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Digital culture

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Moving away from home for the first time triggered something inside my mind. As a Freshman, a sense of loss washed over me, and this sorrow manifested itself into a bizarre syndrome, an inexplicable dependency, a mind-boggling complex.

A small fish in an increasingly bigger pond, I yearn for communication with those I left behind. Technology, in the form of e-mail, presents the perfect solution for my need of maintaining those invaluable connections.

I’ll be the first to admit it. I need my e-mail. Yeah, that’s right. I am addicted to my e-mail.

When a long hard day at school had gotten to me, I decide to seek solace in my faithful HP Pavilion 7940. On instinct, I opened Internet Explorer and went straight to the Hotmail website. This daily ritual has become second nature to me, a habit as necessary as my mid-day nap. I logged in, and as I waited for the page to load, I felt the anticipation and excitement building up inside of me.

The familiar mix of Hotmail blues and whites greeted me and my eyes immediately shot to the left side of the page, holding my breath. The ‘1 new’ beside my Inbox sent a wave of ecstasy through my body. Somebody loves me!

Impatiently, I scrolled to the bottom of the page. “Hi, I miss you!” was the subject of the latest addition to my mail. I was beside myself! I clicked on it to read the message, expecting to be greeted with warm sentiments of well-wishing and inquiries about my new life. Instead, what met my eyes were bold neon letters: “FREE HARDCORE PORN” and “COME AND GET IT.”

I was crushed. Duped again! It felt like someone had ripped my heart out, chewed on it, ground it up into pieces, and then spit on it. Disappointment was the order of the day.

These spammers are cold and ruthless. They prey on the pathetic nature of people like myself, and manipulate our feelings in a form or ruthless guerilla marketing.

And I have had enough.

I refuse to forward another e-mail. I think my sex life will be just fine, thank you. I do not care for the new wardrobe GAP will send me. Oh, of course the offer is valid – the President of GAP obviously typed and signed the e-mail himself.

Yes, I am cruel and cold-hearted, for I will not pass this on so that all the starving children of the world will receive $100 each from God. I am sorry about your ‘poor son Jimmie’ with a rare case of whatever disease you have conjured up, but I doubt sending this on will raise funds for The Foundation of Jimmie’s Rare Disease.

My friends know I love them, I do not need to forward e-mails with horrid poems with AABBCC rhyme schemes that my English teacher would cringe at, and which end in “xoxo hUgGLiEs n sNuGgLiEs xoxo.” I doubt my crush will notice me if I send this to 1-5 people, kiss me if I send it to 6-10, go steady with me if I send it to 11-15, or marry me should this reach 16-20 people.

I have had my share of cartoon porn and, call me crazy, but Bart Simpson and Fred Flinstone in provocative positions really do nothing for me. Oh, and those darn personality quizzes have just devastated me. Question 5 asks whether I prefer the Backstreet Boys or N’Sync, and since I answered neither, it has been concluded that I am neither cool nor popular. Drat. And I am sorry to burst your bubble, but world peace will not come about simply by forwarding an e-mail petition with 5000 typed names to the King of the World. Ditto for world hunger.

Furthermore, I am eighteen years old. I do not need to look 10 years younger, or “turn back the clock and turn up the energy now,” no matter how many exclamation marks you tack onto the end of that. I am not worried about my wrinkles or my cellulite, and I think I’ll pass on the “rejuvenate every cell in your body and soul” offer. Heck, I didn’t even know my soul had cells.

I do not need my debt consolidated, nor do I have any desire to see pictures of prepubescent girls. And for the record, mammals and midgets posing with them aren’t appealing incentives to me.

As for a revealing and accurate glimpse into my future for the extraordinary price of $3.99 a minute? I just may have to pass. And last time I checked, the size of my penis was just fine so I doubt I will need to increase it by 10 inches, but thank you for your concern.

Then again…social status, a styling new wardrobe, the unconditional love of the object of my affection, the chance to save the world, and not to mention never-ending happiness do seem rather appealing.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if I hit the ‘Forward’ button…what have I got to lose? Morals shmorals…who’s it going to hurt anyway, it’s just another forward.

Features

Sex Games

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On average, Canadians have sex 150 times a year, placing us fourth in the world. From that initial come-hither glance to the frustrating rules and the gratifying end, the McGill Tribune explores our obsession with one of the nation’s favourite pastimes.

You gots to be a playa, man” proclaims Master P. The real one, that is, of the album The Ghetto is Trying to Kill Me fame, not this one–as much as I would like to refer to myself as ‘master’–though rent in the McGill Ghetto may very well kill me. This P-Diddy, however, has seen all too well the effects of self-professed ‘players’ at work on their favourite pastime.

Inevitably, this gives rise to the question of whether sex is indeed a game.

Magazines such as Sports Illustrated and their legendary swimsuit issues suggest that women can be considered a sport to be played. References are made in everyday conversation to ‘winning over’ one’s lover. Sex is seen as the objective end to a game for the ‘playboy’ who ‘conquers’ his prey. A night out on the town with the boys finds many of them preoccupied with getting lucky and ‘scoring’.

“[Such language] reflects a traditional attitude that sex involves a conquest: a predatory, sexually aroused male getting his way with a reluctant, chaste female,” observes Dr. Charles Boberg, an assistant professor in McGill’s Linguistics department. He believes that the language a society uses about sex reflects its attitude towards it.

“To some extent, this is a cultural construction of traditional western European society; it also reflects a biological fact, being that male sexual excitement and aggression is a precondition for intercourse, whereas female excitement is not,” asserts Boberg.

Cultural historians, scientists, game theorists, philosophers and economists have long pondered and debated the qualifying conditions of a game. Noted German game designer Wolfgang Kramer defined it, however, as being made up of several components: a goal, rules, competition, and moderated by the underlying truism that the course of the game is never certain, as chance gets its say.

The goal of the game of sex appears to be fairly obvious.

“Sex, as perceived by most people, is very goal-oriented,” notes Tara McKee, a workshop facilitator at Good for Her, a Toronto-based sex shop that holds seminars on topics relating to sex and sexuality. “You have to get to orgasm, you need to give the best blow-job.” While she disagrees with this school of thought and prefers to think of sex as a journey, she says it is hard to change prevailing attitudes and work the angle that sex should not be mission-oriented.

It appears as though societal pressures have reduced the act of sex to purely quantitative measures. Over breakfast with the girls after a wild night of the horizontal tango, the questions of how big, how long–time, that is, you perverts–and how good are unavoidable.

“In society, women are considered the holders of sexuality. They’re withholding it from men and men have to get it. It’s about achieving her,” says McKee. “There are a lot of games happening between couples. Women will play into [this view] and try to hold sex from men, and then men will try to get it.”

Beyond the physical, however, the psychological goal of the game is often ambiguous and personal. Validation of self-worth and confirmation of ability and prowess are but two of them.

Rules of the game, another qualifying condition according to Kramer, seem to have permeated Western consciousness with regards to sex. Self-help pundits for women advocate mind games, encouraging women to abide by standard rules in order to get their man. One only needs to look at the success of the Ellen Fein and Sherri Schneider duo, authors of the New York Times No. 1 bestseller The Rules: Time Tested Secrets for Capturing the Heart of Mr. Right, to realize people seek rigidity and structure in this often-confusing game. Rules seminars and workshops conducted by the authors have become increasingly popular.

Rule No. 5, according to Fein and Schneider, is “Don’t call him and rarely return his calls.” These rules have been criticized as a hindrance to gender equality, as they reinforce negative sexual stereotypes. Leaving such contention aside, however, the success of this desperate-single-woman gospel confirms that people actively seek and want to be guided by such rules, in the hopes that it will increase their chances of success in the game. Anyone who has seen Swingers knows that the wait-three-days-before-calling rule has become something of a tenet in the realm of dating. Loathe those that adhere to such rules? Don’t hate the player, hate the game.

Competition rears its head in the form of all the pretty people out at the bar. Primping and priming for a big date is not alien to most. With the final goal in mind, the path may be uncertain, but an overriding principle stands out: you gotta look good to get there.

“I dress up when I go out clubbing,” shares Jen, a U1 Arts student. “Everybody else is and you don’t want to just be another face in the crowd. You want to stand out.”

Finally, toss in a dash of fate for good measure and all the conditions for a game have been satisfied. As every player or playette worth his or her little black book knows, the locus of control isn’t always within one’s reach and, like it or not, luck will take its course. And what do the games themselves reveal about their participants?

“All games require at least some degree of abstract intelligence, while many also require sophistication, judgement, creativity, or a combination of these,” says game inventor and President of Polymath Systems Kevin Langdon.

A certain level of sophistication certainly distinguishes the average Joe from a smooth-talking Don Juan. Creativity shines through in such charming pick-up lines as “Are you a parking ticket? Because you got fine-fine-fine written all over you” or “I wish you were a carousel at Wal-Mart so I could ride you all day long for just a quarter.” Judgement calls require some brainwork–was she winking at me or does she have something in her contact?

It seems sex has literally become a game in some senses with role-playing, fetishism and dressing up all becoming the norm.

The playing of games is a defining character of man, notes Langdon. “Thus, [games] have come to occupy a prominent place among the metaphors which have been employed for human life.”

Some men may define their masculinity in terms of how they play the game and their results from engaging in it. Each woman is perceived as another notch on his belt of machismo.

The quest to find the trophy husband or wife consumes some once they feel they’ve hit their marrying prime. The lament “I’m too old for this game [of dating]” is heard and the goal then shifts to one of marriage and the quest for Mr. or Mrs. Right begins. Indeed, the success of Bridget Jones’ Diary suggests a collective desire to be a ‘smug married’ rather than a ‘shameful singleton’. Attainment of this revised goal then becomes validation of ourselves and the mate with whom we end up, which is a reflection of our own efforts.

“Sex games are as dangerous as playing cards,” asserts Fareed Ramezani, a second-year Political Science student at Concordia University. “You might sporadically play and that’s fine, but then you might get carried away and, before you know it, you’ve become addicted to gambling.”

Is sex a game of seduction? Or does it run deeper and become a precarious game of conquest? It boils down to a person’s expectations of the game and motivations for playing it.

“Sex is a game of Risk,” said Christian McGuire, U1 Management. “Through the chaotic battlefield of desire, one collects trophies and conquers the world.” On the front lines, people get hurt and hearts get trampled on. As individuals struggle to make sense of the seemingly arbitrary and senseless rules of the game of dating and sex, frustrations can run high.

Between rules, mind games and playing hard-to-get, we’re all equally confused and thus concede to playing the game in order to try and make sense of our own desires, organize our actions and maximize our chances of ‘winning’. Bottom line? Don’t player hate, participate.

Student Life

Will you live with me?

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As I was picking the tomatoes out of the tomato-bean-corn-random-sauce-weird-white-vegetable-mix at the salad bar in the cafeteria, I began eavesdropping on a conversation two girls standing beside me were having.

“Where were you a few minutes ago? I tried to find you for lunch,” asked one of them.

“Oh, we were in Julia’s room with the door closed,” the other explained. “We didn’t want anyone to know we were in there.”

“Why not?”

“We were talking about the living situation.”

“Ohh,” said the first girl, with a sigh of total understanding. “It was a secret meeting.”

Every person in Upper Rez seems to have the same New Year’s resolution: find someone to live with. In fact, this seems to be the hottest topic of discussion for every student living in residence. Where in the beginning of the year, the trite question was “Where are you from?” and “What program are you in?”, the oh-so-crucial query of “Who are you living with?” seems to have taken its place.

“That’s all I hear,” says B.J. Leipsic, a first-year student in Upper Rez.

“‘Who are you living with?’ or ‘Who aren’t you living with?'” adds Hart Stitz, Leipsic’s roomie-to-be.

These questions are causing much stress, anxiety and awkwardness among residents, who are all attempting, in some way or another, to negotiate living arrangement plans for next year. The question everyone keeps asking is, “Who should I live with?”

Finding a match

Before you can get engaged for what is likely to be a three-year marriage with roommates, you need to find a fiancé, or in many cases, fiancés. The first thing you need to decide is whether you want to live with someone you just met (meaning an engagement with a person you’ve known for four months or less), or with someone you knew pre-McGill.

Living with someone you know means you won’t get any after-move-in surprises, since you are likely to already be aware of all their weird and annoying habits. You can usually be more certain of your compatibility.

For many students in Upper Rez, however, this is not an option, meaning many will inevitably choose to live with someone they’ve only recently met. The dilemma then becomes finding the perfect mate. Many choose to live with those they’ve gotten closest to.

“They’re the two people I spend the most time with so it seemed like the logical thing to do,” says Leigh O’Neil, who has decided to move in with her two best friends in residence.

But living with best friends may not always be the wisest thing to do. Jordanna Kapeluto, who lives in O’Neil’s building, has decided against living with many of the friends she’s made at school.

“I get along well with the person I’m living with,” she explains. “We have similar living styles; we’re similar people. There are other people who are great friends but I can’t see myself living with them.”

The consensus is that, before considering your friendship with a potential roomie, you must first consider your living compatibility and habits. If you also happen to be the best of friends, then it’s a bonus, but it shouldn’t be your primary concern.

So how does one find a person with similar habits? The first place to look is on your own floor. Natalie Andrusiak of Molson Hall has decided to live with people from her floor purely because she knows she can live with them.

“We’re pretty much living with each other now; we see each other everyday,” she shares. “On the whole, nothing’s really changing.”

Erica Bernstein, who lives on the same floor, is also choosing to live with her immediate neighbours for a simple reason.

“We live together now and I know we don’t fight,” she explains, adding that she also knows she can share clothes with her selected roommates.

So it seems the floor is the popular place to pick up roommates. But what about those who aren’t so fortunate and aren’t having luck with the floor? The trick is to ask around, be they friends on other floors, in other buildings, out of rez or even people you don’t know who are looking for roomies.

Full house

The dilemma doesn’t stop at the decision about who to live with, but also includes the question of how many to live with. Here, the jury is split.

“Two is a good number,” upholds Leipsic. “With three, one person is left out, and four is just a mess.”

Grayson Barke, who lives four floors above him, disagrees.

“The more you live with, the better, because the less the cost.”

My rules work as follows:

Two in an apartment: You better know this person super well and be sure you get along with them because there ain’t nobody to rescue you.

Three: Third wheel. In any situation there’s always someone excluded. Just be prepared for constant team switching.

Four: an ideal number. Too many people for there to be anyone left out, but not enough people for it to be chaotic. Plus, when you get sick of one person, you can surely find another to play with.

Saying “I do”

This seems to be the hardest for most students. The easiest way seems to be the casual approach. O’Neil’s engagement became official when her two best friends and her were talking about moving out of rez and one of them just said, “Why don’t we all live together?”

Kappeleto, too, went for the casual approach:

“I just said, ‘I have a place in the works. Would you be interested?'”

Another U0 student, who asked to remain anonymous, didn’t even have to bother with planning an approach:

“I never said anything. It was implied. One of us just said one day, ‘We need to start looking for a place.'”

However you decide to ask, be prepared that you may not get the answer you want or the proposee may need time to think it over. If someone can’t live with you, it doesn’t mean they can’t be friends with you, so don’t take it personally. And there are no guarantees that they won’t break off the proposal. At this time of year, more than one suitor may be pursuing your roommate of choice, so all you can do is hope. Or, you can do as Bernstein and her roommates-to-be did: pinkie-swear on it.

There’s always divorceFinding a roommate shouldn’t be as stressful as residents make it out to be. It’s true things may not work out if you choose the wrong roommate, but the risk is necessary in a situation where you’ve only known people a mere four months. It’s impossible to be sure; you’ve got to take a chance. And if, once you move in, it doesn’t end up working, just remember: there’s always divorce.

Student Life

Communal showers and urinals: The politics of co-ed washrooms

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After having spent three hours helping me unpack my belongings into my new room in Molson Hall, my mother entered and immediately left the washroom, upon spotting the young man at the urinal. She refused to go back to the bathroom while there was someone of the opposite sex in there with her.

If those of us living on a co-ed wing followed this same mantra, we’d find ourselves with some serious bladder problems.

For co-ed Rez kids, it is perfectly normal for a girl to enter the washroom while a guy is casually taking a whiz at the urinal or for a guy to enter the washroom while a girl is changing her tampon in one of the stalls. This is what comes with sharing a bathroom with 18 other people of both sexes. But it wasn’t always this normal.

Peeing with friends

Many residents will admit that they were a bit uneasy at the beginning. A resident of Molson Hall, who asked to remain anonymous, remembers his initial discomfort, but says he has now fully adjusted.

“It was awkward. You come from a home where you have your own washroom, where you could shut the door,” he explains. ” Now you’re brushing your teeth and some half-naked guy or girl walks in. It takes time getting used to but you start to get the hang of it… you stop thinking about it.”

This is the common trend among residents; now, it is just part of our normalcy. I expect that when I enter the washroom for whatever occasion, there will be a girl standing there–I almost look forward to it.

Urinal understanding Life within the tiled walls of the unisex washrooms does have its problems, which require setting up some ground rules. The most obvious manifestations of a co-ed washroom are the urinals, and there are rules to the man-toilet. People assume that because guys are out in the open when using it, it’s perfectly okay to start up a conversation with them while they’re peeing. Wrong. Many residents find this to be the first rule of urinary etiquette: No talking to a guy at the urinal.

“If a guy’s at a urinal, make quick eye contact and then look away,” is Rachel Marcuse’s tactic, based on her experiences thus far.

Jordana Kapeluto agrees, adding that the guy sets the tone.

“If a guy talks to you first, then it’s okay to talk to him.”

A guy may feel uncomfortable talking while he pees, since a urinal doesn’t provide the privacy of a stall; he may also have trouble with his ability to pee if someone is standing beside him talking to him.

Some, however, disagree and feel that a man has given up his right to privacy by choosing to use the urinal as opposed to a stall. Regardless, should a man choose to use a stall, there are rules that follow. The female remarks most often heard throughout the building are: Put down the lid and if you pee on the seat, clean it up.

Yet, even in the confines of a stall, awkwardness may still arise for both men and women. Just last week, I was in the bathroom when a girl using one of the stalls asked me if I could turn the tap on because she was having trouble peeing while I was in the room.

Poo problems I certainly remember the first time I sat in a stall in the co-ed washroom, praying no one would enter while I was doing my business, but now I don’t care. One thing you learn from co-ed washrooms is that everyone does it and there’s really nothing embarrassing about it. Most residents have found they’re no longer humiliated if they make a noise in the bathroom. It is important, however, to remember that urinary rules apply here as well. In fact, it is perfectly acceptable to outright ignore someone who is on the john as this will make it less awkward for both of you.

Still, as with all rules, this one is flexible. Victor Feret is one of few residents who finds it “more comfortable” to talk to others while he is in a stall.

“I’m always talking,” he explains. “I have shitting partners.”

Shower shenanigans Across from the toilet area are two stalls and a bathtub shower with a door that locks. I have found the showers to be the most fun place for conversation: I enjoy making shower dates with my floormates, so that there is someone in the next stall keeping me company. It truly enriches the bathing experience.

According to the bathing rule, shower dates and conversations are perfectly acceptable. It should be noted that your shower date should have good vocal abilities and harmonize well with you, especially for shower duets.

In residence, the co-ed showers thus become a social bonding space where floormates can sing together and have fun in the water–think of it as a day at the beach.

However, showering with the opposite sex demands respect and understanding from floormates. A resident of one of the upper residences, who chose to remain anonymous, describes the shower behaviour of her floormates.

“People steal other people’s towels, the shower curtains, pour cold water over the side of the stall while someone’s showering. They make a nice mix with different stuff and pour it over you while you’re showering,” she confides, adding the rule: “Don’t shit in the shower. Don’t laugh. It’s happened.”

Still, besides such pranks, residents have found the showers to be a comfortable and considerate environment. But there are limitations.

Banging and beating

Let’s get straight to the point: Sex or masturbating in the shower or toilet stalls is disrespectful. This rule is pretty self-explanatory, but there is an understanding among residents that it can be broken, as long as no one knows about it.

“If I don’t know about it, I don’t care,” states Ian MacDougall.

The student, who was initially petrified by the idea of having to share a bathroom with 18 strangers, is now more comfortable.

“If people want to have sex in the shower or beat off, all the power to them!” he exclaims. “Doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable.”

Marcuse agrees.

“If you want to do stuff like that in the grimy showers, go ahead,” he states. “Just make sure to clean up after yourself.”

Bathroom banter So what is the advantage of the co-ed washroom? The social aspect: Since there isn’t a common room on each residence floor, the bathroom has become the social hotspot.

“It’s our common room!” announces Stephanie Hodsoll, who shares a washroom with toilet-talker Feret.

In fact, most floormates would never see each other were it not for the washroom. It’s central and there is no getting around using it. So the co-ed washroom, instead of proving to be problematic, as many initially thought it would have, proves to be instrumental to the blooming of co-ed floor friendships.

In general, the rule system is founded on trust, common sense and, primarily, respect. And should you want to experience the phenomenon that has become our everyday life, come on up: We’ll make sure your shower, shit and shave are a sensational experience. Remember to flush and you’ll do just fine.

Opinion

Ain’t nothing but a P thang

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Apparently, you have already met the person you will marry by age 21. I call bullshit. I just hit the magical number and I’ll be damned if that saying rings true because, frankly, my options are looking bleak. I have yet to meet the Prince Charming who will whisk me off to a life of white picket fences. I have existed on this planet for just over two decades, so you can bet Cupid’s perky little toosh that I have the battle scars to show for it. There was that “engagement” once-with diamond ring and all-but other than that, what have I got? Only a case full of stale penned sweet-nothings and crumpled up plans for two, forever cast away to the confines of a Pegabo shoebox. Whenever I go through the box, expired feelings are roused as I flip casually through pictures that once meant so much. And I ask myself… what, if anything, do my exes have in common? How do people go about seeking partners?

The esteemed Panthea Institute of Over-analysis, in association with the Panthea Foundation of Procrastination, proposes two schools of thought with regard to this puzzle: the objective theory and the subjective theory.

The objective approach states that when we go on the prowl, we are searching for an ideal. How is this chimera fashioned? Extensive empirical studies show that, for girls my age, it may be from reading too many Seventeen articles and watching too many hold-me-while-I-swoon-they’re-so-cheesy-but-my-XX-chromosomes-forbid-me-to-turn-away chick flicks that are mandatory at any respectable eighth grade slumber party. Conversely, in the male mind, one would perhaps find a vixen whose foundation was laid when dad’s treasure trove of naughty ‘zines was discovered and he got that first good tingly feeling in that bad place. Of course, honesty, sense of humour and trustworthiness also spring to mind but “inner beauty” is a tricky domain that the Institute has yet to wrap its shallow head around.

And so we scour our habitat to seek out “the one.” The ones we take a chance on are those possessing a relatively high number of the attributes sought. Of course, sometimes we falter, placing these prospective lovers under a guise most often created by beer goggles.

There is also the subjective theory, which states that we start with a blank slate and it is merely by trial and error how we find our mate. It is after accumulating numerous bumps and bruises that we learn who we are and what we like. Let’s say you had serious communication problems with your last girlfriend Olga-it is unlikely you will take the Russian mail-order bride route again. Very profound, indeed.

Most people use a combination of the two tactics. They start out striving for Mr. or Ms. Perfect, and eventually, as a citizen of the real world, you learn that unless you are Jennifer Aniston, you are not going to get Brad Pitt, and vice versa.

Though, presently, our findings are inconclusive, the Institute will continue to pioneer groundbreaking studies into the murky field of courtship. First stop: Le Swimming. Hypothesis: The opposite sex will react positively to short skirts and dirty dancing. Ah, the things I do in the name of science.

Opinion

Ain’t nothing but a P thang: Confessions of a snob

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Did you see what she is wearing? Omigod, I can’t believe he just said that! Admit it, we all pass judgments on others for the silliest of things-their outfits, their musical preferences, whatever. It’s human nature. There is a bit of snob in each of us. In my case, however, it is more than just a bit.

I am not ashamed. Oh no. I refuse to mope about the fact that I assert superiority over others based on arbitrary measures. I will not exclaim, “Oh woe is me, I wonder how it happened.” I know exactly how it happened. I blame it on-probably the most popular scapegoat in this age of Freudian psychology-my mother.

When I was just a little wee lass-try, if you can, to imagine P Thang as just plain old “p”; I hadn’t yet developed enough ‘tude for neither the capital P nor the Thang-a friend of my mother’s told her that I was the ugliest baby she had ever seen. To add insult to injury, my grandma cried when a relative remarked that I took after her. As the woman who gave birth to such a creature, my mother panicked. Gosh darn it, she thought, if her child wasn’t going to be beautiful on the outside, she would at least be beautiful on the inside. I was a fat kid with astigmatism and crooked teeth, and the woman responsible for this aesthetic mess-imagining a bleak future as the object of much taunting-decided that she had to make it up to me somehow. And so Project Inner Beauty began. Its end result? A fat kid with glasses, braces, and an “I rule the world” attitude.

I am a culture snob. I was probably the first four-year-old to sit in the front row of Swan Lake. I also had the distinction of being the only one to fall asleep within the first half hour. Today, I scoff at reality television and The OC. I am going to the Nutcracker in two weeks.

I am a food snob. Junk food was unheard of. I craved preservatives and artificial colouring. At school, no one ever wanted to trade lunches. No matter how you look at it, mortadella on 12-grain is no match for PB&J on white in the eyes of an eight-year-old. Today, I turn up my nose at Snickers and snack on dark chocolate-covered orange peels instead.

I am a fashion snob. Back in the day, I would have given up all my 100 per cent natural fruit leathers-Fruit Roll-Ups had far too much sugar-for my mom to dress like other moms. I prayed for the day she would slip on a sweatshirt, jeans, and sneakers. But, as I learned the hard way, Jiminy Cricket is a filthy liar. My mother’s favourite outfit was a silver, leopard print, velour thing. She passed her finely honed fashionista instincts onto me. Her motto was “dare to be different” and her child was no exception. I was denied jeans; rather, my mother believed in colour-coordinated outfits. She thought that by dressing me well, attention may be taken off my less-than-attractive visage. Today, I am petrified of the Gap. Their ads terrify me, especially the “Everybody in” campaign and the “Fall into the Gap” slogan from a few years back. I am scared of being one of the everybodys in corduroy; and, please, for those who like it, do me a favour: fall into the Gap and never come out.

Yes, I am a snob. But I embrace it, and so should you. So long as you can trace your snobbism back to an appropriate scapegoat, no one will think any less of you.

Opinion

Ain’t nothing but a P thang: So… this weather, eh?

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It can happen anywhere, at any time. It is social torture. It is the Awkward Conversation-insignificant, trite repartee that neither party engaging in it cares about. Drawing from personal experience, the Panthea Institute of Over-analysis will now review three main sources from which it stems.

The Stranger. It starts with the initial eye contact. I catch their gaze and quickly avert my eyes. I can feel it coming. Eventually, I look back, in hopes that they’ve moved on. D’oh! Not so. Our eyes meet again. The inevitable is about to occur.

“Hey,” they say. I smile meekly. “So,” they start. “[Insert any generic query or comment regarding my general well-being, the weather, where I go to school, etc].”

Don’t they understand? I will lose it on the next stranger that asks me, “Where did summer go? Don’t you hate this weather?” I’ll tell you where summer went-it went to the Land of Original Conversation Starters. What did you think I’d say? That I love rainy, cold, miserable winter days? Here’s a quarter; why don’t you run to the Clue Store and buy yourself one?

The stranger, while common, is harmless. You can choose to ignore them. The next two, however, are trickier to shake.

The Acquaintance. I stepped in the Puddle of Doom this morning. That bastard on the northeast corner of Parc and Milton that looks like a frozen puddle but is actually deep, wet, and active. I just bombed an exam. I waited for an hour at the English department office for an advisor only to be told, “Oh, you’re in Cultural Studies? Sorry, I don’t deal with that stream.” And yet, when I run into Joe-some guy I met at Bifteck last weekend who went to high school with Jack’s friend Mary-and get tossed the, “Hey, how’s it going,” I somehow manage a smile and shoot back the most carefree “fine” I can muster. I try to keep walking-too bad, turns out Joe’s a persistent little bugger.

“What’s new?” he asks. “Oh, you know… the usual,” I reply, as my feet shuffle the other way. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

I’m stuck. I try to resist, but in vain. It is coming. I take my last step of freedom before my inner Ann Landers commands me to stop. I mumble something about a crappy exam schedule, being swamped with work, and maybe going out sometime this week. It is painful.

The Ex. Brace yourself-the cringe-worthiest Awkward Conversations stem from this breed. I see him coming down the street and I consider bolting to the other side. Too late, he saw me. We pass each other and exchange typical ex chitchat. Then, I feel it coming. I can’t help it. I kick myself the second it leaves my lips but the words have a mind of their own. “So, how’s Jane,” I ask. Fudge! “How’s Jane” my foot! More like, “How’s Jane, a.k.a. Miss Hoey McSlutty?”

“Great,” he replies. “We went to Tremblant this weekend.” Oh no he didn’t! The nerve. He knows that the to-ski-or-to-ride debate was always a sore point between us. I put on my best sure-we’ve-slept-together-but-know-that-I-faked-it-every-time-so-have-fun-with-your-new-ski-bunny face, smile politely, and make up some excuse about running late.

If all the world is indeed a stage and we are all merely players, why didn’t the powers that be write a better script? In the perfect play, there would be no Awkward Conversation. Every line uttered would serve a purpose. Dialogue would always be witty, sharp, and oh-so-droll. But, alas, we live in the real world. One in which the Awkward Conversation is an unfortunate reality. So… how ’bout them Yankees?

Student Life

SILHOUETTE: Career hook-ups

by Alison Withers on

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There is a demand for McGill grads from companies in financial market hotspots overseas, and the McGill Financial Ambassadors have answered the call. Clovis Couasnon, U3 finance and mathematics, and Amine Larhrib, U3 finance and accounting, co-founded the club as a way for students to make contacts and ensure future job opportunities. Students are recognizing the importance of such a forum-the club is new this year and already boasts 65 paying members. Non-management students take note: the club membership is open to students in all faculties.

After traveling internationally, both founders discovered an abundance of overseas postings and alumni eager to open doors for students. Unfortunately, while overseas postings may seem alluring, the challenges of working in a foreign country can be overwhelming, resulting in a high turn-over rate in international job posts. However, the MFA believes if students prepare themselves adequately, they’ll have a much better chance at success.

“McGill students should take full advantage of the network of their alumni,” explains Larhib.

The MFA aims to increase student knowledge of topics related to financial markets and the workplace. Through a variety of events, members have the opportunity to meet with working professionals. They are also the first student club to offer week-long international company tours. With 13 students traveling to Hong Kong this January and another group heading for Dubai in March, the value of these tours is about to be proven.

“We want to allow students to opt for an international career without any economic barriers by building a base abroad and by encouraging teamwork to fundraise for trips,” says Couasnon. “Travelling itself is an advantage for students, and a great thing for anyone. Professionally, careers go faster when you enter into emerging markets. It’s not as limited as it would be if you were in a mature market, like New York. As long as you take advantage of it, you can evolve rapidly.”

The MFA is also committed to environmental initiatives. This November, they’re holding “Green Finance Day” to discuss carbon trading and socially responsible investments, while trying to show that people in the finance sector aren’t all sharks after the bottom line.

Despite overseas support and financial savvy, operating costs at home have been almost too much for them to handle. For example, their on-campus events cost nearly as much as it would to rent a hotel.

Not surprisingly, these high costs hinder the club’s ability to run career development services for McGill students on campus. However, it is not an entirely lost cause among McGill’s higher order­. Management Dean Peter Todd and the Management Undergraduate Society are giving a guarantee of full support to the MFA. “We have to do the work and prove we’re relevant, and then we’ll get financial help,” says Couasnon. Both recognize the value of the Association, both in expanding student horizons and in augmenting McGill’s global identity in the professional world.

“The value of our degree never drops,” asserts Larhib. Especially not with the MFA presenting students with a large scope of possibilities to pursue a post-undergrad degree.

For more information, visit their website at www.financeambassadors.ca

Features

FEATURES: Of plants and patents

by Meghna Marjadi on

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Monsanto Canada Inc. will go to court on January 15 to settle a case with four farmers who allegedly illegally grew, harvested, and sold products developed from patented Monsanto seeds.

The McGill Tribune contacted the farmers involved, but none were willing to comment before they go to court.

The January hearing follows Monsanto’s December settlement with three Quebec farmers growing Roundup Ready canola without a license. The farmers agreed to pay $200 per acre.

Monsanto uses genetic engineering to produce the herbicide-resistant Roundup Ready, a line that includes seeds for regular and high-yield soybeans, canola, and high-yield corn. Monsanto also offers other lines of enhanced crops that provide insect protection, weed control, and higher yields. Currently, Monsanto holds between a 70 and 100 per cent market share of various genetically engineered crops.

Monsanto prosecutes farmers who use their patented products without a license. The company encourages people who suspect patent infringement to call a toll-free number to report their claims. In the instance of the Quebec farmers, Monsanto spokesperson Trish Jordan said that people in the area alerted Monsanto to the patent infringement.

“We were told by people in [the farmers’]area that they thought that these guys were growing Roundup Ready canola without a license,” says Jordan. “We checked their fields and it was Roundup Ready … They weren’t accused of it. They admitted that they knowingly planted seeds [without a license].”

But Monsanto’s field auditing techniques have come under criticism. The May 2008 issue of Vanity Fair included an account of Monsanto’s lawsuit against Gary Rinehart, the owner of a small country store in Eagleville, Missouri. Rinehart was charged by Monsanto with patent infringement-despite the fact that he neither farms nor deals with seeds-based on observations by investigator Jeffery Moore. After bringing Rinehart to court, Monsanto eventually realized Moore had accused the wrong person.

“Monsanto relies on a shadowy army of private investigators and agents in the American heartland to strike fear into farm country. They fan out into fields and farm towns, where they secretly videotape and photograph farmers, store owners, and co-ops; infiltrate community meetings; and gather information from informants about farming activities,” Vanity Fair reported.

Jordan, however, insists that Monsanto’s tactics are legitimate.

“We do audit surveys every year and 90 per cent [of farmers] go through the audit and have no issue with it. Obviously people who are stealing the technology are going to be a little bit more difficult to work with, but the audit program is conducted completely within the law,” says Jordan. “We cannot enter anybody’s land without their permission. If we believe there is an expected violation we have to, number one, work with the grower to resolve that, and number two, have evidence that that is indeed the case.”

In addition, Jordan notes that the people who complete the audits aren’t Monsanto employees, but are rather just contracted for the job.

The threat of random audits prevents most farmers who legally buy Monsanto seeds from breaching contract guidelines, but they don’t always address farmers who acquire seeds illegally.

“When a grower is purchasing seeds illegally in the first place, we are not going to know about [it] unless somebody tells us,” says Jordan. “Usually it could be another farmer, it could be a neighbour, it could be the local retail outlet. In those situations sometimes we check them out, and there are no issues: the guy has a contract and he is doing everything perfectly legally. In other situations that’s not the case, and that was the case with these three [Quebec] growers. They had never purchased the technology properly in the first place and they had used the seed.”

Farmers who purchase Monsanto seeds must sign a contract agreeing that they will not use the purchased seeds for more than one growing season or save any seeds from the season’s crop (traditionally, farmers keep seeds from one crop to use for the next). Instead, farmers who are Monsanto customers must purchase new Monsanto seeds every year.

“Agronomically, it’s going to give you your best chance at productive crop if you purchase new seed every year … If you’re a grower that feels adamant about saving and reusing seeds we have no problem with it. You can save and reuse seed all you want, just don’t save and reuse the seed that has our technology in it,” says Jordan. She admits that not everyone will agree with the agronomic benefits of buying new seed.

“I think there is a lack of knowledge,” says Professor Jasminder Singh from McGill’s Department of Plant Science. “But I understand that in some cases there are some self-pollinated crops where the seeds can be grown the next year, and in those cases sometimes companies want the farmers to still buy seeds from them.”

In the case of the Quebec farmers, the battle with Monsanto is over. But for the farmers in Ontario, and others, the worst is yet to come.

Student Life

Tribune Dating Xtravaganza

by Marie-Hélène Savard & Rhea Wong on

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With all the lonely hearts grumbling about the impending onslaught of sickly sweet Valentine’s schmaltz, ponder this: is romance dead? Before the Valentine’s Grinch that dwells in the recesses of your soul comes out and grabs the nearest bottle of liquor, rest assured that you’re not alone; the dating situation at McGill is more dire than delicious for many.

It seems that the average student does not date in the formal, pick-me-up-at-the-door kind of way. In fact, many students find that dating altogether is a rare occurrence often blamed on members of the opposite sex.

“The only real dates that I have are with people that I’m already seeing. I’m such a goof that I don’t think people are approaching me for real. I assume it’s pretend even though they might really like me, and I’m such flirt that I’ll flirt and think it doesn’t really mean anything,” says Sarah Schroeter, U2 political science and english literature. “I find guys at McGill are either too forward or too scared. If I’m smiling at you and making eye contact, that means I want you to ask me out.”

Laura Hamilton, a U1 education student agrees with the decline of the dating situation.

“I’ve dated one person before, but not here at McGill. I don’t know why, but I’ve noticed in Montreal a severe lack [of dating]. There is less formal dating, and more informal dating where you go out with a large group,” Hamilton comments.

If all of you are so fabulous…

Commonsense would dictate that raging hormones and cold weather is a recipe for romance even under the most crippling courseload. It would seem that the math of it would be simple: one single person plus another single person equals one couple. Yet, the prevalent singledom at McGill is mind-boggling and inquiring minds want to know why.

“Most of the time, I’m very busy. I don’t get to go out that much, just once in a while. I will generally approach [a] person if the person looks attractive or friendly,” says Robert Ratemo U2 engineering. “Most of the time, I approach people to make friends. I make a lot of friends and if it works out, then OK, but if not, you can just be friends.

“You’ll find that a lot of the girls have boyfriends, but outside of McGill. Most of my friends don’t really date. For me, it’s because I’m older. You can’t really go through mind games, but that’s just me,” says Ratemo.

For some, the circumstances are much more straightforward.

“I don’t have much time [for dating]. I just get to the naughty good shit,” grins Dave Castagner, U2 music.

Of course, personal quirks and tastes cannot be underestimated for the dampening of the proverbial mojo. For Chris G, MBA student, dating seems to be in a deep freeze.

“I date about twice a year. I never approach people. Every time I do it, it never works. I never send signals, I don’t dance very well. The atmosphere [for dating] is too cold,” he says.

All is not lost

Before declaring dating at McGill DOA, a blessed handful of students reaffirmed our faith in the existence of dating and love. There are people out there who date and have active love lives—they just may not be you.

“I think there’s a lot of dating which isn’t necessarily the football player dating the cheerleader. At university, there’s more freedom in relationships,” says Sean O’Connor, U1 arts.

For one student, dating is more than just a pastime- it is a philosophy. Despite her now-steady boyfriend, she seems to have cornered the dating market and shares some of her sage advice.

“I used to date every other weekend. People would set me up with different people or it would be people that I would meet,” remarks Shannon Cohen, U1 anthropology and history.

“Signals? Sometimes, mutual eye contact. I’ve had the ‘Don’t I know you from somewhere’ and it just snowballs from there.

“I think people tend to get into long term relationships. Just because they’ve dated someone once, it doesn’t necessarily mean that you should be chained to them for life. People should just see each other and date other people before having a relationship. There should be the freedom to say, ‘I’ve gotten to know this person, we’ve gone on a few dates, and I really don’t want to go on anymore’,” advises Cohen.

The international perspective

The McGill International Students’ Network highlights the cultural differences between the amorous playing field of our fair winter hinterland compared with the spicier climes of France, Australia and Brazil.

“I’ll date once in a while, not more than four times a year. I usually take time to get to know the person before I date because God knows what can happen,” comments U2 english student Roberto Rocha of her Latin American home.

“Compared to Brazil, people here are more mature. In Brazil, you can date a girl one night and the next day pretend that you’ve never met her.”

Despite the North American perception of the sensual French, it seems that the average Parisian is much more hands off than Canadians.

“[I date] not too often. I never found the right person, I’m really picky. Canadian guys want more faster. In France, you talk and talk but here they want to kiss you right away,” says Melanie Albiger, grad student at the Genie Industriel Polytechnique.

Australian exchange student Bill Skinner, U2 anthropology, points out that despite cultural differences, we might all be on the same page about what makes a date great.

“Dating, for me, is going out with someone that you like and doing something special like dinner or a movie or something out of the ordinary. Usually, I get approached or it’s a mutual thing and we’ll be thinking the same thing.” opines Skinner.

The last hurrah

The final verdict on dating remains murky, but for some, the key is to take the initiative from your friendly neighborhood cheerleaders and be aggressive.

“We have to go to an auction to get guys! There aren’t enough guys at McGill, the number of men are very few. The boys aren’t really forward enough,” complains Huda Shashaa, a U2 arts student.

This Valentine’s, don’t stay at home twiddling your thumbs. Get on the phone, get on the dance floor, get out your pen and get some numbers. The revival of McGill dating won’t happen on its own.

“I think there’s a lot of casual dating [generally in Montreal] much more than there are actual relationships. [But] university is not conducive to dating,” explains student Maggie Schwalbach, U1 political science. “Usually, the guys that I date are not from McGill. It’s more of a shock than anything if they are from McGill.”

 

Do you sometimes wonder if you’re the only one despairing over the dating situation at McGill? Well, we did, and we asked 162 McGill students to fill out our ‘Trib date 2001’ survey. Here are some of the most interesting results.

 

 

 

Of those surveyed:

• 58% were single

• 50% of those in a relationship have been in said relationship for over a year

• 31% of those single have been single for over a year while 22% have been single for less than a month.

• 78% have been on an “official date” at least once.

• Men are definitely braver than women: 66% of men said they usually approach the other party, while only 11% of women did the same.

• Still, 65% of those single said they did not “acti
vely date”. Why not? A staggering 60% answered that it just didn’t happen because “nobody asks, I don’t ask”. The “I’m too busy” excuse went out the window, with only 7% answering they didn’t have time to date.

• The “I don’t ask” mentality was confirmed by the 71% who said they would not approach an attractive person in a café. When asked why not, 37% gave “shyness” as the main reason, and only 7% answered that they didn’t want to judge a person by their looks.

• Of the 29% who answered that they would approach an attractive stranger, “curiosity” was the #1 explanation, followed by “why not?”

• Even though an overwhelming majority would not approach a stranger, only 10% said they would not be likely to go out with a fellow student who randomly asked them out, while most contended it depended on the situation.

• Just because we won’t ask anyone out point-blank doesn’t mean we don’t try to indicate our interest more subtly: 85% said that they sent out signals, eye contact being the most popular one. The other 15% don’t send out signals mostly because they’re “too shy”, or they “don’t know how”.

• The signals must not work that well, because only 22% answered that most of their relationships started after being picked up at a party or social event, compared to 75% who said that they were already friends or acquaintances.

• 50% of men thought it was easier for women to pick up, while 55% of women thought it was easier for men.

• 0% answered that most of their relationships started off as blind dates. Blind dates are a strange phenomenon: 60% of those who have never been set up on one said they would be willing to go, but only 28% of those who have been set up on one actually followed through and went.

• 45% of respondents wouldn’t date more than one person at a time (take that, Sex and the City!)

• Finally, the eternal question: how long should you wait before calling? While 45% answered “2 days”, some didn’t hesitate to show their exasperation with comments like “I hate this game bullshit!”

 

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