute, I thought. I’ll be back on my feet in exactly one minute. I floated into that picture, letting myself become numb.

Perhaps, I thought, I could relive the memory this way.

The Pacific National Exhibition was a place my family couldn’t tolerate for longer than ten minutes (this is where the photograph had been taken). There was an all-day shuttle bus that ran on West Broadway and you didn’t have to worry about paying the three dollar fare. The rides, the music, the food, the golf carts, and fortune tellers made all of us volatile and impatient. I remembered we stopped going the year my father read in the morning newspaper that three people had been gunned down waiting for the Ferris wheel. I remember feeling lucky, as if my family had been those three people and we had disinterred some truancy about life that hadn’t been available to us before.

It was slipping away from me, the moment.

So I held the photograph higher, I tilted it to the left and right, until I had memorized the image of Jack, Devon, dad, mom, and myself wearing sombreros, eating cotton candy, and looking happily foolish. Anything that would happen, hadn’t happened yet; this looked like a naïve family, in the same way that squirrels look naïve scrambling down trees. I grasped, I slid up the wall and accidently turned off the lights.

I groped in the darkness, the sensation was fleeing. Then I knew it was gone, and it wasn’t coming back either. Then I found the light switch.

Memoir s of t he W ind Fiza Arshad fourth-year, neuroscience and creative writing The wind whistles, like the choo-choo of a train (as a child would tell you) as steam rolls off into the bottomless blue; and travels over the tree tops, scraping its fingernails, slightly, along the branches.

A plethora of voices echoes in the resounding silence of the different shades of green greeting the footsteps of the draft, which bids au revoir to a flash of maroon.

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