The Varsity Magazine: Winter 2014

THE

VARSITY MAGAZINE Vol. VII, No. 2 | Winter 2014

February 24, 2014

Table of ConTenTs 4 Recreating The Varsity’s archival photos 6 Writer Heiko Julien on alt-lit and the Internet 7 Meet the owner of Courage My Love 8 The evolution of DIY 10 Behind the finished product in fashion 11 Why some hipsters have beards 14 Kick-ass cover songs 15 Local perspectives on the music industry 18 How to understand modern art 20 What is the authentic student experience?

22 Medication and mood disorders 23 What it’s like to be HIV-positive 27 Conversations on Asian identity 30 Politicians are (sometimes) liars 32 Fusion food is the new Canadian cuisine 34 Manic Pixie Dream Girls (are not a real thing) 36 Taking the sports out of stadiums 37 Fiction and poetry 39 “Clear Night en Rho,” artwork by Wendy Gu

The Varsity Magazine has a circulation of 20,000, and is published

by Varsity Publications Inc. It is printed by Masterweb Inc. Content © 2014 by The Varsity. All rights reserved. Any editorial inquiries and/or letters should be directed to the editors associated with them; emails listed above. The Varsity Magazine reserves the right to edit all submissions.

Please recycle this issue after you are finished with it.

THE

VARSITY MAGAZINE VOL. VII NO. 2 21 SUSSEX, SUITE 306 TORONTO, ON, M5S 1J6 (416) 946–7600 thevarsity.ca

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Joshua Oliver

editor@thevarsity.ca

MAGAZINE EDITOR Danielle Klein features@thevarsity.ca PRODUCTION MANAGER Dan Seljak production@thevarsity.ca MANAGING ONLINE EDITOR Murad Hemmadi online@thevarsity.ca DESIGN EDITOR Shaquilla Singh

design@thevarsity.ca

PHOTO EDITOR Carolyn Levett

photo@thevarsity.ca

SENIOR COPY EDITOR Catherine Virelli copy@thevarsity.ca ILLUSTRATIONS EDITOR Nancy Ji illustrations@thevarsity.ca VIDEO EDITOR Jamieson Wang

video@thevarsity.ca

ASSISTANT MAGAZINE EDITOR Sofia Luu ASSOCIATE DESIGN EDITOR Mari Zhou ASSOCIATE SENIOR COPY EDITORS Lucy Genua Rose Tornabene EDITORIAL ASSISTANTS Victoria Banderob Theodore Yan COPY EDITORS & FACT CHECKERS Armen Alexanian, Faith Arkorful, Lois Boody, Karen Chu, Lucy Genua, Elena Gritzan, Olga Klenova, Malone Mullin, Sarah Niedoba, Zane Schwartz, Rose Tornabene, Kelly Turner, Catherine Virelli, Theodore Yan DESIGNERS Kawmadie Karunanayake, Dan Seljak, Shaquilla Singh, Mari Zhou COVER Photo: Jennifer Su, Illustration: Olga Abeleva Model: Madison Schill PHOTO & ILLUSTRATION Olga Abeleva, Julien Balbontin, Victoria Banderob, Wendy Gu, Shafak Khanani, Carolyn Levett, Malone Mullin, Ann Sheng, Max Stern, Jennifer Su, Nicole Regina Wong, Alex Wong, Doran Woo, Alice Xue, Adam Zivo CONTRIBUTORS Elizabeth Andrews, Victoria Banderob, Elizabeth Benn, Daniel Konikoff, Kathryn Kuitenbrouwer, Victoria Kuketz, Sofia Luu, Melina Mehr, Natalie Morcos, Malone Mullin, Sarah Niedoba, Ishita Petkar, Corinne Przybyslawski, Samantha Relich, Madison Schill, Catherine Virelli, Alec Wilson, Theodore Yan, Adam Zachary, Lindsay ZierVogel, Adam Zivo SPECIAL THANKS Natalie Morcos, Samantha Relich, Alec Wilson, Pensive cat of the past, Squirtle (as “Dog”), Drake

Letter from the Editor Letter from Design This is a magazine about truth, so allow me to be honest with you: writing this letter is an agonizing experience.

I’ve always had the distinct feeling that, one day, I will be found out. Inevitably, somebody will put it together that I’m not quite as adequate as I present myself to be. Who am I, really, to write to you on this page?

As it turns out, many have this experience, and it’s called imposter syndrome — the insecurity that, in spite of patent evidence to the contrary, you’re a fake, and it’s only a matter of time before everybody finds out.

Our first magazine was about our dreams, and the way time has changed them. In this magazine, we asked about our realities — the way things seem, and the way they really are.

Writers explore the legitimacy of alternative literature (6), the underpinnings of hipster masculinity (11), and the counterintuitive cultural congruity of fusion food (34).

True stories are often difficult, reflecting the diverse struggles that individuals contend with every day. Students shared their experiences with mental health issues (22), entrenched stigma (23), and navigating identity (27).

Whether or not you realize it, your story is legitimate. There is no one experience of being a university student, or of being anyone else at all, that renders yours less authentic in comparison. You are not a fake — you are an individual with a truth, and it’s yours to tell.

The pages of The Varsity didn’t always look the way they do now. In our oldest issues, columns upon columns of small black text filled the space, with occasional ads boxed away in the corners.

The magazine is an extension of changes in approaches to designing the paper. The tension between old and new was one we explored in designing this magazine, revisiting our archives to recreate old photos and our closets to rediscover (and get distracted by) our collections of Pokémon cards and game boys.

The central inspiration for designing this issue was perception, mimicking the articles’ exploration of appearances and reality. On the cover, we wanted to represent authenticity in the self. The front cover of the magazine represents inner life, with the closed eye and the bizarre, whimsical doodles representing the clutter of our minds. The back cover, with the eye open and staring at you from stark, white space represents the naked face we present to the world. Whether the person within or without is the authentic self is a matter of contention.

While our design looks different now, we continue to be inspired by our predecessors.

Just as the splashes of watercolour on the cover seep into the free-hand doodles, so too does the past linger into the present, influencing and creating who we truly are.

— Danielle Klein Magazine Editor, 2013–2014

— Shaquilla Singh Design Editor, 2013–2014 Left: The first recorded picture of The Varsity staff and mascot (bottom left corner), taken in 1885.

Below: The Varsity magazine team now (with new mascot, bottom left corner)

The more things change...

Carolyn Levett The Varsity

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Far left: originally published circa 1955-1956 Centre: t 1 0 originally published in vol.

LXXV no. 44, November 29, 1955 Bottom right: originally published in vol. XC no. 10, October 15, 1969

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Left: i

originally published in vol. LXXV no. 17, October 31, 1969 Bottom left: originally published circa 19551956 Bottom centre:

originally published in vol. LXIX no. 22, October 24,1949 Bottom right:

2014 originally published in vol. LXIX no. 24, October 26, 1949

THE VARSITY MAGAZINE | Winter 2014

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Heiko Julien 27/M/Chicago

i Natalie Morcos | omewhere near the end of the last decade, an acutely self-aware, Adderall-ridden wind blew through the depths of the Internet. The trees stirred in the Tumblr forest as slowly, a new vanguard of writers — led by alternative literature pioneer Tao Lin — started to come into prominence.

This new brand of writing was tied to the Internet in a way that hadn’t previously been possible. Distributed primarily via blogs, eZines, Twitter accounts, and journals, and characterized by intense self-reflection, alt-lit expresses contemporary life, examined. The works come off as both juvenile and profound — adult topics addressed with a child-like directness, punctuated by home-cooked image macros, gifs, and collaged jpegs, yet with undertones of validation, existential angst, and self-medication.

We connected with Heiko Julien, one of alt-lit’s most coveted authors, to talk about his art.

S

The Varsity: Mark Leyner described your book, I Am Ready to Die a Violent Death, as “prose that actually feels like the twenty-first century.” What do you think that means?

Heiko Julien: I think a lot of people have weird ideas about what “writing” is — that it has to be reflective of a specific kind of intellect or cultural values. Like, you have to sound like someone’s idea of a “smart” person… writing to me is about communication. And communication is strange in that the same set of symbols can be interpreted so many different ways by so many people. Mark appears to be saying that I’m communicating using a common language, and that this is somewhat rare.

TV: Is that what alt-lit’s all about, really? Is that what literature is going to look like — or even what it should look like — for the internet generation?

HJ: [E]veryone has their own idea of what “alt-lit” is and what it means. To me, it’s just a thing that’s happening in a

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Heiko Julien

specific place at a specific time. There are consistent patterns in the work of writers influenced by each other, but what I think it’s really about is the digital medium… it’s more about posting your writing online and associating it with “altlit” than it is about the content having “alt-lit” properties, which to me seems fine. I like the idea that writing could be common and popular. I like common and popular things.

TV: Could there be alt-lit without the Internet?

HJ: My work is inseparable from it. It’s about using a computer and being online, not entirely, but in part, and definitely inextricably… [M]y relationship with my computer and the avatars on its screen is an important one to me, and one I’ve been consistently fascinated with exploring.

TV: There have been a lot of scathing words directed towards the alt-lit scene, like in Josh Baine’s “Alt-lit is for boring, infantile narcissists” on Vice, where he calls it “nothing more than a literature of absolute nothingness.” Do you have anything to say in defence of alt-lit?

HJ: Alt-lit is just a thing you can do on your computer. It’s a creative outlet with infinite possibility because it allows people to communicate with each other in a way that will allow the message to be received in a certain way… It seems especially easy to rip on young people posting poetry online. Really, it’s what you make of it… If you’re using it as a way to get in touch with parts of yourself you can’t express in other arenas of your life, then, hey, you might be doing it right. Who’s to say? Let your conscience be your guide. I like the way I’m doing it.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity. An extended version can be found online at var.st/altlit.

THE VARSITY MAGAZINE | Winter 2014

“I wear a lot of hats” Victoria Banderob n a narrow shop in Kensington Market crammed wallto-wall with antique wares, a girl sits cross-legged on the floor, parka tossed aside, rifling through a basket of silver beads. Behind her, her friend tries on seven different suitvests until he settles on his two favourite options. “Holy Cow”

by The Band ripples through the speakers as they shop.

A variety of eclectic treasures have found their way to family-run vintage shop Courage My Love. A favourite among Torontonians, the store is known for its glass beads, nifty trinkets, exotic jewellery, and cheap vintage clothing and accessories. Cece

I

Scriver of Courage My Love provided some insight into the appeal of vintage clothing, and why old, to her, is better than new.

The Varsity: What do you think lies at the heart of people’s love of vintage?

Cece Scriver: Originality. The thing about vintage is that it’s not cookie-cutter. You have to know what you want and what you look good in. It’s individuality and originality.

TV: Do you think old is better than new?

CS: Yes! The reason why we started our business was because, in 1975, we realized

that recycling was good — making something once and wearing it five times, rather than making something once and then buying something new… [We] remade stuff so it was in fashion — so we’d take things that were out of fashion and turn them into in-fashion.

TV: Is the authenticity of vintage being lost now that it’s trendy to buy new clothing that has been manufactured to look old?

CS: That’s when you know you have to change. If you don’t change, you’ll get stuck in a rut. Now, it’s harder to find actual vintage. We have had to always change with the times.

THE VARSITY MAGAZINE | Winter 2014

My mom and I are good at figuring out what people want before they want it. We try to fill the niches that no one has.

TV: Can you describe your favourite item of vintage clothing?

CS: I wear a lot of hats. I wear a lot of old men ‘40s hats. I collect [Afghan] Kuchi dresses as well, from the ’30s. I have, like, ten of them — they’re hard to find, and I love them.

I never wear new stuff. Just my jeans… I won’t pay more than $20 for something. I will for a bottle of wine, though.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

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From punk to Pinterest Ishita Petkar |

Carolyn Levett nce upon a time, diy OToday, was badass. the term brings to

mind hand-crafted artifacts, vintage goods, and pastel décor.

In the ’70s, by contrast, diy was a vehicle of radicalism and an integral part of punk subculture.

Going hand-in-hand with independent music, studded leather jackets, and colourful mohawks, diy was an expression of autonomy — a representation of independence from dominant mainstream culture.

DIY in punk subculture

“[I]n rock music by the ’50s and ’60s, there was a very high bar for performativity,” explains Dylan Clark, a professor of anthropology at U of T. “To be onstage, you had to be extremely well-trained, and there was a gravitation towards the John Lennons of the world,” he says.

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THE VARSITY MAGAZINE | Winter 2014

This high standard of music eventually reached a point where music itself was unreachable for the average person.

“Punk was a response to many things, but part of it was people saying, ‘Screw that, let’s go out and make music ourselves,’” says Clark.

It didn’t matter if you were good, had enough money, or even had the right instruments — punk was a backlash against the traditional glamor of celebrity in favour of an accessible form of fun.

During this period, subcultures were being bought out by mainstream culture. “[Punk] was being co-opted by commercials, by advertising, by record companies, by radio stations, by people who were trying to make a buck by taking these subcultures and turning it very mainstream,” remarks Clark. “As a kid, to be hip, you would go out and buy your outfit and buy your music and buy the whole package, and the whole experience would be commodified.”

Punk reacted against this culture by eschewing consumerism entirely. In an effort to resist commodification, people decided to “do-it-themselves” in many different ways.

It began with the music. A band would write and record their own songs, book their own tours, and distribute their records themselves. This saved money and meant that the money they spent stayed within the independent economy of the subculture.

“The tension between innovation and co-optation has

been around for decades,” explains Clark.

As fashions and lifestyles that originally began as distinctive and deviant become mainstream, youth naturally seek new ways to be different.

domestic design sensibility. diy is re-integrating into this niche market through the preference of local over corporate and homemade over store-bought.

With inspiration from retail stores, Pinterest, and vintage

Thrifty hipsters

fashion and décor, people are inspired to recycle trash into new treasures. Businesses are popping up around Toronto to cater to the market of people that want to make things themselves and people who want to buy things that others made locally.

Bike Pirates is a bike co-op that rescues potentially garbage bike parts and teaches cyclists how to fix their bikes themselves. Other businesses offer lessons in diy, like The Make Den, which offers sewing lessons, and The Knit Café, which teaches you the ways of the needle.

People pay for lessons in how to engage in diy at these venues, as well as purchasing locally made goods at these stores and others. The modern diy movement is becoming more of a “let-others-do-it-themselvesfor-you” or “buy-it-yourself”

Today, the punk label that was once associated with diy has been replaced by a new affiliation with hipsters. Hipsters, however, lack the same elite community that punks engaged in, which was far more clearly defined and maintained independent forms of communication and social interaction.

In Clark’s opinion, hipsterism doesn’t exist. “I would say a subculture has to have a little bit more of a community to exist. You actually have people who share music, clubs, sexual orientation, drugs, ideas...”

Hipsterism is vague and not restricted to a secluded community — and neither is the new wave of diy. diy has become a new mainstream culture that signifies a penny-pinching craftiness and

THE VARSITY MAGAZINE | Winter 2014

movement that is guided by certain aesthetic principles: vintage references, cleverness, cuteness, and so on. Although they didn’t necessarily take part in creating it, diy consumers take ownership of their purchased homemade goods and want their product to be visibly divorced from corporate processes and to appear somewhat kitschy.

This counterintuitive diy market, where others are engaging in diy and selling their goods, is embodied by websites like Etsy, where consumers can purchase homemade wares from across the globe — from pineapple cozies to cane-toad-shaped leather coin purses. diy, in all its incarnations, represents the need for something more authentic than what consumerist culture can provide.

“That’s the cool hunt, the constant pursuit of shoe and fashion companies to hunt down the latest young urban styles that are being innovated. And the moment they do that is the moment that the actual cool people start running,” says Clark. diy is reintegrating into the mainstream by subverting the cool hunt, as crafty folks can recreate things they see in storefronts at lower costs at home or buy them homemade online.

Window-shopping, in this diy ethic, takes on a whole new meaning. You don’t have to have the funds — you just have to have the idea. Rather than think, “I want that,” the diy consumer contends, “I can make that.” Or, at least, someone else can.

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The editorial lens Madison Schill | i

magine if magazines were full of normal, unedited photos.

Would they have the same appeal? Would we still flock to the latest issues to scan the shimmering pages and paste them to our walls? In order to create something objectively magical, inspiring, or beautiful in today’s market, we have to create something that’s better than reality.

The aim of a magazine is to inspire readers through lustworthy images and articles that cater to their aesthetic sensibilities. The rise of social networking brought with it the ability for individuals to curate their own public image, similar to a brand, using web-based platforms to create and share their perspectives. Consequently, users can now associate themselves with creative works that they did not actually take part in creating.

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“In essence, you are what you post,” says Allison McGill, editor-in-chief of Weddingbells, “…That platform especially is all about shaping your identity.”

Back to basics

To Paris-based photographers Hannah Dusar and Joel Benguigui, portraits serve to reveal the essence of a person. Tapped as two of American Vogue’s brightest emerging photographers, their work shows that something in fashion may be shifting, with consumers seeking a realist approach in place of photoshopped perfection.

“In order to stay true to a subject, we had to give it space to breathe,” says Hannah. “Once we made this decision… we started creating images that were much more real and honest. We found beauty in the flaws, emotion in the

Alex Wong

blurry shots, and a surprising amount of honesty in people’s faces because we didn’t ‘shoot’ them; we just hung out with them and made some pictures on the side,” she says.

Curating beauty

It is no secret that beauty is in the eye of the beholder — but when did we decide that curated, commercial beauty was superior to our personal instincts?

Belgium’s Leonneke Derksen is now a stylist for legendary fashion house Carven, after designing for Balenciaga in Paris. She spends the rest of her time designing for her own label, Leo. Derksen has first-hand experience with the art of selling clients the best versions of themselves. “I have creative people buying my pieces. They are buying them for the idea, the concept… just be-

THE VARSITY MAGAZINE | Winter 2014

cause it is beautiful. A lot of them don’t care about...the brand, that stigma. They just want to feel beautiful and portray something special, something different,” she says.

We are the editors of our own lives — we take on the role of stylist each morning when we choose what to wear, and of art director when we post images to social media. At stake is our individualism — and whether what we portray is truly representative of who we are, or an idea carefully curated for us by a design team.

Brandon Taelor Aviram, senior photographer of Gilt Groupe, a Brooklyn-based online shopping powerhouse, suggests: “For me, I prefer art, or somewhere in the middle — natural and raw, but polished at the same time.”

An extended version of this article can be found online at vars.st/lens.

Lumberjacks & Kerouacs

Adam Zivo THE VARSITY MAGAZINE | Winter 2014

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alking down Queen Street West, you will inevitably find yourself among them: bearded hipster men clad in skinny jeans, eating organic quinoa. They occupy neighbourhoods, colonizing them with independent cafés and vintage boutiques. Maps have been made to demarcate their territory, and websites obsess over their idiosyncrasies.

By virtue of the conversation they inspire, derogatory or otherwise, hipster men can be considered a unique subculture. Today’s social critics sometimes go so far as to call hipsterism the final descent of culture, a regression into ironic nothingness. The description is flattering — when was the last time that cyberpunks or skateboarders were subject to that level of hyperbole?

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linity that has thrust male hipsters into society’s sneering spotlight.

Hipster masculinity is a special and obscure sort, one that manifests itself in two main ways: as a self-conscious caricature of traditional men, and also as metrosexuality.

The second of these manifestations is not particularly interesting, specifically because it is neither ironic nor original. Metrosexuality has many historical precedents;

to an earlier “emo” phase.

The addition of soy lattes or organic produce doesn’t suddenly make metrosexuality novel or exceptional.

Irony and identity

When a hipster wears skinny jeans, it is banal; however, when he crafts an image for himself along the lines of traditionally masculine figures, it gets interesting.

Consider how this type of masculinity is expressed ex-

Defining hipster men

It’s easy enough to sketch a rough image of a hipster male.

Discarded cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon, conspicuously stylish glasses, and a wardrobe raided from Goodwill all come to mind. However, beyond basic preliminaries, giving a proper account of this phenomenon is difficult. That is because there is more than just one type of hipster, and so to talk about them in a general way means describing something that is necessarily vague. A subculture dedicated to irony leaves room for vast disparities of interpretation, from the faux-redneck to the Mad Meninspired hipster. Does your hipster model himself after a lumberjack or Kerouac?

Describing the significance of hipsterism therefore means abandoning any pretense of precision. Speaking broadly, we can at least identify a few basic themes: a whimsical nostalgia for the pre-computer age, a desire for a bohemian lifestyle balanced by a fear of actual poverty, a compulsion for the ironic, and a re-examination of masculinity.

While each of these is integral to an understanding of male hipsters today, it is the last theme that may be the most important. It is the exploration of their mascu12

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having existed across various cultures and eras. Groups of men have traditionally rushed in earnest to fill developing gaps in society’s changing understanding of gender.

In some cases, a hipster’s effeminacy can be traced back

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ternally. We see it all the time: flannel, beards, tattoos, and beer. Hipster masculinity is expressed through a mosaic employment of classical “male tropes.” It is a particular kind of masculinity that wants to be rustic and ear-

THE VARSITY MAGAZINE | Winter 2014

nest, yet is often painfully self-conscious. It is inorganic because, frankly, hipster men cannot stop gesturing at themselves. The way in which hipster men choose to express their gender identity is fundamentally ironic. For that reason, there is something distinctly premeditated about the way that hipster men express their identities — the details are not considered haphazardly. pbr, for instance — one of the most recognizable symbols of modern hipsterdom — took hold within the community specifically because it has traditionally been considered a bluecollar beverage, enjoyed by the gristled men of America’s working class. It is therefore naturally incongruous with the bohemian sensibilities of hipsters. The beer’s presence within hipster culture is therefore, in itself, an ironic wink and nod. The same principles apply to flannel clothing, beards, and tattoos. Each of these character affectations is curated to best demonstrate the hipster’s dedication to and awareness of social irony.

Gestures that might have otherwise been direct expressions of how a man sees himself instead become vain and pretentious cultural commentary. Gender may be a social construct, but that does not mean that all expressions of gender identity are similarly manufactured. Compared to other interpretations of masculinity, the hipster form is rather counterfeit, constantly keeping a critical eye on itself. A hipster will buy a log of wood, not out of necessity, but as a character accessory, alluding to a lifestyle to which he has no real access. The inherent problem with hipster expressions of manhood is that they are too refined, too polished, and too overacted.

Sources of insecurity

A hipster man’s decadent expression of manliness is arguably motivated by an underlying insecurity in his role as a man. Otherwise, there would be no incongruity between themselves and their calculated affectations. That insecuri-

For that reason, the hipster is uncomfortable.

There is also the problem of what the hipster does for a living. War is not always literal combat. We subjugate the Earth; we reap its natural resources for our own purposes.

The brutal effort involved in phyiscally altering our environment is satisfying. Perhaps that is why the manufacturing and agricultural industries have usually been considered to be intrinsically more masculine.

Hipsters, however, generally make a living by working in cafés and offices; their familiarity with factories often ends with industrial loft apartments.

They deal with aesthetics, and the management of invisible data. They sit on chairs all day, and their generation is chronically under-employed. As a result, hipster men are forced to go without the satisfaction that comes from self-sufficient living, which is also often considered a hallmark of masculinity.

A necessary niche

ty necessitates a romantic conceptualization of “manhood,” in order to better understand and assimilate.

Classical representations of masculinity and manhood are rooted in the language and images of violence.

Manliness, as it has been portrayed and celebrated throughout history, is closely

related to stories of combat, domination, and aggression.

Perhaps that is why, historically speaking, stories of war and bloodshed are rife with references and allusions to an idealistic concept of “man.”

Cultural heroes, from Gilgamesh to Batman — while complicated characters — are artists of aggression. How-

ever, for modern men, there are fewer channels available through which to express their inner warriors. There are few opportunities for a modern hipster male to indulge violence or express aggression. However, he cannot escape a society descended from barbarism, including its antiquated gender norms.

THE VARSITY MAGAZINE | Winter 2014

All of these factors compound to make for a man who is deeply anxious about himself.

According to the criteria of his forefathers, he cannot be a man. He feels threatened, and with little recourse, the hipster pantomimes the manliness of old, filtering it through his own essential irony.

Hipster masculinity, by way of exaggeration, becomes theatre playing theatre, a mask cast from a mask. This performativity exists perhaps because some feel the need to reconcile themselves as men with a history that holds their lifestyle and gender as illegitimate. At some subconscious level, some hipsters feel the phantom smirks of their warhardened grandfathers — of steelworkers, or of cowboys, for instance.

Hipsters exist at the flawed but crucial vanguard of a more gender-fluid world. By challenging the expectations of what it means to be men, they move society forward, enabling people to be more than just emblems of their genitals.

The so-called manly-men are just going through the necessary growing pains.

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Going undercover 10

Daniel Konikoff

The Man Who Last Kiss Sold the World Original: W Original: Cover: n Psychedelic and progressive, Bowie’s “The Man Who Sold the World” is a great song, but one cluttered with oddity, with its heavy vocal effects and inconsistent feel.

Nirvana found the great song that lies beneath the effects, stripping it down to a raw acoustic arrangement.

Cover: Key to the grunge movement of the early ‘90s, Pearl Jam went back to basics in 1999, recording this simplistic teen tragedy song from the early ‘60s, with Eddie Vedder’s quivering vocals and a basic drum beat pleasantly driving the song forward.

Countdown

Hallelujah

Hurt

Original: Cover: t

Original:

Original: n i n Cover: Trent Reznor’s spider-web voice over eerie instrumentation is commendable, but Cash’s version is deeply haunting, with his sad vocals seeping through the track. Cash passed away shortly after recording this song, making the pain and tragedy of his rendition all the more pertinent.

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The idea of anyone doing anything better than Beyoncé may be blasphemous to most, but this cover by one of the hippest indie bands in Toronto transforms its source material. The arrangement smoothens out transitions in the song to make it catchier and groovier.

Cover: Where Cohen murmured, Buckley belted. Stripping down the original to a lone electric guitar and coating it with smooth vocals, Buckley’s version is simultaneously beautiful to the ear and havoc on the heartstrings.

With A Little My Way Help From My Original: Friends

Hard to Handle Not in Love

Fare Thee Well

Original: Cover: t

Original: Cover:

Original: t Cover: The Beatles have some of the most covered songs of all time, but Joe Cocker’s rendition of Ringo’s revolution from Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band is a standout cover from the Fab Four’s catalogue, with incredible arrangement, a soulful gospel choir, and a powerful, dynamic vocal delivery from Cocker himself.

The Black Crowes took a moderate hit from the late ‘60s and made it their own, becoming a breakout single from their 1990 debut album. Their version of “Hard to Handle” has a blues-rock feel that manages to maintain the grooviness of the original, along with one of the most epic postchoruses to have ever graced these ears.

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Cover: More of an adaptation than a cover, these two songs don’t share subject matter — the original is about a strained relationship, while Sinatra’s version is about a life without regrets. They do, however, have identical melodic and harmonic structure. Sinatra’s crooning voice makes it far better than the original, and “My Way” has become a staple in the repertoire of grandfathers who think they’re the sultan of swoon.

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Original: Cover: r A lot of the music from the ‘80s sounds similar, with the production style rendering this New Wave/power pop band’s “Not in Love” not all that interesting to listen to.

The synth-heavy hooks of Crystal Castles and the featured vocals of Robert Smith of The Cure make the trance version of the song dynamic and hypnotic.

THE VARSITY MAGAZINE | Winter 2014

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Like any American folk song, this song has been covered by countless performers — including Dave Van Ronk, Pete Seeger, and Jeff Buckley — but is most commonly attributed to Bob Dylan. Oscar Isaac and Marcus Mumford’s version for the soundtrack of Inside Llewyn Davis is unlike any other recording of this classic, with its lush arrangement, smooth harmonies, and a distinct musicality that makes it beautifully unrecognizable from its predecessors.

Insider/Indie Two perspectives on making it in the music industry Corinne Przybyslawski |

Max Stern in the music indusPAt ersonalities try are inevitably ambiguous. best the calculations of market

analysts stamp out the creative perspectives of artists. At worst, they produce talentless, derivative acts.

Progress in technology has had a massive impact on the music industry. Production software and the reduced cost of hardware has made authentic artistry tremendously more accessible to musicians. Artists have a better chance to produce something genuine without the necessary trade-off of excessive management for studio time and gear. The availability of software however, creates space for anyone with the money to create music — even if they lack talent or originality.

Working within the industry, artists face the constraints of an emphasis on marketability and sales that can prevent creativity. Producing music independently has its own pitfalls, allowing access to technology to those who can afford it, whether or not they are producing anything truly new. The Varsity sat down with creators from both ends of the spectrum to discuss the costs and benefits of making music within and without the industry.

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Insider: Evan Stewart van Stewart is an alumnus of Metalworks Institute.

After graduating from the audio production and engineering stream, he was “told to expect a phone call by one of his teachers.”

Two days later, Drake’s producer, Noah “40” Shebib, reached out to him. Working for ovo Sound as an intern, Stewart is consistently watching sound leave the studio to an international audience of listeners.

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The Varsity: Do you think people get into the industry for the wrong reasons?

Evan Stewart: Music has become more accessible, but you’ve got to know this is something that you really want. In my graduating class, there were only eight of us, even though 50 had started at the beginning of the first semester.

It’s easy to lose yourself in the lust for fame, but keep your head on straight. 40 is one of the most down-toearth people I know — Drake as well. He introduced himself to me before I got a chance to introduce myself to him.

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TV: Why do music leaks happen?

ES: It’s all planned and strategic. The “We Made It” freestyle [by Drake] was dropped without warning and had 300,000 listens before I even knew it was out, and I worked on that track. There is far more thought put into everything than people realize. Every release of every song — someone calculated that decision, independent artist or not.

It builds hype. An album leaked four days before it’s release date is usually a lot less aggressive and cleaned up. People want better quality, and they’re encouraged to buy it after having “tested” it.

That being said, don’t expect to make any money that way.

We have this “throw-away” commodity with music. You put it up on a blog — three days later no one cares.

TV: Working so close to Drake and 40, what’s your impression on the best route into the industry?

ES: If you’re going to do it, be your own recorder. Learn

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everything. Don’t focus on solely being the artist... You sell a million records at $15, you’re only getting back $24K. You don’t want to be signed to a label, so working towards it seems to be the new standard. It’s like any other job. You can’t make it in any industry if you’re not focused. You need to try to control everything.

TV: Is talent still relevant to a musician’s success?

ES: Talent still matters.

Drake isn’t a terrible rapper.

I mean, in the studio, two takes and he’s done. He’s really good at what he does.

We’re at a turning point in the industry, and it’s going back to the music.

It was bad in the ’90s, where the industry was pumping out fabricated groups because that’s when the image was selling more than the sound. Music is a lot more visual now with Pro Tools and Ableton, so the recording process is not as hard as it used to be. The artist has a lot more control over what’s put out.

Indie: Paradise Animals n the other end of the spectrum are members of the indie community whose production process allows for a more detached view of the industry. Paradise Animals, a Toronto band, fuses both electronic and acoustic elements into their music. As a tightly knit trio, Mark Andrade, Gary Pereira, and Kerri Silva feel that while the industry is perhaps not catering to indie musicians just yet, it is certainly shifting its margins in the community’s favour.

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TV: Are there any musicians on the radio that you enjoy?

Mark Andrade: We don’t listen to the radio to get our indie dose of music. This is partly because we listen to radio during working hours. When it comes time to engage with the radio, we’re often driving. We’ll listen to hits, Drake mainly. “Hold On,

We’re Going Home” is a smooth jam we always crank. There is a string of solid young artists, even more so on mainstream radio lately. A good song is a good song.

TV: Do you think the radio is gaining more respect for indie musicians?

MA: The radio has always been a place for radio-friendly music. Indie musicians today are challenging this, but in reality, [we’re] still marginalized.

However, indie songs are influencing the sound of mainstream music. It adds a sense of indie credibility to their sound.

It isn’t such a bad thing. This is the kind of respect indie musicians are garnering.

TV: How do you think that’s going to affect what gets airplay?

MA: Listeners are accustomed to the immediacy of pop mu-

“ sic structure. The radio will always inhabit that dominant mainstream perspective in pop. Even listening to certain indie radio stations, there is still a formula present, which conforms to this mainstream ideology. Bands like Arcade Fire who have indie roots and sensibility are safe to play, though, at this point, with their added Grammy recognition.

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Maybe one day, indie musicians will change the landscape of radio so much that a four-minute saxophone solo will be acceptable and appreciated by the masses.

More than ever, artists are starting from the bottom and making themselves into a business rather than relying on specialists to string them into success.

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The currency of concepts i Malone Mullin

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Meaning through observation Historically, an authentic artwork has been prized as a bastion of technical expertise and representational capacity. By embodying these ideals, however, a work also becomes conceptually fixed. There may be competing interpretations of Bernini’s Ecstasy of Saint Teresa, for instance — some claim she’s writhing in the midst of sexual climax; others contend she’s simply happy — but the artist’s intention is chiselled in stone.

Relational aesthetics in art attempt to subvert the notion that art must disseminate ideas held by the artist in order to qualify as authentic. It acts as a blanket-term for art that is relative to individual experience, in contrast to a notion of art as a vehicle for absolute themes and morals.

Relational art trades in the currency of concepts — its usefulness lies in its ability to create a space for critical engagement with an idea. The artist is merely a catalyst, presenting participants with a concept that permits each individual to create artistic meaning for themselves. Passive consumption is replaced with active contribution as the observer’s experience determines what the work becomes.

At a recent ocad University furniture exhibition, artist Alex Beriault waded through a crowded gallery in order to have a meal served to her.

Beriault enjoyed her dinner atop a selfcrafted table made purposefully without legs supporting it. The heavy oaken slab, about six feet long, rested on the thighs of Beriault and her date, their tottering glasses of red wine balanced perilously near the edges.

The mundane act of eating wasn’t the artwork. Rather, the artwork was generated by the ways in which the audience interpreted Beriault’s disruption.

Some found it amusing, challenging the diners by taking up all their elbow room and holding cameras only inches from their impassive faces. Others, like myself, were less sure of where we should place ourselves in proximity to the performance. Because Beriault didn’t acknowledge anybody in the room, the act of watching the piece felt inexcusably impolite, as if I was gawking at an intimate dinner.

The surprise performance was an attempt to challenge social convention, designed to transform the gallery into a space as socially uncomfortable as a hospital waiting room.

“Even though what we did was risky and rude, I had a feeling we’d be accommodated...

It’s interesting to be able to use artistic performance as a vehicle for exploring social boundaries,” she says.

“All brand, no hand” This real-time experience of art as transitory and malleable is in direct opposition to the idea of commodity art. Damien Hirst, reportedly Britain’s richest artist, may best exemplify the popularity of mass-manufactured art objects.

Hirst is known for his capacity to produce ample paintings. In reality, however, his design firm is responsible for this reputation — Hirst merely adds his signature to their paintings in order to authenticate them.

It could be argued that the signature alone is what gives the images their extraordinary value, since many of them, though they’re aesthetically pleasing, aren’t exactly revolutionary. Take, for example, the “Spots” series — a sequence of paintings consisting of variable configurations of multi-coloured circles. Genuine spot paintings sell for anything from $53,000 to upwards of $3 million.

“ While this factory-style production of art has been around for centuries, Hirst has taken the manufacturing aspect to a whole new level, churning out spot paintings en masse without ever touching brush to canvas. Peter Schjeldahl of The New Yorker predicted that Hirst would “go down in history as a peculiarly cold-blooded pet of millennial excess wealth.”

Given that Hirst didn’t actually paint most of his own paintings, it seems strange that collectors are willing to pay so much for them.

This may be due in part to a more conventional definition of authenticity in the art world. Journalist Nick Cohen dourly commented, “The price tag is the art.” It’s what signals that a commodity is accepted as valuable, even if the artwork appears devoid of conceptual content and is created by a process widely divorced from traditional THE VARSITY MAGAZINE | Winter 2014

craftsmanship. As a friend of mine joked, Hirst’s work is “all brand, no hand.”

Perhaps because consumer goods are so readily available, the value inherent to material things in general has diminished, and hence there is burgeoning interest in participatory artwork.

“Art no longer wants to respond to the excess of commodities...” says critic Jacques Rancière, “but to a lack of connections.”

When art itself becomes an excessive commodity, as in Hirst’s paintings, the natural counter-response is to divest art of anything vulnerable to commodification. Through

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this mentality, art is viewed as something not to be passed hierarchically from maker to watcher, but as something to be experienced without guidance from an authority — or, for that matter, a price tag. Relational aesthetics thus uses the object only instrumentally. It is a means to art, not the end in itself.

It’s tempting to consider that the mockery pop art once made of commodity culture led somehow to commodity art — that we now have the likes of Hirst in galleries worldwide because his art speaks so resonantly to a listless postmodern culture, unfrightened and anesthetized by the superficial ease of Hirst’s pretty pictures.

After all, it’s unnerving to have art single you out and challenge you to think about it.

I should know — I’m one of the participants who politely, if not incredulously, stepped aside for Beriault as she calmly ate her dinner.

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lose your eyes at the end of this paragraph. Try to visualize your daily walks if you had chosen a different school; think of the different friends you would surreptitiously text under classroom desks. How would you look in that light? What would the view be out your windows?

No one I know can say with a straight face that their university life turned out like they had imagined. Our generation has grown up consuming popular media that glorifies the small-town ensemble-cast-friend-group pennant-on-the-wall collegiate life as the only authentic one. We all spent hours in dull high school classrooms looking forward to it — what has become of us now?

In writing this piece I have collected true stories of friends. We have all learned that there is no authentic student experience except that which we experience. The movies are bullshit. You may coast through easy; you may be popular; you may be broken and remade. You will be lonely and confused; you will make friends by sharing your loneliness and confusion.

Fall into some role in a group.

Maybe you’ll be one of the lucky few to keep a friend group through the length of your degree; but really, as you age, you learn that different people grow at different rates. You will feel outpaced by some friends, self-conscious in the face of their success, or you will feel like you’re leaving friends behind as your life moves on.

You can’t just “go to parties” without scrolling guest lists on Facebook events. There are those you attend to be seen, those you regret with your first foot in the door, those where you feel drowned in a sea of the “cool kids” you don’t yet understand. Early on you’ll probably get drunk as hell, and end up in bed with a pile of regrets. This pile may take the form of a stranger, a friend’s girlfriend, a friend, or a puddle of vomit (all four if you’re lucky).

Some of the best parties you’ll go to won’t be real parties. After a while, drum beats and anonymous fishnet legs all blend together, but you’ll remember warm nights on worn futons with friends, laughing with movies, smoking weed, and cuddling. You’ll remember concerts, video games, and costumes.

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All one can aspire to be at U of T is infamous or well-liked, it’s too big a place for popularity. Maybe you were a big-shot athlete in high school. Well, now you have fewer friends than the “nerd” who brings Timbits to your seminar. You lose the desire to be popular and you start wanting warmth. This is growing up, I think. It’s happening to me.

You’re popular.

You know just You go to parties. what you want to study. You get out in four years.

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You date someone older, cooler, smarter.

You hook up.

You lost your virginity to some boy in his friend’s room during frosh week. All the lights are on. Every blemish on his skin becomes a regret when you think it over in the morning.

When you see him next semester, he won’t recognize you. “Oh,” you’ll think.

“I have a boyfriend.” “I have a girlfriend.” Everybody seems to. You dance at clubs and take the night bus home alone. How long until you realize that nobody has girlfriends, boyfriends, and those were all clean polite rejections?

One girl told me, “All my friends are single.

Their standards are too high.”

You’re happy.

In 2005, it was found that one in seven or more than 800,000 youth experience mental disorders, with anxiety disorders the most prevalent. We have seen too many friends let studies and lives fall into disrepair because of untreated or unacknowledged mental illness. If you’re afflicted, don’t feel like it’s a weakness, like something is wrong with you. Nobody is alone.

Your twenties are a time for internal crises.

You will stress over questions like: What next?

What now? What am I even doing? Who will I become? Maybe that’s another thing Hollywood had right, this is what this time is for.

Figure yourself out. You’re young. All will be well when you’re done.

Adam Zachary

You go to class.

Nobody knows what they want to study. If you’re in first year and think you do, you’re wrong. As for getting out in four years, a recent New York Times study found that the average American student now takes at least five; shaming yourself for being a fifth-year senior should be a thing of the past.

Sometimes you go to class. Sometimes life gets in the way; sometimes work; sometimes work for other classes. Maybe it piles so high that you can’t get out your door. Maybe you’re just tired. When you need an excuse, you will find one.

Some of the best friends you’ll make will only be made when you let your guard down and talk to people you wouldn’t ever talk to. If all your friends look, speak, and think like you, ask yourself if you’re bored, if you’re stimulated by your social life. Likely not. One of the few things Hollywood gets right is the importance of “broadening horizons” (whatever that means).

You make friends.

You end up with no friends. You come home from class and sit online. On a campus where most students are non-residential, this might be more common than you think. Reach out to the lonely; it could save a heart or a life.

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“The feeling of being something else” Catherine Virelli graduate student Amanda Coletta was diagnosed with major U of T depressive disorder at 21 years old. She refused

her doctor’s recommendation of psychopharmacological treatment, opting instead for cognitive-behavioural therapy the following year.

Third-year political science student Aaron* was diagnosed with bipolar II disorder when he was 18 years old. He took antidepressants — prescribed by his psychiatrist — for several years, after a single attempt at psychotherapy left him unmotivated to return for further sessions.

Although their diagnostic criteria are officially distinct, depressive disorders and bipolar disorders comprise the two main categories of mood disorders recognized in common practice of clinical psychology. There are two main branches of treatment for mood disorders: medication and psychotherapy. Depressed patients can opt for either treatment — or both, if necessary.

The side effects that accompany many medications are cause for concern for both those with depression and those with bipolar disorder — both Coletta and Sarah*, a thirdyear student who received help for her depression last year, refused medication upon their doctors’ requests.

A key feared side effect among patients with mood disorders is the compromising of their feelings of being authentically themselves.

“Definitely one of the reasons why I was scared of going on meds was because I felt it would change who I was as a person…and [the wrong meds] can change people a lot. That being said, I think medication is really, really useful to a lot of people,” says Sarah.

Aaron explains: “I did have the feeling of being something else, something other. Even if me was going to be dark and brooding all the time, then that was who I was gonna be, and I would prefer that than not feeling like anything.”

While Camille Angelo, a second-year student who was diagnosed with bipolar II disorder in 22

2012, also experienced a feeling of disconnectedness, she says that this feeling only occurred when the medications given to her were not right for her.

“When I was being treated, and I felt like [disconnected], it made me really question if I made the right decision to get treated. But now that I’m on meds for bipolar — and definitely the right meds — I feel 100 per cent myself.

As you have more and more experience on meds and more experience with your disorder, you become more sensitive to it, and you can say ‘oh, maybe I’m being overmedicated right now,” she explains.

According to Dr. Roger McIntyre, head of the Mood Disorders and Psychopharmacology Unit of the University Health Network, when it comes to prescribing medication, “there’s no one single factor; there’s no one-size-fits-all…People have their own preferences…The decision is a personal decision, made on a case-by-case basis.”

Angelo adds, “I think it’s important that students know that they’re not alone…I wish that someone had come up to me and said: ‘Hey, this is okay. Other people have this, other people are on meds, this is totally normal, and you’re gonna get better. It’s not always that you have to be depressed or suicidal’…I look at where I’ve come in a year, and I’m so grateful…I’m such a happy person; I’m so happy to be here. […] I still have [bipolar disorder]…and yes, I will go through it again, but it’s not me; it’s not who I am. I’m me, and I’m happy. And I just wish people could see that it gets easier and it gets better, and there’s an end to it.” *Names changed.

An extended version of this article can be found online at vars.st/ mooddisorders.

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Facing stigma head-on i Samantha Relich |

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odney Rousseau is a student working towards an Honours BSc in biochemistry and sexual diversity studies at U of T. He is 25 years old, and grew up in a small town in Northwestern Ontario. He is also hiv-positive.

In the 1980s, headlines proclaimed that the spread of hiv/aids had reached epidemic levels. The wave of fear spread faster than the thenuntreatable condition, and left an emphasis on prevention and hyper-vigilance in its wake.

Since then, medical professionals have developed treatments for the illness, and scientific knowledge on the subject has expanded significantly. However, misconceptions about hiv/aids remain prevalent in society. A 2012 survey by Ipsos Reid revealed that only 57 per cent of Canadians feel “reasonably well” informed about hiv/ aids. This deficit in knowledge perpetuates fear and stigmatization, creating a cycle whereby society’s misunderstanding of hiv/aids only hinders its prevention.

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erally not easy: “I’ve had the experience of planning to go on a date with a guy, disclosing my status, and then him saying something like, ‘okay, well, as long as we don’t have sex’ …or just flat out stop talking to me. Those experiences are really common.”

Negative reactions to disclosure reinforce the notion that

Advancements in the medical field impact representations of hiv/aids as well. Dan Allman, assistant professor at the Dalla Lana School of Public Health, explains: “We increasingly hear about how medical advances are transforming hiv into a chronic and manageable disease ‘like

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In Rousseau’s experience, the majority of people know, at least generally, how hiv is transmitted, but certain social situations seem to override that knowledge. He describes, “[A]s soon as it comes to sharing a straw or a fork with someone there’s often a clear moment of hesitation.

Or I’ll be asked, ‘You’re sure it’s all right?’”

In spite of his awareness of the potential for negative attention, Rousseau describes his status as hiv–positive as “a matter of public record.”

“I disclosed both my status and my sexuality to one professor last semester in an attempt to help her understand my academic needs… I regretted that decision almost instantly. The term was almost completely a back-and-forth of terse and non-supportive communication that lacked any appropriate amount of humility,” he says.

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being hiv-positive is something to keep quiet about, as Rousseau explains: “I’ve had people in my life tell me that I shouldn’t be open about my status — that it will cost me any future career options.”

There is also a belief that hiv/aids is no longer a matter for widespread public concern. “I think a lot of people in North America think [the aids epidemic] is over,” explains Scott Rayter, associate director of the Mark S. Bonham Centre for Sexual Diversity Studies. However, the reality is that the prevalence rate increases annually, as treatments enable individuals to live longer. Incidence rates — the rates of new cases — are also rising, especially in high-risk populations, such as men who have sex with men, Aboriginal communities, and, increasingly, women, who make up one quarter of new diagnoses in Ontario.

diabetes,’ as if a chronic and manageable disease [is] not something to prevent — as if somehow recasting hiv as a chronic disease will act to transform it, and the stigma associated with it, into something benign.”

Rayter adds that medical progress can eliminate the focus on preventative measures.

“People aren’t thinking that it affects them, and if it does, then [they think] ‘oh well, there’s drugs now’ — there’s much less frank discussion,” he says.

Something we don’t talk about

Many hiv-positive individuals are scared silent by the potential repercussions of these misconceptions — which include rejection, stigma, and even criminal charges in certain circumstances.

When asked whether his experiences with stigmatiza-

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tion make him hesitant to share his status, Rousseau replies, “Yes and no. I do fear being stigmatized, but for me, I’d rather face that stigma head on than perpetuate it by being shameful.” hiv/aids remains a taboo subject in North America, not because we lack the information or freedom to discuss it, but because we seem to be afraid to do so. Most people feel comfortable advocating for a future without hiv/ aids, more support for patients, and increased funding for prevention and research.

When confronted with hiv, however — whether it be meeting a diagnosed individual or encountering the potential for transmission in sex or drug use — we falter.

“We may be able to discuss hiv on social media, or walk in support of hiv, or wear a ribbon. Yet when it comes to talking about hiv in the moment… the nature of what hiv is and represents becomes transformed within intimate interpersonal contexts into taboo matter,” says Allman.

Allman attributes some of this reluctance to society’s tendency to label a subject taboo as a protective measure — as if not talking about it will somehow make it disappear. He explains that there is an association between hiv and behaviours that are categorized as deviant, “because of its association with blood, semen, and other body fluids, because of the behaviours and identities associated with it — sex, drugs, rock n’ roll — because taboos act, in society, often to protect some form of public good.”

Rayter draws a link between the stifled discussion of hiv and the increasingly individualized nature of public health, whereby individuals are ‘at fault’ for or ‘deserve’ the consequences of their actions. He adds, “Even the term Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome [sounds] like you went out and got it — there is this sense that you went out and did it to yourself.”

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Rethinking awareness campaigns

Some challenges to raising awareness lie in the way information is being disseminated. Rayter says awareness campaigns need to be reevaluated. “Definitely. Both in schools and media campaigns — and looking at what messages are being put out there and what information people are taking [in],” he says. “[S]tigma can prevent the uptake of prevention messaging,” Allman says. “In some ways to prevent hiv, we need to continue to find ways to prevent hiv stigma also,” he adds.

Unfortunately, the importance of being politically correct in prevention messaging often focuses on being universally inoffensive, rather than effective. One example is the Kisses 4 canfar campaign, featured in ads on the ttc, which aims to “kiss hiv & aids goodbye.” The vague subway ad images can be misunderstood as suggesting a causal relationship between kissing and hiv/aids transmission.

Allman explains, “Prevention messaging that is attuned to true cultural diversity, to the political sensitivities of funders and donors, to populations and individuals, some of whom will be living with hiv, such sensitization can water down messaging to the point of, if not irrelevance, perhaps ineffectiveness.”

This focus on sensitivity to public reception impacts the way in which individuals respond to disclosures of hiv-positive status. Rousseau describes, “I feel like people perpetuate the stigma of hiv by feeling sorry for those that are infected. Often the first thing people say to me is ‘I’m sorry,’ or, ‘That’s terrible.’ As far as my experience goes, sure it sucks, but it’s nothing to pity me over.” He explains that, alternatively, there is more value in asking productive or inquisitive questions.

Awareness campaigns are important, but they only fulfill their purpose if hiv becomes something that can be freely and safely discussed in public forums.

The experience of hiv is unique to each individual impacted by it — and as such cannot be summarized into a single, all-encompassing campaign.

The strongest voices in the fight against hiv/ aids often come from those with the most intimate experience — people who are diagnosed as positive and those who are close to them. Allman, who teaches a course on hiv prevention research at U of T, says, “I can tell you that in such a class, little has as much impact as when a student turns in her or his seat to face the rest of their class and says, ‘I am hiv–positive.’”

Allman describes that those four words can transform a subject that, for some, embodies fear and make it instead a symbol of courage.

Amid the misconceptions about the disease, there is an imperative truth: there is no cure for hiv. It can be prevented if people are aware of the risks and take precautions against them — but this can only happen when society ends the self-sabotaging cycle of fear and stigmatization.

Allman reflects, “In the absence of a vaccine, in the absence of a cure, prevention remains the road ahead. Let us not allow fear to limit how that road rises up to meet us.”

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The Varsity: Do you think there is enough public school education about HIV? How can it be improved? What information do you think is lacking the most?

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TV: There have been some large steps taken in terms of medical advancements for HIV treatment in the last [thirty] years. Do you think awareness has taken a backseat to medical successes? In your opinion, is there too much information that remains unspoken? Do you feel that society is too quick to define the individual by the condition?

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i TV: How, if at all, does HIV impact your life as a student?

Does it play a role in your chosen studies, or in any extracurricular/volunteer involvement? Do you have physical symptoms that factor into your days?

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With files from Ipsos Reid and Casey House.

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Who are we here? e Theodore Yan |

he sounds the way a photograph looks. It’s so strange, this habit we’ve developed in the past 70 years or so, of forcing out a smile whenever cameras appear. The default human face doesn’t smile. Imagine how terrifying it would look if someone always appeared as she does in her profile pictures, perpetually wearing a Cheshire Cat where her face should be.

Elizabeth had recently been prescribed new medi-

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cation. She took a dose of Lobutrin a little bit before talking to me, and she sounds cheerful, on the verge of giggling, throughout our conversation. She’s a talented artist, graduating high school this year, and going to nyu in August. She currently has a 3.8 gpa. She wants to study design, business, and possibly race and gender studies.

After her parents’ divorce, when she was in the eighth

Nicole Wong

grade, Elizabeth lived with them alternately for a few years, first with her father in Michigan, then in Acton, Massachusetts, before moving to live with her mother in Lexington.

“I decided I didn’t like Lexington my junior year, so I was just like, I’ll switch to Concord because my dad moved to Concord, so I did that for two weeks, and then I was like, ‘fuck that,’ and I moved back to Lexington. And then

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this year I did Lexington for, like, one day and then was, like, ‘Hell, no,’” she says.

She told me later that she moved from Lexington the first time because a boy there tried to bribe her into having sex with him in exchange for Adderall. She didn’t know who to talk to about the situation and was so uncomfortable that she left the school.

Elizabeth seems to describe her parents as, at best, walls between which she bounces.

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“I honestly don’t have much to say about them. They don’t provide me much of a support system; I just do what I want to do,” she says. She talks about how she feels this has made her clingy, has made her desperate for companionship, has made her value her friends more than they ever value her. Her voice chimes happily throughout.

Ivy At 9:30 am, Ivy, speaking over Skype, makes it clear to me that she only has 20 minutes to talk before she must attend a meeting.

Ivy lived in Beijing until she was four, and visits the city annually. Her description of it sounds like a venture capital report.

“It’s changed a lot in the past 10 years, very urbanized now,” she begins.“Highways are loops around the city, so anywhere within the second loop, with the centre being 28

000 Tiananmen Square, is very bustling and busy, and subway cars are very full.”

She tells me that those who live within the second “loop” are extremely wealthy, and that crossing the loop takes about 30 minutes by subway. She describes nothing but urban infrastructure. By the time she is done telling me about the city in which she is born, I am ready to invest my untold millions in projects there.

Currently a third-year student at Queen’s University’s Commerce program, Ivy describes her current projects: producing and promoting a healthcare app, as well as doing marketing work for a small business her father is opening in Toronto. She is also active in Varsity figureskating, the commerce students’ society, and a number of other organizations. At university, she’s continuing a trend that began with a childhood full of skating, swim-

ming lessons, classical piano, and multiple academic clubs.

Ivy’s parents divorced when she was six. Both remarried, and she has a functional relationship with both sides of her family. She echoes something Elizabeth told me, saying that she’s glad her parents divorced.

“They’re both a lot happier,” says Ivy, “and I think that it’s really their problem and nothing to do with me.” Elizabeth simply prefers it to watching them constantly fight.

Hendrix Hendrix arrives at the café out of breath. He looks both ways before he notices me right in front of him. “Long time no see!” he says. He smiles and we shake hands.

He’s wearing a neon green beanie, gauges in his ears, and a flannel button-down.

Hendrix is a musician, as well as a student at Ontario

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College of Art and Design, studying photography. He brushes away questions about his projects in either capacity, offering vague descriptions, none longer than a few lines. Talking about his family he’s affectionate, but similarly spare.

The conversation turns to Christianity. “It doesn’t really mean anything to just go to church on Sundays,” he says, “Y’know, growing up in a church environment taught me a lot of things about what it was to be a believer. Mainly, maybe it’s cliché, maybe it’s cheesy, but to really know about who Jesus is as a person.”

He tells me about how for a while he was just going to church as a matter of routine; how it became a social exercise, rather than a heartfelt commitment. He apologizes for how much time he is spending on the topic, “I can totally go on for an hour rambling about my faith.”

He proceeds to do so.

Hendrix speaks for a while about having a personal relationship with Christ and how it saw him through difficult times in his life. I nod along, understanding nothing. Finally, he pauses, and then adds: “Y’know, I’ve really screwed up a lot in my life. There are a lot of things that I don’t even want to remember because they’re so shameful.” My jaw sets as he says this.

He continues, “And I know that a lot of people are not going to forgive me for them.”

I stare for a while, not quite hearing him as he continues.

I do all I can to not remember that night; I remember it.

Failure upon nearly forgotten failure bleed their way into my mind.

“So the faith has become a really, really crucial part of my life,” he concludes. I blink a few times. I smile. We turn to talking about what it means to be Asian.

“There’s more schoolwork; the workload is definitely heavier in China, no matter what,” says Hendrix, recalling growing up in Hong Kong, “Coming to Canada, it’s a lot more laid-back, which is not necessarily a bad thing, because we kind of enjoy the leisure part of life. It’s not that they cherish that part more, it’s just like they recognize this is an integral part of growing up.”

He thinks about this statement for a while. He looks to the café’s trendy immigrant clientele while Ellie Goulding’s “Burn” blares above the table. “I would say, now, after seven years in Canada, I feel like procrastination is my best friend. It’s just something I love to do,” he says. “I don’t know. I just feel like, living in Canada and being Chinese, even though there’s the whole thing about working hard, in the long run, you’re just going to start chilling back, and eventually you get to a point where all this work is overwhelming, versus thinking, oh I’m just going to do all this work, and then when I’m done that I’m going to go play.”

Ivy

Elizabeth

Wan

Ivy is less equivocal about the benefits of her background. “I think that China is a booming economy, and I think I’m lucky that I have maintained a very high standard of Chinese. I can read and speak it fluently; I can type it because that’s just recognizing characters,” she says, “It’s always valuable to know a different language, but especially Chinese now, because there’s a lot of opportunities in China.” Asked to explain what is valuable about being Asian, she explains what is financially valuable about being Chinese.

“People label Asians as ‘Asians.’ I think that’s really the only difference,” says Ivy, dismissing the idea

Elizabeth has difficulty deciding how being Asian has affected her life. “I can’t think of a general statement, but I can come up with lots of small things,” she says.

“Like, I’m always referred as that blonde Asian.” She drags out the last word for effect. “I’m a cool Asian; I’m everyone’s little, midget, Asian friend. I don’t really care because it’s my friends calling me that, but, like, at the same time, it just doesn’t feel right.”

“It doesn’t make me feel bad.

Like, I’m happy to be Asian now; I used to hate it a lot,” she continues. “I think that’s just because, like... it was just me being dumb and thinking white people are awesome; I don’t really know.”

Shihan Wan steps into Starbucks for our meeting. Easily the most reticent individual I know, he refuses to be recorded. He deflects almost every question with a one-sentence response.

“The Chinese have a 3,000-year history of lessons,” he says at one point. “Why would we want to give up that tradition?”

“Also, do you have a pen?” he asks.

I lend him the one I keep in my pocket, and he begins painstakingly writing a card in Chinese. I consider his word. “Tradition.”

I think about Ivy, the terrifyingly driven young capitalist, who is ingenious and passionate and tireless. I think of the way she has set out to conquer the world, having only 20 minutes to look back before she needs to continue her inexorable journey forward. She has done everything in her considerable power to be anything and everything but weak.

I think about Elizabeth, who has struggled against anxiety and depression for years and still found the wherewithal to be one of the most talented, frank people I’ve ever met.

I think about Hendrix, the man of faith, the artist from a society that they say is composed entirely of doctors and engineers, the diligent student who worries that Canada has made him lazy.

These people all started with nominally the same tradition.

They took it into lives that battered and struck them in unexpected ways. They held onto it as the storms weathered it into something almost unrecognizable: entrepreneurial zeal rooted in and supported by its language; a devotion to the message of religion experienced alongside its profound work ethic; a realization that it is not a cage, no matter how much it looked the part while running away from it.

Shihan returns my pen. I examine his letter. The characters look flawless to my untrained eye. I ask him if his Chinese writing is exceptionally good.

He looks taken aback.

“Not really,” he says. “I don’t get to practice it a lot.”

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that there is meaningful contrast between her own race and others.

“Currently, I don’t feel like, doing entrepreneurship, people see me as the young Asian girl. They just see me as a very young entrepreneur.”

Our conversation is cut short by her front door opening. “One sec,” she says. I hear footsteps.

“Gan ma?” (“What’s happening?”) she calls downstairs. She realizes her business acquaintances have arrived. “Oh, jin lai ba, jin lai ba. Wo zhai kai hui” (“Come in, come in. I’m having a meeting”), she bids. She hurriedly answers my last question and then bids me farewell.

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“I’ve talked to other Asians too,” says Elizabeth, “I feel like a lot of them just try to be white and try to be American because, well, obviously white people have it better. Also, when I was younger, I felt like I had to fight against the stereotype of just being a nerdy little Asian, but now I’m just more comfortable with who I am. I don’t care if I’m Asian; I got fucking bangs. I look more Asian than ever.

People are just like ‘Oh, Elizabeth, you look like an anime character.’ Like whatever, like awesome, I look like an anime character.”

She bubbles along in this impossibly quotable vein for a while.

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Pressed suits and polished smiles i Alec Wilson i 30

Julien Balbontin THE VARSITY MAGAZINE | Winter 2014

n 1956, as he was racing towards a second straight loss to Dwight D. Eisenhower at America’s polls, Adlai E. Stevenson offered up one of his characteristically insightful thoughts on the nature of campaigning. The chronically underachieving presidential hopeful was recorded saying: “I’m not an old, experienced hand at politics. But I am now seasoned enough to have learned that the hardest thing about any political campaign is how to win without proving that you are unworthy of winning.” Truer words may have never been spoken by an honest person thrust into the deeply dishonest arena of politics.

The nature of political campaigning has changed a lot since Stevenson’s back-to-back losses to Eisenhower in 1952 and 1956, and again in 1960, when he lost the Democratic Party nomination to a handsome young senator from Massachusetts named John F. Kennedy. Nevertheless, Stevenson’s message carries hints of prescience.

How political candidates choose to present themselves has become a more calculated science as time has gone on.

Consultants have come out of the woodwork to tweak and perfect every aspect of a candidate’s public image, from the colour of her ties to the content of her speeches. The organization and logistics of running a modern political campaign are staggering. The amount of time; effort; and, increasingly, money, that are required to get a candidate out of the gate complicate the process. With so much at stake, it is not difficult to understand the vague promises and glad-handing on the part of would-be representatives looking to distinguish themselves.

It would be an oversimplification and, ironically, dishonest of me to suggest that all politicians are liars, or that campaigning is fundamentally corrupt. Nevertheless, there are definitely threads worth pulling at: there is a fair bit of misrepresentation and showmanship that goes into any campaign. Plans must be presented moderately, experience must be conveyed

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modestly, suits pressed, and smiles polished. Opportunities to attack a competitor on her record or to charm a specific demographic make campaigns a drawn-out and twisted popularity contest rather than a competition of ideas. Too often, salient points are lost under the glaring lights of campaign stumps and in the deafening cheers of supportive crowds.

Take, for example, the tried and true methods political candidates employ. Appeals to a vague notion of a national narrative; simple, down-home values; and other attempts at authenticity are typical. We exist in a paradigm characterized by mistrust of public figures and the media outlets that report on them. Every slogan, campaign promise, and headline is perceived through a cynical lens, searching for an inkling of bias or mistruth.

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of campaign donations has on respectable and genuine politics, if such a thing exists. Special interests, with considerable pocket books, are making their presence known through financial gifts. The inherent issue of increased political donations is one of accountability: when the costs of national campaigns are rising every year, and candidates are being forced to accept more money to stay competitive, the possibility of those with money exerting undue influence over policy becomes a legitimate concern.

This situation raises questions about the realities of electoral democracy if politicians are in some way beholden to private interests for money to run successful campaigns. US President Barack Obama summed up the issue perfectly in his remarks during the most recent State of the Union address. Speaking on his administration’s attempts to

e t

Jason Stanley of The New York Times argues that such a paradigm completely undermines “the possibility of straightforward communication in the public sphere.” So then, what are we left with? The incorruptible messages of family values, patriotism, and progress are hardly worth writing home about. The result is a political sphere lacking in earnestness, where the adequacy of potential leaders is sold to the public from behind a mask.

There are, however, a number of aggravating factors exerting themselves on the electoral process in addition to the general apathy of a suspicious public. Little doubt remains about the corrupting influence that money in the form

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patch the holes in the country’s Voting Rights Act, Obama said: “It should be the power of our vote, not the size of our bank account, that drives our democracy.” Though it was a fleeting moment, the weathered president hit the nail on the head.

New legislation and changes in legal interpretation in Canada and the United States are striking deep into the core of the issue. The federal Conservative government is doing away with Canada’s per-vote subsidy, a mechanism put in place to allocate Canadian tax dollars to federal political parties according to their popular support in past elections. While the per-vote subsidy only represents a third of the total amount of money flowing into political parties on the

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federal level in Canada, the move has many journalists speculating as to how the parties will make up for the lost revenue. Some, including the National Post’s John Ivison, have suggested that the government’s recently proposed Fair Elections Act — legislation expected to increase the amount of money Canadians can donate to political parties, among other policies — is a direct response to the changing subsidy.

It is imperative that Canada looks to the current situation in the United States — as it so often does — to see the effects of money on politics. We are far from a watershed moment similar to the United States Supreme Court’s Citizens United ruling, but we should be wary of how money drives our democracy in the Great White North. The influence it wields is nothing less than pollution — tolerable in so far as it is here to stay, but disastrous if left unguarded.

Stevenson’s remarks foretold what we now know to be true: any politician willing to do what is necessary to win an election — whether it is making promises in exchange for cash, doubling back on their positions, or lying about their records — may not be worthy of their prize.

Mark Twain is often credited with popularizing the saying, “There are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies, and statistics.” Twain himself would attribute the quote to the former British Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli. If we are to preserve our right to self-government, we must be ever vigilant against those who would use any of the three against us. We must not forget that, in our politics, the electorate are price-makers dictating effective strategies to potential political suitors. We must hold those who would lead us to a higher standard. They will only lie as long as we let them.

Through education and skepticism, we can set a higher bar for politics, and to that end, our society. We cannot allow ourselves to be dazzled by snakeoil salesmen — but at the same time, we must not become so hardened in our cynicism towards the process that we miss the genuine article.

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The way we eat now i Sofia Luu

Alice Xue

arlier this year, blogTO published a list called “The top 10 most outrageous fusion meals in Toronto.” This list included “novel mash-ups” such as the bulgogi cheesesteak (from Oddseoul) and the cheeseburger spring roll (from Lee). By describing these meals as the “trend du jour,” the article suggests that the entire concept of fusion — or food that combines techniques and styles from two or more cuisines — is a gimmick. But fusion is not merely a passing food fad to be forgotten when the next big trend hits the city.

Fusion is hardly a new idea and certainly not something Toronto can proudly call its own. According to Nick Liu, the former executive chef of Niagara Street Café and the upcoming GwaiLo, fusion entered the culinary mainstream in the ‘90s. These fusion dishes looked a lot like “miso in

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smoked salmon and wrapping it in Vietnamese rice paper,” says Liu. He adds, “These dishes were usually created by French-trained chefs, chefs not of these cultures. This type of cuisine lacked culture and history and was a trend that died back in the ‘90s.”

The type of “fusion” found in restaurants today tends to have different roots, both historically and culturally. Ask any Toronto foodie about what comes to mind when they think of “fusion,” and they would be quick to drop a few well-known names: the Lee Family, Susur Lee and his sons, Kai and Levi Bent-Lee; and the Han brothers. Leeto and Leemo, owners of Swish by Han and Oddseoul are just a few of the many.

This particular group consists of young chefs who are primarily of Asian heritage. Trying to stay true to what is commonly de-

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fined as “Chinese” or “Japanese” food is complicated in a city as diverse as Toronto. For many of these chefs, rather than resisting the influences of these other cultures and trying to stay within the boundaries of “Chinese” food, they welcome external influences. The result is a new style of cuisine that is both innovative and delicious.

Liu describes his style of cooking as a “natural integration” of the Asian dishes he grew up with and his own personal belief in using locally sourced food. But don’t you dare call his food “fusion” — in fact, the term is dreaded among the new crop of chefs who are creating dishes that food critics and media would label as such.

Liu instead prefers “new Asian cuisine,” or simply “Canadian.”

Many would be quick to point out that Toronto is the furthest thing from a homogenous city. Our neighbourhoods are a reflection of the ethnicities that were once the largest in the city: Chinatown, Little India, and Greektown, for starters. While it is easy to identify certain dishes associated with certain ethnicities, trying to define “Canadian” food is problematic.

Although Shinji Yamaguchi — owner of Gushi, a street stall that specializes in a style of Japanese street food called kushikatsu — grew up in Japan, it is pretty clear that the Gushi menu was strongly influenced by his experience in “Canadian” dining. One notable item is Gushi poutine — a hybrid of the Canadian staple and Gushi’s signature chicken.

The history behind the poutine meal at Gushi is simple: Yamaguchi wanted to combine both of his favourite foods into one meal. Many of us consider the act of starting off the day with a double-double and doughnut from Tim Hortons as a way of asserting our Canadian identity, but we seldom think about why we consider this combination to be “Canadian.” Perhaps the reason why there has been so much obsession with “fusion” food is

its tendency to take dishes we consider “traditional” and reimagine them as a dish that is culturally indistinct.

These new hybrid cuisines aren’t killing off cultures; they are celebrating them in new ways. Innovators are bringing the mingling of cultures on the streets of Toronto and other cities into the kitchen and forging new courses within traditional cuisines.

Fusion food — debates about the authenticity of bulgogi cheesesteaks and kimchi fries aside — asks diners to consider the diversity of personal histories and influences behind a single dish.

Much more than a trend for foodies to cash in on, fusion is a natural and exciting product of what happens when a chef of another ethnicity grows up in Canada.

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The luxury of being ordinary Sarah Niedoba | i

“You know what I do when I feel completely unoriginal?” asks Sam, before leaping to her feet and flailing her arms above her head, making squeaky, nonsensical noises, “I make a noise or I do something that no one has ever done before, and then I can feel unique again, even if it’s only for, like, a second.”

This is a scene from the 2004 film Garden State, in which Andrew, played

by Zach Braff, encounters Sam, Natalie Portman’s character, and falls in love with her. Andrew begins the film a depressed, heavily medicated twentysomething, returning to his hometown from L.A. after the death of his mother. After meeting Sam, his life changes for the better, and he has a series of epiphanies that lead him to forgive his estranged father, abandon prescription medication, and go out into the world to pursue “something greater.”

The scene is meant to show the originality of Portman’s character — a unique young woman, endearing to Andrew and the audience for her ability to embrace her strangeness in a genuine way.

But this same character has also been criticized as a fundamentally inauthentic archetype. Many terms could describe Portman’s character in the film — quirky, energetic, spastic, whimsical. Film critic Nathan Rabin would use all of these, and one more: Manic Pixie Dream Girl (mpdg).

Rabin coined the term in 2005, describing Kirsten Dunst’s character in the film Elizabethtown: “that bubbly, shallow, cinematic creature that exists solely in the fevered imaginations of sensitive writerdirectors to teach broodingly soulful 34

Ann Sheng

young men to embrace life and its infinite mysteries and adventures.”

Once the term was coined, it was applied by many film writers to a number of female characters found in film: Kate Hudson in Almost Famous, Diane Keaton in Annie Hall, and virtually every character Zooey Deschanel has played in the last five years.

The trope’s existence is clear, but whether it is problematic is less so. A group of U of T students were asked to watch clips from Garden State and give their initial impressions.

Some students recognized the trope present in Portman’s character immediately. Lauren Dineley, a fourth-year student minoring in cinema studies, watched the clip and promptly added a link to the Wikipedia description of mpdgs. Dineley defined the type as: “Not realistic — idealistic for the demographic of the film — indie hipsters who think they are different but really aren’t.”

Two other students who were shown the clip were able to identify the trope, and even some who didn’t were skeptical of the authenticity of Portman’s character. “I would describe her as a romanticization of a person,” said Sarah Bowser, a third-year English specialist.

Characters identified by critics as mpdgs are considered both authentic-seeming characters by some and romanticized figures by others. However, the problem with the trope doesn’t lie in the audience’s perception of the mpdg as realistic or not.

The problem with the artificial nature of the character is the reason for which she is contrived in the first place — to capture the imagination of the male protagonist.

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Words used by critics to describe the mpdg were echoed by U of T students: quirky, whimsical, witty, cute, likeable. Whatever else the trope may be, it creates a girl who is undeniably interesting — but her entire personality is designed to captivate her oh-sosensitive, bookish male protagonist.

The male protagonist does not have to be extraordinary — he does not need to justify himself as the titular character or inspire a love interest to make himself worthy of the audience’s attention. The Zach Braffs of the film world revel in how downright ordinary they are. It is up to the mpdg to provide spark and life to the male’s story — she doesn’t have the luxury of being ordinary.

The mpdg trope has implications outside of the fictional world in which it was created. It’s natural for us to grow up idolizing characters in the media we consume and in the fictional stories we are told.

It would make sense then for viewers to internalize the mpdg as both someone to desire and someone to imitate. If the only type of woman being put forward in a film matches the mpdg model, it is not a great a leap to assume that actual women growing up watching such characters might change themselves to emulate them. They may think that they will only be valued if they conform to a fantasized version of their gender.

The mpdg trope creates a world in which, if women are to serve a purpose, they must capture the attention of men; to achieve that end, they may end up being denied the privilege of being themselves.

White, flushed

Hair accessories

Bows

Perpetually tousled bedhead

Deliberately mismatched prints

Flowy floral mini skirt

Colourful ballet flats

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Take me out to the mall game Elizabeth Benn i

Doran Woo

he grass lining the outfield, the players on the field, and the cheering in the stands are no longer all that go into the spectacle of professional sport. While the stadium, jerseys, and food all continuously serve as essential parts of a fan’s experience, over the past few decades creaky fold-down seats have been traded in for leather armchairs; simple logos have been redesigned as ornate figures; and hot dogs have been replaced by California rolls. Are these modernizations ruining the game, or do they simply show a shift from the classical experience into the modern world of sport?

Old Yankee Stadium saw its final season in 2008 before the stadium on steroids was built next door. With gold accents, luxurious suites, and even a Victoria’s Secret Pink stand inside what overall resembles a Yankees-themed mall, the stadium has become as much of a spectacle as the game.

Monument Park held a special place in the old Yankee stadium, and the thought of demolishing the shrine to the Yankee greats seemed unfathomable — so it was packed up and moved to the new stadium instead. But in its transfer, Monument Park lost some of its magic. Any remaining historical significance can be found in the stories of the players behind the monuments rather than the museum behind the outfield wall. In order to create this ornate framing of the baseball field, some of the team’s history was lost.

Some people may enjoy the decadence surrounding today’s professional sports, providing a spectacle beyond the game itself — but I’d prefer to avoid Magnolia cupcakes with Derek

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Jeter’s face painted into the fondant frosting, and instead sit in the bleachers with carnival soft-serve in a helmet cup and enjoy the game on the field.

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Old

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Novel novel I am thinking of the novel and how to write one that you might like to read. The only reason to bother, it seems to me, is to do something original — to write a novel novel. A novelist, if one believes in etymology, is ‘one who innovates.’ How do I presume to innovate within a form that is over 200 years old in name, and much older in origin? You know what to expect in a novel, more or less. And this expectation creates my most tangible and frustrating constraint, for how am I to innovate the very thing to which you bring your expectations? It’s impossible. An impossible dilemma. And yet.

There are ways. I can give you just enough of the thing you expect. As I imagine it: I can give narrative arc, I can give characters with central and agonizing problems, I can give suitable reversals and love affairs — all that old stuff. And then set about to disrupt elsewhere. Like James Joyce, or Gertrude Stein, I can revel in the sentence and dance upon its syntax. Like Carson McCullers or Flannery O’Connor, I can transgress decorum and play with societal expectations. My trick is to keep the puppets moving just as you think they ought to and meanwhile pull the carpet out from under you, pull it out so expertly that you don’t notice until the last word is imbibed.

The novel is one of the greatest magic tricks ever invented simply because in its convention, its construction, and its general convivial inliveableness, it can still saw you in half, and make you look again and again. It might not be innovative as much as it might be renovative.

— Kathryn Kuitenbrouwer, novelist and professor, continuing studies

spoila in the viaduct’s mouth where a nun slipped into sky and misplaced herself, i watched concrete ebb at her feet and then rise. i think of a buttress procession, of historic ballerinas arching their painterly arms across their navels, held in time. in the dark, we navigate through erratically spaced columns holding up the bridge base and count fluted shafts harrowing the momentary gaps. crouching beneath your arm as the wind thickly leaps adagio, i recall the nun and kiss mouths with old phenomena as apologies. how the top of our heads coil from above, charting patterns like rivers on a globe repeated and repeating; we carve epistolary reliefs on stone as a future map and cast our monochrome myth sitting under the monster of night, where if he had hands he would pinch pockets of sky and we would all watch blue drop.

— Melina Mehr, fourth-year, literature and cinema studies THE VARSITY MAGAZINE | Winter 2014

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Harbour Grace Amelia stands at the foot of the street, next to an airplane that isn’t hers. Her hair is always longer than I remember, and she is taller than I think she’s going to be. Her boots reach up to her knees, the laces criss-crossing like X’s: horizontal kisses up her shins. I always expect her to have put on a bit of weight, but her cheekbones are as sharp as always.

“Hannah, get over here,” a mother yells to her pig-tailed kid who has just run away from the picnic table holding a bag of chips. “I said get over here. I’m counting to five!”

Amelia’s hands are cold, they’re always cold.

The mother counts and Amelia stands so patiently even as the fog rolls in from the other side of the highway. The buttons on her coat are the size of quarters.

“She’s a pilot, you know,” the kid says, stopping at the base of the statue.

I nod.

“She’s dead now.”

“Disappeared,” I say.

“Dead.”

“Sorry,” the mother yells. “Hannah, let’s go.”

She swings around Amelia’s legs, making faces up at me and I leave Amelia and her coat, looping around the city to a gravel road where the ditches are filled with crumpled Tim Hortons cups and Labatt Ice cans.

Eventually, I get to an airfield, her airfield. It’s a strip of grass now, not gravel, and it’s recently been mowed.

I stand near the plaque and try to imagine her Vega lifting off from the far end, but it smells so much like rotten fish, I get back in the car and roll up the windows.

— Lindsay Zier-Vogel, master’s, literature, writer

“The universe is made up of stories, not of atoms.”

Rusted ruinations on a spattered old police box filled with misspent pennies that wish away the witching hour.

— Victoria Kuketz, master’s, literature

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already February My broken-in skin is winter pale and exposed beneath the naked lightbulb that’s suspended by electric wires.

I got the spins so bad that the sharp bulb’s light is sweeping up the white ceiling into colours. Pretty, like rainbows in spilled oil beside a gas station pump.

I run my tongue over my cracked lips, while my fingertips count out the months it has been. The spit makes them kissable and soft, but soon they’ll be dry and red.

I tap the hard, calloused caps of pink flesh: 1-2-3-45 months and five fingers fan out.

I feel the folds of the sheets in the space where you sleep and the fabric fills the gaps of my fingers.

Orange, like the glow of your lighter between flesh when you block nighttime breeze with your heavy palm.

Standing by the window, you see my hand stretching out along your bed, tight bars of fingernails sink in, and you think, she wants me to come over, so you do.

But first, you pause to choose the right song. It’s sad and slow, and it reminds us of people we don’t talk to anymore.

I make room for you, and as I do, beer caps dig into my bare back and leave circles of pale red. I sweep them away, edging them between the bed and the wall. Then I look at you, lying in the space where my hand used to be, and I still can’t believe it’s already February.

— Elizabeth Andrews, U of T graduate

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