Incite Magazine - March 2009

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I

EDITORIAL

was spending a recent evening absentmindedly surfing on Facebook when I saw that someone had posted a link to the website Stuff White People Like. My first thought: does this site even get updated anymore? It seemed, after all, so 2008. Apparently, it does still get updated. My second thought was that the content might not be as clever or original anymore, but many things—hummus, sea salt, and Frisbee sports, for example—still hit close to home. Further down the page I came across another item that really struck a chord. It was “Taking a Year Off,” described as a treasured ideal of overprivileged white folk.

The post wasn’t particularly hilarious or insightful, but it was hard not to relate it back to my own situation. I’m graduating and leaving McMaster in just a couple of months, and having made it through these last four years, I can’t help but feel the draw to “think things over” before making potentially life-determining forays into the working world or graduate school. The idea of traveling or otherwise taking a break from school is appealing in itself, but it also comes back to a post-graduation sensation of seemingly unlimited

opportunity. Having been confined to a basic work/school cycle for four years, why not get away if I have the chance?

The freedom of choice facing me is both liberating and terrifying.

The number of potential pathways is so high that I couldn’t hope to carefully analyze and weigh each of their relative merits. In such a field of options, the opportunity to step out of the ordinary and do something wholly different automatically sticks out above the rest. All other things being equal, wouldn’t anyone pick a life of adventure over no adventure? But the more I think about it, the more it seems there’s an element of social expectation at work. It’s as though I should go an adventure if I can. And if I can’t, there had better be a pretty good reason to back it up. For those of us who were never sure of our postgraduation plans, an expectation to do something big has gradually emerged.

To be fair, the pressure to make big plans isn’t overt. No one reacts strongly if you make a more pedestrian decision involving additional education or choosing a career. But I do feel a bit sorry for myself when I hear about someone volunteering abroad or even just traveling for as long as financially viable. It’s as though being a 20-

Editing and Production Co–ordinator

Ben Freeman Editors

Muneeb Ansari Nick Davies

Chris Evans Zsuzsi Fodor

Siva Vijenthira

something of a particular class and at a particular stage in life logically pushes you to leave and do something more exciting.

I fully admit that this sort of thinking is, on the face of it, ridiculous.

Personal choices are, after all, personal. You can’t reproach someone for not itching to temporarily uproot themselves from their established life and be tossed into an entirely new environment. Any such move would be difficult, although undoubtedly a good one for some. There are legitimate reasons to not go away, and I’m sure some of them apply to me. I made a decision not to throw myself headlong into the big, wide world; I think it’s the right one. And yet, I can’t help feeling bad for not letting myself—no, for not forcing myself—to do it.

The roots of my internal conflict lie, I think, in my decision-making process. I’m committed, as most are, to choosing the best possible path. It seems only natural to pick what’s best for the future. But in this situation it’s hard, if not impossible, to appreciate which option truly is best. I’ve never lived or worked abroad, so it’s hard to guess how I’d respond to that type of adventure. Moreover, my outlook means that there’s only one correct choice versus a number of less-than-

incite

INSIDE

Layout Co–ordinator

Yang Lei

FEATURES

Graphics Co–ordinators

Chris HIlbrecht Ishani Nath Graphics and Layout

Medina Abdelkader

Pouyan Ahangar Ava Dideban

Dorina Kirilova Chiara Meneguzzi

Karli Strohschein Natasha Turner

Lisa Xu Will van Engen Contributors

Sarah Byers Melissa Charenko

Jeanette Eby Katherine Georgious

Paul Huebener Sabrina Jeria

Anna Kulikov Kate Logan

Chiara Meneguzzi

Andrew Prine Natalie Raso

Adira Winegust Catherine Zagar Assistant Editor

Manisha Phadnis

Cows herded across a river in India

Printing

Hamilton Web Printing Impact Youth Publications 1105 King Street West Hamilton, ON L8S 1L8 incite@mcmaster.ca http://www.incitemagazine.ca Incite is published six times per academic year by Impact Youth Publications. 10,000 copies are distributed in the McMaster University–Westdale area. Entire contents copyright 2008–2009 Impact Youth Publications. Letters up to 300 words may be sent to the above address; they may be edited for length and clarity and will not be printed unless a name, address, and daytime phone are provided. Opinions expressed are those of the author, and do not necessarily reflect the views of Incite’s staff or Impact Youth Publications.

best options.

But assuming that there are dozens of poor decisions and just one good one is a backwards way of thinking about this. In reality, there are probably many fulfilling possibilities along with some potential disappointments. Finding the best option would be nice, but it shouldn’t be a requirement. Plus, I’ll have no way of going back in time to figure out what would’ve been the best option to begin with. Still, it’s one thing to have this realization and another thing entirely to actually change the way I approach my future.

In the end, I’ve straddled the fence, so to speak: keeping next year open while making some decisions about long-term plans. I certainly hope that next year pays off, but I’m not ready to place bets on it just yet. In the meantime, my intention is to remain serene. It certainly says something about my broader circumstances that the chance to travel or take it easy for a year could provoke such trepidation, something that Stuff White People Likes definitely picks up on. But if 2009-10 doesn’t quite live up to the author’s characterization, I won’t take it too hard. I still have my sea salt to fall back on.

the Road with the Winegusts 6 On A final family adventure to New York City than Jesus (Literally) 8 Bigger Why were ancient creatures so huge?

Showdown 9 Ceremonial Oscars vs. Baftas Memoirs 10 March A grab bag of the month’s history Salvation 14 Salvia A look at the controversial hallucinogenic herb 15 Poetry Original poetry by Paul Huebener and Catherine Zagar Diversions 17 Incite Comic and crossword Malecón 20 ElPhotography

by Will van Engen

DEPARTMENTS

4 12 16 18

Happenings: News from Near and Far Wanderings: Irish Pubs Column: Reframing Hamilton Column: Mac in Time

Cover Art by Karli Strohschein

incite 3

Happenings

MINUTES FROM LAST MONTH selected news from near and far

A Cosmic Near-Miss

Grossest Place to Etch Our Logo?

inside the bubble Drat! Mac Med now requires MCAT McMaster’s Michael G. DeGroote School of Medicine (did that name surprise you at all?), long a bastion for anti-MCAT liberal arts activists, has finally joined the dark side. Starting next year, applicants to the med school must submit their MCAT verbal reasoning section scores, which will require them to write the entire test. This year, a hefty minority (30 per cent) of applicants had not written it. But because verbal reasoning scores are purportedly “the single best predictor” of medical school success, the changes are seen as necessary and possibly even helpful for humanities students and those from less privileged backgrounds, who may be disadvantaged when admissions procedures consider only GPA. We’re sure those humanities students will be thanking their lucky stars when

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they find themselves staring uncomprehendingly at organic chemistry equations for five gruelling hours.

McMaster’s Main Attractions The Doors Open McMaster series is happening again this month, offering free tickets to see McMaster’s jealously guarded (read: proudly and ostentatiously displayed) million-dollar technologies. On 26 March, the Canadian Centre for Electron Microscopy will showcase “the most advanced and powerful electron microscope on the planet” and “the focused ion beam microscope that is able to etch McMaster’s logo on a strand of hair.”

Other options include the Nuclear Reactor, which is celebrating its 50th birthday, and a screening of the short film Our Sun: What a Star at the Origins Institute 3D Theatre. The free tickets can be reserved through the Alumni Association website at http://

www.mcmaster.ca/ua/alumni/programs_events_registration.html.

Picking the next Dear Leader The search for the next Peter George is under way! Our jolly, bearded leader, who has been at McMaster since 1965 and has been its President since 1995, will retire in 2010. He reportedly received over $500 000 in salary and taxable benefits last year, an amount he once defended in an Incite interview by explaining that when “you pay peanuts, you get monkeys.” We can be certain that the next candidate will not be paid as much, especially as the University flails under the weight of its economic woes.

Does that mean we may have to settle for a monkey? One without expressive eyebrows or a resemblance to Santa Claus (“Sean Connery,” George insists) or an avowed love for The Lord of the Rings? We shudder at the

thought.

Famous String Quartet Coming to Campus The famed Alcan String Quartet will be playing in Convocation Hall on 20 March at 8 PM. Their performance will be the finale of the McMaster School of the Arts Celebrity Concert Series. Members Laura Andriani and Nathalie Camus on violin, Luc Beauchemin on viola, and David Ellis on cello have played together for 19 years, performing in nearly 1000 concerts and over 100 live radio broadcasts, as well as television appearances, and tours throughout North America, Europe and Asia. Tickets are $17 for general admission, $12 for seniors and $5 for students.

Compiled by Siva Vijenthira

in north america...

When Apes Attack CONNECTICUT—When Travis, a chimpanzee that once starred in Old Navy ads, began to brutally maul a visitor to his home, his 70-year-old owner found that she had no choice but to stab her beloved pet with a chef’s knife. Sandra Herold later recounted that “He looked at me like, ‘Mom, what did you do?’” Eventually, police arrived and finished the job with a gunshot. Herold had raised Travis from the age of three days and treated him like a son. Travis brushed his teeth, dressed himself, used the toilet, drank wine from a long-stemmed glass, browsed the Internet for pictures, and channelsurfed on television. He was usually well-mannered, but the medication he was taking for Lyme disease may have affected his behaviour. When the visitor arrived, he immediately leapt on her, ripped her face off, and bit her hands. She was hospitalized with grave injuries.

Some History Best Left Un-Remembered QUEBEC—In true Canadian fashion, even our war reenactments must move south of the border to find success. To commemorate the 250th anniversary of the Battle of the Plains of Abraham, the government of Quebec and the Quebec Historical Corps were planning a reenactment of the historic battle for the summer of

2009. But, citing security risks due to Quebec separatists angered by the reenactment, the organizers chose not to have it in Quebec City. Instead, the current plan is to have the reenactment in the historically Canadian locale of... upstate New York. While the Quebecois outcry is an alarming sign of the current state of our union, what may be more disturbing is that the government thinks hosting the reenactment in the one country that separatists may hate more than Canada is a good idea.

Apparently It’s the Next Google and Facebook CANADA—Feel like having Facebook, MSN, MySpace, and Twitter on your computer simply isn’t enough to adequately stalk your friends and family? Well, now you can follow your acquaintances through your phone too. Bell Mobility has become the first company in Canada to offer its clients the ability to send and receive Twitter updates, or “tweets,” as text messages on their cell phones. But since Twitter is a third-party service, each “tweet” sent or received will cost 15 cents, regardless of one’s text messaging plan. While the service may seem great for those who would love to cyberstalk their acquaintances by any means possible, is it really worth 15 cents to find out the thrilling news that, “Joe Schmoe is OMG! So bored in lecture! FML”?

Flipper Has Nothing on this Dolphin LOUISIANA—An entirely bubblegum-pink bottlenose dolphin has been spotted with its ordinary grey family in Lake Calcasieu, just east of the Texas-Louisiana border, igniting a storm of media coverage and tourist visits that may threaten the dolphins’ safety. The pink dolphin has been presumed by the media to be albino, but scientists are sceptical, citing the famed non-albino pink botos dolphins of the Amazon, and the fact that albino cetaceans are usually completely white, like Moby Dick. Whether it is albino or not, people who have heard of the dolphin are now rabid to see it in person. Unfortunately, the underwater noise from all those boats may disrupt the family’s communication patterns and could even cause them to stop eating. “We’re a bit like those Victorians that used to hunt down albinos and other rare species,” frets one concerned scientist, “except we do it with cameras.”

Starbucks Thing

Could

Learn

a

MAINE—The owner of the Grand View Topless Coffee Shop in the small town of Vassalboro may have discovered the secret to entrepreneurial success in the midst of a recession. Donald Crabtree explains his business strategy as, “People

like nudity, and coffee is profitable.”

Sales have been “fantastic” according to Crabtree’s brother, who described “crowds mobbing in” to see 15 waiters and waitresses of all sizes serve their customers topless. Most of them earn $30 per table, and one waitress received a $100 tip for a single cup of coffee. Over 150 people applied for the 15 coveted wait staff positions. One of the lucky hirees told reporters, “I’m so excited, so excited to have a job.”

Bottled Water: Our Modern Pariah BRITISH COLUMBIA—The Canadian Federation of Municipalities passed a resolution urging its members to ban bottled water ‘where appropriate’ from their properties. The resolution claims that water bottles are unsustainable, given their energy-intensive productive and the fact most end up in garbage dumps instead of being recycled. Additionally, the CFM says that tap water is much cheaper and just as safe. Critics of the decision argue that banning bottled water from municipal buildings may actually force people to buy pop drinks or other sweetened beverages instead, and that bottled water is actually one of the healthier options at the facilities.

Compiled by Muneeb Ansari, Katherine Georgious, and Siva Vijenthira

...and around the world Extreme Makeover: Abu Gra- visitation day.” One jailer stubborn- or that he’s too old.” It could also be ly refused to be won over by all the the possibility that he might burn the hib Edition IRAQ—The notorious Abu Ghraib prison has been renovated, repainted, and filled with flowers and sparkly party decorations by Iraqi officials preparing for an influx of new inmates. The building, now renamed Baghdad Central Prison, can hold up to 15 000 prisoners, but it stood empty for years in the aftermath of the 2003 and 2004 torture and abuse scandal while other Iraqi prisons began overflowing. Officials emphasized a new focus on reforming (rather than, we presume, torturing) prisoners. Written on the lavender walls in Arabic calligraphy were declarations that “Respecting the dignity of the internees is one of the noble goals of the Iraqi correctional services.” New facilities include “a barbershop, a library, a computer lab, a sewing workshop, a gym and a playground for inmates to spend time with their children on

fresh cheerfulness. “It reminds me of the past,” he whined. “I hate this place. It is depressing.”

business down.

Subsisting in the Slammer

OUTER SPACE—An asteroid missed Earth by an astronomical hair on 2 March. If it had entered Earth’s atomosphere, it would have exploded with the force of 1000 Hiroshimas.

Instead, the asteroid, unassumingly named 2009 ND DD45 and measuring 21 to 47 metres across, passed just 72 000 kilometres from us, a fifth of the distance from Earth to the Moon.

It was discovered only a day earlier

by Rob McNaught at Siding Spring Observatory in Australia, when it was “a dim speck about 1.5 million kilometres away.”

TAIWAN—In a sign of how truly dire the state of the global economy is, an ex-convict in Taiwan has recently asked police to re-incarcerate him, preferring prison to his current economic condition. The unnamed 45year-old served 10 years for arson, and was released two years ago. Recently, he found himself unemployed and wandering the streets of Taipei, reminiscing about the regular meals he received in jail. The police declined to send him back to prison but did offer him a boxed lunch. “We advised him to keep looking for work,” the police spokesman said. “I don’t know why he can’t find a job. Maybe employers think he’s not suitable

Bruce Willis Still on Standby

Radioactive Runaway

cent pictures of children skipped out on bail and fled to Ireland, forcing a judge to issue a warrant for his arrest. Police chasing him do have one extra fact to keep in mind, however: the fugitive is radioactive. Thomas Leopold underwent intensive radiotherapy treatment for a thyroid condition, which rendered him “dangerously” radioactive for a period of up to six weeks. His state puts anyone coming into contact with him under threat, as the radiation can be passed on through saliva or sweat. The risk prompted the judge to issue a warning to officers that “when...arrested he might be radioactive.” The judge added, “This is not a joke.”

Compiled by Ben Freeman, Katherine Georgious, and Siva Vijenthira.

UNITED KINGDOM—A college principal accused of downloading inde-

incite 5

PERSPECTIVE

I

had a very weird childhood. I was never the typical Jewish girl growing up in suburban Toronto. The best example of this is the fact I never went to sleepover camp.

Instead, after going to Catholic school for the month of July, my family would pack up our champagne 2001 Honda Odyssey and embark on a major road trip.

Road trips have been a tradition in my family for as long as I can remember. When I was younger, they consisted of brief, fourhour jaunts to Ottawa to stay with my cousins over winter break. When I turned six, four hours just didn’t seem long enough and road trips to New York City began. When nine-hour drives were unsatisfactory, 10day journeys to the Maritimes started. And when those were deemed too short, epic three-and-a-half-week cross-America road trips were in order. Before turning 19, I have visited all 48 states of the mainland United States. In fact, on one trip alone, I went through 29.

On these long road trips, my family could give the Griswalds, of National Lampoon Vacation fame, and the Hoovers, of Little Miss Sunshine notoriety, a good run for their money. Somehow, on our road trips my family has experienced (and this is the short list): 1. Driving through the Arizonian desert on gas fumes, gently rolling into the gas station in Kayenta without power; 2. Run-ins with the law (my father, to his credit, only has speeding tickets in three states—Nebraska, Pennsylvania and Montana—and

my mother only has a speeding ticket in New York). My favourite encounter was with a gun-toting Montana State Trooper with a teddy bear in his trunk (which I presume he gives to the children of the parents he has just shot); 3. Nineteen-hour driving days; 4. A picnic dinner with a homeless man in St. Louis; 5. An overturned water truck (along with the subsequent five-hour traffic jam and bra party); 6. Driving through farmers’ fields in PEI (to get to the private beach); 7. Grasshopper attacks in Saskatchewan; 8. “Borrowing” 200-plus packets of ketchup from a Burger King outside Chicago; 9. Seeing more deer than people in Wyoming; 10.Endless sing-a-longs at 2 AM. And that’s just what happens in the car.

Lately, though, these family road trips have taken on a melancholic tone. As my siblings and I grow older, my parents have realized that we will no longer be able to take road trips with all five children in tow.

As of next year, my mother will be the only female in the house, with my older sister at law school in Ottawa, my younger sister at a yet-to-be-determined university, and me at McMaster. So right now, my parents have been trying to find any excuse for a road trip.

Instead of doing what a typical university student would do during their reading

week—reading, right?—I piled into the minivan with my family and went to New York City. Unlike the road trip my family took this summer down to New Orleans, this short journey to New York City was tinged with the overarching feeling that it would be our last. But first, we had to complete the family unit.

The road trip began early, at 3 AM, when my mother woke me and my elder sister up in order to help pack the remaining clothes and food. We were out of the house by 4 AM, on our way to pick up my father at Cornell University in Ithaca, where he had just finished the second leg of his MBA. That morning, the 401 was, for some reason, extremely busy as we wound our way from Toronto to Niagara Falls. The border crossing was uneventful and lasted under five minutes; the line itself was a half-hour wait. It looked like it was going to be clear sailing until we picked my father up at Cornell.

But as soon as we crossed the border, the road conditions changed. Apparently, it had snowed the night before in New York State and the roads were icy. The pace that the van was sailing along at before was reduced to a crawl. Being stuck behind an Amish horse and buggy didn’t help either. Then it started snowing.

We subsequently discovered that despite that fact my mother had had the van serviced before we left, there was a problem. Every time she drove over a bump (no matter the speed), the alarm signaling that one of the sliding doors was open went off.

This annoying high-pitched buzzing sound proved to be a nuisance when my father

G RAPHIC BY AVa D IDEBAN

6 incite

called my mother to give her directions to his exact location at Cornell. The buzzing sound was also annoying whenever I tried to fall asleep—New York highways have a lot of potholes.

The door once again proved that my family really needs to switch car mechanics. This is the third time that my mother has taken the van in before a road trip and received the all-clear, only to discover a problem later on. Fortunately, this time it was only the door sensors, as opposed to the time we got stuck in St. Louis with a failed transmission and the brakes at five percent.

We picked my father up from Cornell, at which point he took over the wheel. This development was accompanied by the family telling my father to (a) slow down (a request accopmanied by me turning my head compulsively to check if a police car was following), and (b) stop talking on his cell phone, as it was illegal in New York. But who could blame him? It was nine o’clock in the morning and he needed to get to Westchester, located four hours away, for a 1 PM meeting. Needless to say, with the road conditions at the time coupled with my father’s status as a speed demon, he made his meeting just in time.

With my father gone, it was time to grab lunch. When you are a family of seven on a budget, restaurants are never an option.

And so began the Winegust tradition of eating in the car. It was also at this time, with my sister distributing yogurt to each of my siblings, that I discovered that my family had forgotten to pack one thing: spoons. After sending a search and rescue mission into the trunk of the car (while going 60 miles per hour), my sister and I managed to find one clear plastic spoon. This spoon was referred to as the communal spoon for the rest of the vacation and passed around from sibling to sibling to parent. My older sister and I had a more apt nickname for this spoon: “the village bicycle.” (Other comments made between my sister and I concerning this spoon are not suitable for this publication.)

When we eventually arrived in New York, my mother decided to go to the hotel and check our luggage before we went shopping. This was not the first time that my family had stayed at this hotel. We have a running joke that certain staff members at the hotel have seen my family grow both in age and numbers. I think that at one point in my childhood my father spent more time there than he did at home. As we pulled up, though, my family was in for a surprise.

The hotel was under renovation and there was paint, carpeting, and drywall all over the lobby. This information had not been

conveyed to my mother when she booked the hotel room.

Given that she suffers from migraines triggered by paint fumes, she was not too thrilled. She told me that if she had wanted to spend all day in bed with a migraine, she would have stayed home. Helped along by my mother’s negotiation skills, the hotel agreed to put my family in the last rooms on the newly renovated floor and throw in the first night for free.

What they did not tell us was that the two conjoining rooms each had only one queensize bed, which could be supplemented by a cot.

Okay, let’s do the math: three beds and seven people means that some people are going to be left in uncomfortable situations.

One queen-size bed was allocated to my mother and father, as they are parents and needed their sleep after a long day of driving. The cot was allotted to my two brothers, as one is still a tiny nine-year-old who can fit with any person. None of my sisters (myself included) would in their right mind share a bed with a 15-year-old boy still in the midst of puberty. That left me and my two sisters to share the last queen-size bed.

This was not the first time that I had to share a bed with my two sisters, but under normal circumstances the bed would have been a king-size with plenty of room to spread out. I should explain the dynamics between me and my sisters. Our heights differ greatly: I am 5’7 and tower over both of my sisters, each a respectable 5’3. Our weights are on a graduated system—the younger you are, the more you weigh. Our sleeping styles are also vastly different. My elder sister sleeps with a doll (to be fair, I sleep with a stuffed dog), and spreads out all over the place. My younger sister sleeps in one position. Once she is in that position, she does not move, even if you push her to change (obviously not an Obama supporter).

As the middle sister, I fall in between these two extremes. I will spread out but am able to change positions throughout the night.

We decided to take the most democratic route of determining who slept where in the bed (side or middle): drawing straws.

I got the middle… Hello neck and back pain!

After a Shabbat dinner in the hotel room, which consisted of challah brought down from Toronto and meat purchased in New York, my sisters and I settled down for the night. I was really looking forward to getting some sleep as I had barely had any the night before (three or four hours if I was lucky—I have insomnia while at university).

I squeezed into the middle position with my stuffed dog. My younger sister to my

left had already chosen her position for the night: on her side facing me. On my right, my older sister had spread out, which included embracing me on my other side, her legs over mine.

I am surprised I managed to sleep the night. I awoke the next morning with a stiff neck and my legs intertwined with my older sister’s. My younger sister was still in the exact same position.

Wanting to get over my neck pain, I spent the following day eating, sleeping, walking, and sleeping some more. Saturday night, you can imagine the relief I felt when I had a bed all to myself—an inflatable mattress on a Barnard dorm room floor. Saturday night was an adventure in itself: vegan Indian food in the East Village. I also learned a profound lesson which was to always listen to the announcements on the NYC transit system, because Harlem is no place for two girls to be wandering at midnight. I made it to Barnard in one piece.

The next day was absolutely gorgeous— the sun was shining and the sky was so blue.

I walked through Central Park, listening to the birds chirping and the sounds of honking cars, the laughter of children walking with their parents and buskers entertaining crowds with marionettes and dances moves.

I met my family at the Met and spent the rest of the day there.

Back at the hotel, my night was similar to the first one. My sisters and I drew straws and I ended up in the middle once again.

As I squeezed in with my stuffed dog, my younger sister was sleeping on her side facing the wall. On the other side lay my older sister, with her doll still spread out. The next morning I did not wake up with neck or back pain. According to my mom, in the early morning light she saw my sisters and I all intertwined, cuddling each other, with our hair all over the place. I wonder if my sisters and I had a sense that this could possibly be the last time that we slept together in one bed. Next year, we are going to be at our respective universities, needing to coordinate when we see one another.

I write this right now sitting in the same 2001 champagne Honda Odyssey, in the same left-hand captain seat that I have occupied for past vacations. I am watching the sun set over the Catskill Mountains, the place where my father spent his vacations with his immigrant parents and grandparents. I wonder if this is the last time that all seven of us will be together in the same van.

I should probably join the sing-a-long now. I don’t know how many more I will have.

incite 7

MUSINGS

Bigger than Jesus* *Literally

Why were ancient creatures

so huge?

Chris Hilbrecht Investigates

N

atural history is epic. No mythical creature—be it a dragon, sasquatch, manticore, or unattractive Incite writer—could ever be as astonishing as the monsters found in the fossil record. A big part of this power to astound comes from the absurd hugeness of many of evolution’s products. The recent discovery of fossils of a 13-metre-long, one-tonne, crocodile-eating, prehistoric snake named Titanoboa, is just more evidence of how formidable past inventions of Mother Nature have been.

The Titanoboa slithered around the jungles of ancient Colombia 60 million years ago, a few million years after the extinction of the dinosaurs. It was probably the top carnivore in its environment, the warm temperatures and absence of hungry predatory dinosaurs likely allowing the snake to reach such colossal measurements.

But what happened to the animal kingdom? With a few exceptions, such as the blue whale (a contender for the title of largest animal ever), the days of fabulous beasts and leviathans roaming earth’s ecosystems are gone.

Certainly this is the case for terrestrial animals; modern elephants and rhinos look small next to giant ice-age mammals, who are in turn dwarfed by some of their dinosaur predecessors. So why have organisms reached such immense proportions in past? What conditions favour the evolution of megafauna? What brings about their downfall? And when, outside of a Godzilla film, can we hope to see titanic animals roaming the world again?

In biology, Cope’s rule states that body sizes of successive species increase over evolutionary time. While not universally true for the whole history of life, when left to their devices for a few thousand generations animals generally get bigger. There are a number of reasons for this progression. Large body size confers many advantages in the Darwinian struggle for existence: big animals are less vulnerable to predators, have slower metabolisms, and are able to subsist on less nutritious food thanks to a longer and more efficient digestive tract. A sizeable body is better able to store food energy, retains body heat in cold climates, and prevents overheating in cool ones. Large creatures also tend to live longer. Harriet, a giant Galapagos tortoise, was a pet of Charles Darwin in the 1830s, and just died in 2006 at an Australian zoo. With whopping creatures whooping so much evolutionary ass, it is no surprise that the pages of natural history are filled with family-sized organisms.

While evolution favours the gigantic, there are certain limits to creatures’ growth and, as is evident from the extinction of most of Nature’s titans, there are situations in which size is no longer such an advantage. To get a further idea of the conditions that lead to the rise and fall

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of such creatures, it helps look at the natural history of a few specific giants.

Those terrified of insects can only hope that they never accidentally step into a time machine that transports them to the Carboniferous period, over 300 million years ago, when metre-long dragonflies cruised the Earth’s vast swamps. Their development was thanks to greater oxygen content in the period’s atmosphere—a Carboniferous breeze would have contained 35 percent oxygen, compared with 21 percent today, allowing easier respiration and letting insect bodies reach terrific dimensions.

G RAPHIC BY LISA XU

But no dimensions in evolutionary history were as terrific as those of the dinosaurs.

Compared with the Cenozoic mammals of the last 65 million years—gnus, shrews, and Peter George, for example—dinosaurs were positively massive. While most mammals tip the scales between two and five kilograms, dinosaurs on average weighed in between one and ten metric tonnes. The largest of the dinosaurs, the planteating sauropods, included such immense reptiles as Supersaurus and Sauroposeidon. These two bad boys were over 30 metres long and weighed upwards of 30 tonnes. That’s a lot of

dino-burgers. Giant herbivores could only be eaten by suitably enormous predators, giving rise to the famed Tyrannosaurus rex and others.

The hugeness of dinosaurs is a big question for palaeontologists, especially considering no land animals have ever come close to matching their magnitude. One of the main theories about their evolution is that a nearly endless supply of lush tropical vegetation provided enough food to fuel the growth of such tremendous creatures. Higher levels of atmospheric carbon dioxide warmed the planet enough that the tropics extended north of the Canadian border, and since plants use CO 2 to grow, the climate favoured a proliferation of plants. Abundant plant life meant that there was no nutritional limit on the body size of herbivores and, following Cope’s rule, they were able, over time, to reach humongous proportions.

Still, like over-inflated financial markets, overstuffed lizards were doomed to fall at some point to fall. Evolution may favour large organisms, but so does extinction. Huge animals tend to have longer life cycles, and since evolution occurs over many generations, they are slow to adapt to change. When a catastrophic event occurs—be it asteroid impact or human exploitation—monsters have a hard time contending with new conditions. The Cretaceous-Tertiary extinction event 65 million years ago wiped out the dinosaurs, but left smaller creatures, including our rodent-like ancestors, to take over the biosphere.

The last major extinction of large organisms occurred roughly 12 000 years ago, wiping out the famed woolly mammoths, giant sloths and swans, irish elk, and other megafauna.

This die-off coincided with both the end of the last ice age and the geographic expansion and development of human beings. It is uncertain whether natural climate change, rampant disease, or over-hunting by humans killed the ice-age giants, but for the past few millennia humans have definitely been playing David to Nature’s Goliaths. As humans have ventured into new habitats they have often hunted the biggest of game, like Madagasgar’s Elephant birds and the American Bison, out of (or nearly out of) existence.

The relative tininess of today’s wildlife results from how recently such extinctions have occurred. Nature simply hasn’t had time to churn out any new monsters, and probably won’t be doing so while hominids keep capping them. But the future could easily stretch beyond the reach of humanity, and evolution will continue to produce bizarre and wonderful new beasts long after we’re reduced to a hilarious footnote in natural history. Given a few million years, who knows? Incredible creatures could roam the Earth again.

PERSPECTIVE

Ceremonial Showdown Are the Baftas just Oscar pretenders or legitimate foreign competition?

By Sarah Byers and Sabrina Jeria

T

G RAPHIC BY PoUYaN A HANGAR

he 81st Annual Academy Awards took place on 22 February, rounding out the awards season for another year. Of all the ceremonies that toast excellence in the motion picture industry, the Academy Awards—otherwise known as the Oscars—remain the most widely known ceremony in the Western world, typically garnering the most media attention each year. This year, however, the Oscars have shared the spotlight with the British Academy Film Awards, doled out by the British Academy of Film and Television Arts and commonly referred to as the Baftas.

The Baftas have always been considered a prestigious ceremony in the United Kingdom and throughout Europe. But in the past few years, the Baftas have received considerable and growing attention in North America as well. They have been accused of “copying” the Oscars and, more recently, have even come to be called the “alternative Oscars.” This recent press suggests that the Baftas are fast becoming major competition for the Academy Awards.

The British Film Academy was founded in 1947 as a small, charitable group by some of the most notable names in the British film industry. The BFA went on to merge with the Guild of Television Producers and Directors 11 years later to form the Society of Film and Television Arts, located at Great Portland Street in London. It was not until 1976, when the group moved their offices to Piccadilly, that they became officially known as the British Academy of Film and Television Arts.

Despite the slew of name and location changes, the BAFTA group remains true to its founding fundamental principles: to support, develop, and promote the art forms of the moving image by acknowledging talent and rewarding excellence in the fields of film, television, and video games, as well as inspiring practitioners and working to benefit the public.

The main Bafta award ceremony— the British Academy Film Awards—took place on 8 February at London’s Royal Opera House. The ceremony usually runs for roughly two hours, nearly half the length of the Oscars, and has a reputation for being much more relaxed, comedic, and inspired than its Hollywood counterpart, despite the upscale locale.

The Baftas feature 23 award categories,

whose winners are chosen by an online vote by 6000 of the Academy’s members.

The categories echo those at the Oscars for the most part, though the Baftas do include awards for “Outstanding British Film” and “Rising Stars.” These categories reveal the British film industry as being diverse, forward-looking, and driven by talent.

The Academy Awards’ lengthy ceremony includes big-name hosts each year, such as Whoopi Goldberg, Ellen Degeneres, Jon Stewart (host in 2008), and Hugh Jackman, who took to the stage as Master of Ceremonies this year. Because the Oscars attract so many viewers, the ceremony becomes a great opportunity to shed light on important issues. For example, Al Gore made an appearance at the 2007 Oscars to congratulate the event’s organizers on their attempt at creating an environmentally-friendly production.

This year, as Sean Penn accepted his Best Actor award for his portrayal of gay rights activist Harvey Milk, he spoke about working toward lifting the ban on same-sex marriages in California. Similarly, in 2002, Academy Award–winning documentary filmmaker Michael Moore used his time on stage to criticize then President George W. Bush over his invasion of Iraq. Still, these political commentaries are not always well received, as the issues raised are often only loosely connected to arts and entertainment.

Although the Baftas, in comparison, do not garner nearly as many viewers, the ceremony still has a significant impact on the way in which the Oscars play out before their millions of viewers. In 2000, the Baftas were moved up to take place in February, i.e., when Academy members are still voting for the Oscars.

The Baftas have since become an influential precursor to the American awards, accurately determining which films and performances will be leading contenders.

This year, Bafta winners for “Best Film,” “Best Director,” “Leading Actress,” “Supporting Actor,” and “Supporting Actress” were respectively: Slumdog Millionaire, Slumdog’s Danny Boyle, Kate Winslet, the late Heath Ledger, and Penelope Cruz. Oscar votes matched up exactly a few weeks later. Similarly, in 2008 The Coen Brothers, Daniel Day-Lewis, Javier Bardem, Marion Cotillard, and Tilda Swinton were all victorious in the major award categories at the Baftas before

going on to win Oscar gold. The “Best Film” honour that year went to the British film Atonement, while Hollywood instead chose the popular No Country for Old Men. Would the Academy have celebrated a film like Slumdog Millionaire this year or a relatively unknown French actress like Cotillard in 2008 had the Baftas not preceded the Oscars? Probably not, seeing as Slumdog only opened at 10 screens in the United States, taking in a mere $360 000 on the opening weekend, while it opened at more than 300 cinemas in the United Kingdom and made nearly £2 million that same weekend.

Despite these interesting parallels, the Baftas maintain their difference from the Oscars in a few ways. For example, this year Bafta nominated Dev Patel and Freida Pinto in the “Leading Actor” and “Supporting Actress” categories, respectively, alongside veteran actors—a risky choice, as both were newcomers. Bafta also nominated the brilliant films In Bruges and I’ve Loved You So Long in a slew of categories, while these films went relatively unnoticed by the Academy, who instead concentrated on box office hits like The Curious Case of Benjamin Button and The Dark Knight. The British also recognized the foreign films Persepolis and Waltz with Bashir in the “Animated Film” category, while Hollywood chose to nominate popular films like Bolt and Kung-Fu Panda.

The Academy Awards might still be the glitziest of all film industry awards ceremonies, but they have become rather mundane lately. The Baftas, in contrast, are a breath of fresh air in an otherwise stuffy and uptight lineup of events. The Baftas not only recognize outstanding British talent, but also acknowledge foreign films and expertise across a wide range of award categories, instead of restricted groupings like “Best Foreign Film” or “Best Documentary.” The Baftas can be considered a bellwether or harbinger for the Oscars, but in the best possible way. The British Academy is at the forefront of scouting and commending talent and passion in the motion picture industry. We can hold the Baftas responsible for putting films and players on the map that might otherwise be overlooked in Hollywood.

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PERSPECTIVE

March A grab bag of the month’s history

History of St. Patrick As a religion based heavily on tradition, it’s no wonder that Catholicism has some pretty wicked ones. From St. John escaping unscathed from a deep fryer to the dragon-slaying ways of St. George, Catholic tradition is full of examples of God’s interventions in the human world. Although modern scholars have debunked or called into question many of the more colourful accounts of religious history, we here at Incite would far rather be entertaining than right any day. With that in mind, we looked into the (mostly fictional) traditions and legends surrounding St. Patrick and his holy feast day, celebrated on 17 March.

According to legend, St. Patrick was born to some expatriate Romans in one of the Empire’s less fashionable provinces (sorry Britain), and, thanks to his wealthy parents, lived a relatively sheltered life there. He never lingered in European monasteries, made pilgrimages to holy sites, or even showed any particular bent towards piety or Ireland until he was well on his way to manhood. Despite his parents’ best efforts to protect their son, just a few short months after his sweet 16, some druids from the Emerald Isle popped his Irish cherry and set him on a path that would change his life. After his capture and shipment across the Irish Sea in bondage, he spent six years enslaved as a shepherd, and it was only then that his spiritual journey really began.

Following Jesus’ good shepherd example, Patrick spent his downtime in prayer and contemplation, developing both an unshakable faith and a reasonable grasp of the Celtic tongue. After some prompting by God’s angelic heralds, he gained the courage he needed to escape captivity and make his way back to his native Britain. Once home, he set out to further strengthen the faith that his captivity had inspired, seeking out a religious education and eventual entrance into the priesthood.

Apparently, he was pretty good at what he did, as it wasn’t long after receiving his holy orders that even the Pope had heard of Patrick’s prowess as a missionary. In fact, once the former head missionary to Ireland passed away, Pope Celestine I set Patrick, armed with some holy relics, as his new representative in Ireland. With a task set forth by God, Patrick picked up his pack of papal paraphernalia and set out for the Emerald Isle.

Having spent six years of his life as a slave there, Patrick wasn’t all that surprised to receive a cool-at-best welcome. With a bit of help from the big G, though, the chieftains who took up arms against him found their sword arms paralyzed, their traps useless, and their conspiracies transparent. Familiar with God’s usual reaction to hubris, Patrick also managed to remain meek enough to stay in God’s good books while he worked his way inland. By the time he made it to his old slave-time haunts, his reputation for miracles had grown so much that his old master actually burned himself, his home, and all of his possessions to avoid a reencounter with his former slave.

Thanks to its own somewhat pagan roots, Easter Sunday happened to fall on the same day

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as one of the Druids’ greatest festivals, and the Irish, never ones to turn down a good party, were gathering en masse for the celebrations. The Irish monarch, having a flair for the dramatic, decided that no fires should be lit anywhere on the island for an entire day until he lit the signal fire to begin the celebrations. In defiance, Patrick made a huge bonfire on a nearby hilltop. Now, usually this sort of disobedience would have resulted in the fire being put out and the perpetrator stabbed, jabbed, filleted, fustigated, and generally mistreated, but J.C. turned the blades again and wouldn’t let the fire be extinguished.

Now, all of us have our demons. Some of us reject them, while others try to hide them. The ancient Druids had something of a friendly giveand-take with theirs. Calling on these demons, the Druids and magicians levitated the Archdruid high into the air and brought a great darkness upon the land in the hopes of driving the missionary from their land. Not one to back down, Patrick spoke the Lord’s name, waved his stick, and banished the power of the demons, smashing the Archdruid on the rocks below.

Having shown most of the Irish bigwigs that Patrick and the J.C. crew could out-muscle their own native religions, Patrick had given Christianity a firm foothold in Ireland. Showing remarkable kindness to the visual learner, he even preached about the doctrine of the trinity using a shamrock as a teaching aid. The story doesn’t end with evangelism, however: as Patrick continued to preach throughout the island, destroying idols and praying, he decided to take another leaf out of Jesus’ book and spend his own 40 days fasting on a mountaintop.

Not much caring for their new neighbour, all the demons, devils, and evil spirits that called Ireland home decided to choose this time to tempt and disturb him. Manifesting themselves as a huge flock of hideous carrion birds, they came upon Patrick on the mountaintop in much the same way that Bruce Wayne summoned his flapping friends in Batman Begins. The birds blocked out his view of the sun, the ocean, and even the ground beneath him, but they couldn’t shake his faith. When God answered his prayers for strength, Patrick defeated them so completely that Ireland was free from all evil things for seven years.

On top of that, his extreme prayer session also managed to buy the Irish some special favours from the Big Man. Legends vary as to what Patrick managed to negotiate, but the most popular versions include setting himself up as judge of the Irish nation on Judgement Day, and arranging for Ireland to be sunk beneath the sea so as to spare its people the horrors of the Antichrist before the apocalypse. By now an old man, Patrick had spent his life bringing Ireland into the fold of Christianity, and in so doing was content to pass on. Although the year is debatable, he died on 17 March in either 461 or 493 CE, and each year we celebrate his work as a missionary by donning shamrocks, wearing green, and getting drunk off our asses.

Memoirs

by Anna Kulikov and Andrew Prine Beware the Ides of March

March is often accused of being a lacklustre, middle-of-seasons, dreadfully cold, and often midterm-miserable month. It might even be worse than grey November! But like most things in life, the reality is that March is not so distastefully one-sided. At the very least, it deserves credit for hosting one of the most dramatic and important events in classical history: the assassination of Julius Caesar, which took place on the Ides of March, or 15 March.

Julius Caesar reigned over the Roman Republic between October 49 BCE and 15 March 44 BCE. Caesar wrested control of the Republic after successfully conquering Gaul (a region covering a large part of Western Europe), invading Britain, and instigating and winning a vicious civil war. Caesar’s assassination is perhaps best remembered today thanks to Shakespeare, who brought, in his epic style, the historic moment onto the stage.

His assassination was led by self-proclaimed “liberators” of the Republic, directed by Senators Cassius and Brutus, who strove to end the authoritarian path taken by Caesar. They conspired for many months on the how and where, finally deciding on a cold blooded death in the Senate room. The Roman leader was stabbed 23 times—interestingly enough, only one of the stabs turned out to be fatal.

In true Roman fashion, two years following Caesar’s death, he was sanctified by the Senate as a Roman deity, immortalizing his bloody campaigns and autocratic rule into the realm of mythology. Despite originally referring to the midpoint of any month, the Ides today mostly brings to mind this larger-than-life man and his equally dramatic death.

March-ing Women

G RAPHIC BY NATASHA TURNER

March also marks the month of the celebration and appreciation of women. In the United States, it is Women’s History Month, which serves to highlight and honour women’s contributions to history. The corresponding Canadian month is held in October to coincide with Persons Day on the 18th.

International Women’s Day takes place on 13 March. Although it is not a national holiday in North America, it is widely observed in Eastern Europe and several African, Asian, and Latin American countries. The day has its origins in the early twentieth century, when large numbers of working women gathered to protest in the streets of North America and Russia. In the latter, it is believed that a massive protest by women catalyzed the February Revolution of 1917. Today, the day has mostly lost its political flavour in developed countries and has evolved into a day where men show their love and appreciation to the women in their lives.

In developing countries, however, the United Nations has sponsored the date to try to raise awareness about women’s social and political

plights.

March Math Madness World Math Day is scheduled for 4 March this year, and will involve the participation of students from over 150 countries around the world. Together, they will attempt to break the current record of a combined 182 455 169 correctly answered questions. This is considered to be the world’s largest organized educational effort ever.

Square Root Day is also commemorated on 3 March this year. The dates for each celebration are chosen so that the year corresponds numerically to the square of the month and day.

In this case, 3 March is 03/03/09 which, mathematically laid out, is: 3 x 3 = 9. It is the third of only nine Square Root Days this century.

Finally, Pi Day is celebrated this month as well. An annual occurrence, it first began at the San Francisco Exploratorium in 1988 when staff and the public marched around one of its circular spaces and then proceeded to consume fruit pies. For all you math fanatics out there, if you haven’t already figured it out, Pi Day occurs on 14 March (03/14), specifically at 1:59 PM.

March Birthdays Mikhail Gorbachev, born on 2 March, celebrates his 78th birthday this year. Gorbachev was the last General Secretary of the Soviet Union and worked with Ronald Reagan to end the Cold War. Reforms that he put in placee —the perestroika—contributed to the collapse of the USSR. He was also co-founder of Men’s World Day and the most famous bearer of naevus flammeus, a tattoo-like birthmark on his forehead for which he endured much caricature and mockery.

The 22nd marks Andrew Lloyd Webber’s 60th birthday. The Baron is an English composer of musical theatre and a former child prodigy who wrote his first composition at six and published one at nine. He was the man behind the music of Cats, Phantom of the Opera, Evita, Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, and Jesus Christ Superstar. Other famous March birthdays belong to: Bruce Willis, Eva Mendez, Queen Latifah, Chuck Norris, and Osama bin Laden. And those who are no longer with us: Albert Einstein, Vivaldi, and Dr. Seuss (Theodore Geisel).

March redeems itself from the cold midterm abyss to be a month of interesting events and rich history. If this still isn’t enough to think kindly of March, spare a thought, when you are slaving away over another exam, to poor Julius Caesar, who was brutally betrayed and murdered more than 2000 years ago; to square roots and apple pi(e)s; and to Osama bin Laden, who is somewhere out there, celebrating his birthday…

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WANDERINGS

Leprechauns and Taverns and Beers, Oh My! Natalie Raso searches for a genuine Irish pub

“The other day I tripped over my shillelagh as I was watching a leprechaun swing at a fairy because he was drunk and fighting, having had too much Guinness on his way to find his pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.”

— Old, drunk Irishman at Ceilidh House

A

s I sat at a table in Ceilidh House on George Street, the older Irish gentleman sitting next to me rhymed off the above phrase after I explained to him that I was writing an article about Irish pubs. “Don’t yeh throw in all the Irish ster-ya-types. Yeh know, like…” Actually, that was all I knew. As an Italian-Canadian, I really had nothing in common with the Irish culture (except, perhaps, for the temperament), and I was not quite sure what I was looking for as I searched for authenticity in Hamilton’s Irish pub scene.

Considering the drunk man’s words, I decided that I would not look for the “genuine” Irish pub as I reviewed contenders, simply because I had no idea what that meant.

Rather, I would look for what I thought an Irish pub would be like, based simply on the stereotype I had spent my years observing.

I found that Friday nights at Slainte Irish Pub (33 Bowen Street) were only half the scene I initially expected to find. The décor lived up to my expectations for such an establishment.

A stone fireplace at the rear of the restaurant stood out on the main floor, as did the long, wooden tables that sat along the stone and wood-panelled walls.

The bar looked genuinely Irish to me, proudly displaying the word “GUINNESS” in gold capital letters, carved right into the glossy wood. The place had well-lit cupboards housing authentic Irish liqueurs, including Lime Smirnoff.

The 52-inch plasma screens embedded into the cabinets didn’t exactly scream “Emerald Isle,” but they contributed to the other, less-

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anticipated half of the scene that evening.

The place was pretty much a nightclub by the late evening, as DJ lighting and Katy Perry lyrics filled the building. There was a small dance floor next to the bar, which was completely packed. The crowd was mainly an early-to-latetwenties crowd, with a good sprinkling of clientele in their thirties and forties. In fact, earlier that evening when I spoke to my mom on the phone and told her I was going to Slainte, she snickered, “Slainte? That’s a pickup place for people my age.”

With that thought in my mind, the middle-aged men hanging around the bar seemed just a tad

creepy. The crowd and ambiance were not quite what I had anticipated, as it seemed overall much more like a nightclub than a pub.

The interior decoration and the building’s rustic exterior, however, did seem Irish. I am sure that had it not been a Friday night during reading week, Slainte would have seemed a lot more “pubby” than “clubby.”

The second stop on my pub tour of Hamilton was Ceilidh House (107

George Street). Situated in Hess Village, this spot has traditionally been one of Hamilton’s most popular pubs serving Irish fare. Instead of visiting on a busy weekend night, I opted for an early dinner with a couple of friends. As I sat at a table against the sidewall and opposite the big, dark, varnished bar, I scanned the walls—old pictures, fiddles, and antiques. This looked pretty genuine to me, and the Irish music playing in the background definitely added to the mood.

I ordered the fried pickles and a Guinness (I didn’t think it was acceptable to order any other beverage), and occasionally peeked over my friend’s shoulder to catch a glimpse of the European soccer

sit. With cushioned armchairs and coffee tables interspersed among tables, bar seating, and a bandstand, Whistling Walrus seemed to have the potential to acquire whichever vibe its customers desired. We decided on a round table in a corner, which turned out to be an excellent decision, since the rest of the pub filled up quickly, with little space to move by the bar.

My Guinness was again excellent and this time around I complemented it with a steak and Guinness pie (because, by this point, I felt practically Irish after all the Irish beer I’d consumed).

The menu had a good selection of Irish pub food, but had a serious share of non-Irish food—bruschetta, calamari, hummus, and Asian spring rolls just did not fit in with the pub’s overall theme.

Like Slainte, all of the female wait staff donned green kilts, which sent me right back to my Catholic high school days. Well, that coupled with the fact that half of the people with whom I attended high school were there with me.

The crowd was split into two age strata— early twenties and early forties, which was a big difference from Slainte. The ambience was also dissimilar to Slainte’s, as this spot felt a lot more like a sit-down restaurant than a club or pub.

Whistling Walrus was a great spot, but other than the kilts, it didn’t really feel all that Irish to me.

G RAPHIC BY CHrIS H ILBRECHT With St. Patrick’s Day soon approachgame on television. It was here ing, finding a good spot to celthat I also met my new Irish friend, ebrate should be pretty simple. If who had clearly enjoyed the Guin- there is anything I learned about ness like a true Irishman. Ceilidh Irish pubs during my tour, it is House delivered on its food, drink, that the basis of a good Irish pub and atmosphere, which will cer- is not shepherd’s pie, football on tainly ensure a full house come 17 the TV, or Guinness (I know, this March. shocked me too). It is the Gaelic My final stop was the Whis- term cairdeas, meaning friendship tling Walrus pub on the Hamilton or camaraderie, that gives an Irish West Mountain (1508 Upper James pub its genuine feel.

Street). Upon entering, I faced my most difficult decision: where to

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PERSPECTIVE

I

am by no means an avid passenger on the Pineapple Express, but I consider myself to have a basic knowledge of the major high-flying substances and herbs. So one can imagine my surprise when I first heard of the drug that produced LSD-like effects without the back-alley bargaining. I listened in wide-eyed disbelief as a friend described how packs of Salvia lie ready for taxable purchase alongside cigarettes and lottery tickets in convenience stores across the nation. The natural psychoactive drug has managed to evade Health Canada restrictions and remains perfectly legal in Canada and 45 American states.

Salvia divinorum grows naturally and is found in Mexico; however, this plant is a high favourite of Canadians for more reasons than just its aesthetic appearance.

When isolated, Salvia’s active component, Salvinorin A, is an extremely powerful natural hallucinogen. The Mazatec Indians of Central America first blazed the trail and used the psychoactive elements of Salvia for spiritual and medicinal purposes. It wasn’t until the early 1990s, though, that the Western world joined the trip and concentrated preparations of Salvia began appearing in the bongs of thrill seekers wishing to stay within established legal boundaries. The drug obtained its legal status from a Health Canada ruling that termed the substance nontoxic and non-addictive.

The trip one takes from Salvia station differs according to the method of departure. Concentrated preparations of Salvia leaves are generally smoked or chewed at varying potencies. Like most pleasurable activities, Salvia trips are short lived. Body weight, sensitivity, dose, and method of ingestion all factor into the strength and duration of the experience. Smoking Salvia through a pipe or a bong results in a quick trip. The intense “peak” effect is reached after one to five minutes and the entire return trip is complete within less than 10 minutes. Chewing the leaves requires a longer travel time of approximately 10 to 20 minutes, with the entire vacation lasting up to an hour and a half. Salvia virgins often find their first experience to be brief and somewhat disappointing. For first timers, the effects can be so subtle that they appear to never have left reality. Numerous users find an exponential increase in trip duration and quality after their first experience; after all, things generally get better with practice.

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Salvia is generally not considered to be a social drug because people under its influence are not particularly interactive and often describe their trip as a highly personal experience. The hallucinogenic effects range from loss of coordination to experiencing a “non-Euclidean” geometry. A few friends of mine generously offered to demonstrate the Salvian sensation so that I might better under-

G RAPHIC BY DorINA K IRILOVA

stand the most predominant reactions to the substance. As I sat cross-legged on the casino carpet of their student house, I watched my friends revert back to a state of infancy. They were lined up on the couch, and within seconds of releasing puffs of smoke, their faces became flushed, their eyes widened, and the uncontrollable giggling began. Every movement or sentence sparked an eruption of red faced laughter. The sight was immediately reminiscent of “David After Dentist,” the popular YouTube

video depicting a seven-year-old returning from the dentist still stoned on Novocain.

I had heard that Salvia acts as a driving force, pushing and pulling your body in different directions with each trip. I watched as some of my friends began to “melt” into the couch and others floated up into space. A common reaction is feeling like your skin, muscles, bones, organs, cells and atoms are being commandeered

by Salvia. The sensation is not necessarily of being pushed in a certain direction, either; many people feel a burning sensation from every pore in their body, to the point that they are physically sweating and flushed.

Salvia’s discreet public image has smoke-screened drug critics for years. But the plant’s easy availability on the Internet and legality have attracted both drug users and apprehensive parties.

Anti-drug groups, particularly those based in the United States, have tried to fight back. The concerns they raised were further heightened by reports of Salviainfluenced suicides. As a result, the Drug Enforcement Agency has officially listed Salvia as a “drug of concern” and has begun to monitor its use more intently.

The smoke signals from south of the border have risen to Canada.

In parts of southern Ontario, groups of concerned parents are seeking to ban Salvia entirely.

I am neither against nor an advocate for the use of hallucinogenic drugs. I have remained contently ambivalent to this point, but the debate surrounding the legality of Salvia made me reexamine my views. In Western society, one is conventionally encouraged and admired for abstaining from drugs and adhering to the maxim that “all drugs are bad.” Going bungee jumping or sky-diving are risky but fun activities. I think Salvia is similar.

The substance itself is neither toxic nor addictive, so using the argument that experiencing Salvia is bad seems to be solely based on a fear of anything classified as a drug. Moderate and sensible use of Salvia is no different than controlled consumption of alcohol. Before concerned parents rally against biologically-safe hallucinogens, perhaps they should reconsider serving drinks to lower inhibitions and relax social gatherings. The real maxim that should be followed is the maxim of moderation.

POETRY

Why this drive to pick Why this drive to pick out thoughts, place one before the other until a resonance runs through, astonishing. Like learning there are two guitar strings, one wound in bronze coils, one a fine thread run silvery smooth, that play in their own doubled octaves notes unmistakably the same. Is it recognition of a fine-tuned worry — no melody will complete our enchanted Pinocchio ears that grow a little wider with every true note.

Until one finally breaks us out of ecstasy, transports us weeping (where? not home) promising to speak nothing but lies from now on, we’ll fret our way through.

G RAPHIC BY AVa D IDEBAN

Paul Huebener

G RAPHIC BY C aTHERINE Z AGAR

Remembering a Night in Sao Paulo Causal relationship: climate change the moment you enter the taxi train station airport old stories resurrect themselves your hands slide together like a smile like a smile like a smile suddenly we are back in the hotel hallway in Sao Paulo, remembering Bali Panama the flight to Ecuador for bird-watching. I brought binoculars and a change of clothes you brought your good eye, waiting to freeze time in the slight second of the shutter time /the red forest bird in flight, dazzling eternal Icarus.

In Belgium, I left you to your bourgeoisie prostitutes checked into the Hotel Mozart put on heels uncovered my thighs and went dancing.

The next morning we fought from opposite rooms the aftermath of sex and pseudonyms over coffee

it was jealousy I guess but later we were even, the Cretan coast the better lover, anyway (I don’t know what I was saying. I’m sorry.)

(Me too.) (I promise.) in Cairo it rained for two weeks in Shanghai, we were friends again you told the man at the door I have no luggage while I held a newspaper over my head and held the wind in the palm of my hand.

When this is over I said, when this is over (We will have time.)

When this is over old stories of the taxi train station airport will transport me/ when this is over I will be back in the hotel hallway remembering the motion of your hands.

Catherine Zagar

incite 15

COLUMN

Reframing Hamilton

By Jeanette Eby

Hamilton as the Classroom “Community develops when we experience that something significant is taking place where we are.” — Henri Nouwen

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hy Hamilton as the classroom? There are endless possibilities for responding to this question. I will begin by saying I am here in Hamilton, right now. Hamilton is real. Hamilton is alive, vibrant, unusual, complex, mysterious, surprising, beautiful, colourful, resilient... Hamilton is home, and a place called home deserves to be engaged with. We can experience that “something significant” at every moment.

I wonder what most people think of as “home” when they are in university. For many, “home” is wherever they grew up or where their family lives. In first year, I was living on the McMaster campus. I identified myself first as a student, and most weekends I would go “home” to visit my family and friends in Waterloo. My sense of home and my sense of place have changed since I began to explore the city and connect to the diverse people and places outside of campus. My relationships here have formed and re-formed me, and I care about Hamilton in a way that goes beyond logic and verbal language. I firmly believe that I can learn from every person I encounter, and most of my learning happens when I meet people and see things that reframe my reading of the world around me.

What meaning can we conjure up when we think of the word “classroom”? In my public school years, and in the early stages of university, I thought of the classroom as a physical space with four walls and a ceiling. It preferably also had windows, desks, chairs, a blackboard, and a teacher standing in front of students seated in rows. Apparently, it was a place to “learn”—but this learning did not leave much room for creativity, alternative possibilities, or unanswerable questions. This learning had little to do with my neighbourhood or with the issues I cared about, and it was only measured through tests, projects, and report cards.

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After second year, I became quite disillusioned about university and its (lack of) relevance to real life and our relationships with both people and places. I began searching for something more.

My random bus trips to downtown Hamilton increased in frequency. I discovered the Freeway Coffee House and the Hamilton Public Library in Jackson Square. I met Julia, who makes the best Colombian coffee at the Farmer’s market.

I was introduced to the Beasley Neighbourhood Association. All of a sudden I found myself in love with this so-called “steel city,” with all of its strangeness and contradictions, and with all of its possibility.

Instead of a box, why not imagine a classroom as an open system of relationships? What if we think of the classroom as a dynamic space of learning and reciprocity? Learning that encompasses different kinds of knowledge: knowledge as experience, not just facts and figures. Knowledge as inspiration that cannot be proven, that comes from sources we cannot articulate, that gives us the vital force we need to move forward and believe in something greater than our own limited selves. This dynamic classroom would not simply be a physical, visible space, but the space between people and the less visible, but equally real, space between our hearts and minds.

Within these spaces, it is possible to connect with each other, share stories, and care for each other and our place. This classroom may move us beyond mere knowledge, towards understanding. We will never be able to fully “understand” another person; we will never fully “understand” a neighbourhood, or a city. But expanding our notion of the classroom will involve us in a process where outcomes and test scores are not the central focus. We can experience Hamilton, or wherever we are, with a sense of wonder, in pursuit of community. We will not experience Hamilton without feeling overwhelmed and exhausted. We will, at times, feel weak and incapable; none of us can be everything to everyone, which is why community is so important, as a collective source

of strength that pushes us through our blunders.

I recently worked with a group on a presentation about the environment and “Living in Community.” Together, our class realized that as students living in Hamilton there are so many different ways to intentionally take part in community, to be together with the purpose of developing community while remaining conscious of the health of our relationships. We need support.

We need to eat, laugh, and be part of an environment that we enjoy. In our student houses, could we not share more? Be more open to unexpected visitors? As we interact with new people and places, why not open ourselves up to difference and try to value it?

As I enter the final month of my undergraduate experience, I am excited, overwhelmed, and terrified. I have never had so much work to do in my entire life. I am moving into a new role, a new stage, and I have no idea what it will look like. It is difficult to step back and be aware of my environment, to find rest amidst the chaos, and embrace fellowship with friends when there is so much to do in so little time. It is a challenge, but I will try to keep being attentive and continue looking outward as March moves into April. I can be grateful for the fact that I am here in Hamilton, that we are all here, and that something significant is happening even in the seemingly mundane activities of daily living. For it is in those activities that our regular interactions happen.

So, why Hamilton as the classroom? We will never be fully able to answer this question; we can only live other questions. Questions like: How will we respond to the complex challenges all around us? How can we use our knowledge and apply it in a way that is honourable and relevant to the communities we are a part of? I think that is what much of my university experience has been about: living those questions and entering into the thick of things with care and humility. All of our entry points will be different, but expanding our classroom and taking that first step is definitely worthwhile.

COMIC CROSSWORD

COMIC BY N ICK DAVIES

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ACROSS 1. “Green” transport vehicle 4. Pastry or girl of questionable morals 8. Just numbers?

12. This ending when prefaced with “h”: a domestic abode; with an “l”: an icky bug 13. The first name of an Incite editor 14. Comes after “washes” 16. A dinosaur (abbr.)

17. First four letters of alphabet, scrambled 18. _____ Suitcase, a children’s Holocaust novel 19. Motivate 21. Digging tools 23. Male bovine 24. Rapper Vanilla _____ 25. Heat up the engine 27. ‘70s hairstyle 29. Emotion beyond like 33. The state in Paris 36. The detecting board game 38. Close with glue 39. An organic pollutant, for short

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40. Event where people wrestle 23 across 42. Communication for the deaf 43. Frosted 45. Unpleasant-looking 46. Gnash 47. Unconscious state 48. Type of poem 49. Opposite of “he” 51. Monitor’s colour scheme 53. Religion emphasizing spiritual unity of all people 57. Barbecue fare 61. Broccoli trees 63. “Will be” at Laval 64. ____ vera 66. The Montreal Canadiens 67. Boasts 68. Leo icon 69. Eurasian range 70. Listen to 71. Physics prefix 72. Type of tax

DOWN 1. Singed 2. Language spoken in the States?

3. Sue Johanson is one 4. Russian ruler 5. Assistant 6. All-girl rez at McGill 7. Keyboard keys 8. Literally “for this” (2 wds.)

9. Covers with small pebbles 10. German article 11. Same as 38 across 12. McKay Hall mascot 15. Snake-like sound 20. Anger 22. The end of a four-letter American state 26. Tape player 27. Sweet, smooth candy 28. Film holder 30. The vowels (less “u”) scrambled 31. Wide 32. Fashion magazine 33. Type of fail 34. Delicious Mexican food item 35. Throat clearing sound 37. Raucous 41. Yiddish exclamations 44. Time of intellectual depression (2 wds.)

46. Tight squeeze (2 wds.)

48. Japanese sash 50. Cable channel 52. Synonym of gruesome, less the “l” 54. Uses one’s ears 55. At the plate (2 wds.)

56. IBM Software Services for Lotus 57. An on-campus science building (abbr.)

58. Prefix with dynamic 59. Crustacean that moves sideways 60. Soothing lotion 61. Lower appendage 62. Horne or Söderberg C ROSSWORD BY CHIAra M ENEGUZZI 65. Untruth SOLUTION ON PaGE TWO

incite 17

COLUMN

Mac in Time

by Melissa Charenko and Kate Logan The Arts Quad Squad

C

onstructed in 1965, Chester New Hall can hardly still be considered “new.”

In fact, a campus renewal partnership aims to upgrade and improve the spaces in the Arts Quad because many of the original mechanical fixtures are old and obsolete.

So where exactly does the “new” come from in CNH? For that matter, why do we have a building named for a fish, and what did Taylor do to deserve his own building?

CNH is named after Chester William New, who was appointed to the chair of the History Department in 1920. He was also a theology alumnus and ordained Baptist minister. When he came to McMaster, the school was not in Hamilton but Toronto. New worried that that city was leading to an erosion of college spirit because students were scattered across a metropolis that was becoming too large. He thought McMaster could exert a greater influence in a smaller city and so, largely due to New’s influence, the university moved to the Steel City in 1929.

School spirit might have been improved by the move to Hamilton but, unfortunately, academics did not improve much. During the 1930s, New became so frustrated about students’ poor performances that he exclaimed, “We have never had a generation of students who had as little appreciation of the difference between high school and university.”

His reaction was in part due to some McMaster graduates failing the “specialist examinations” at the Ontario College of Education and thus being denied teaching certificates.

The general gossip was that the high marks of McMaster’s honours graduates really did not mean much, especially when they could not pass exams which were based on high school content.

While academics were less than stellar during this time, athletics improved substantially. New was a staunch supporter of sport because he believed that intramurals promoted better health and stamina. He sat on the Intercollegiate Athletic Union and watched as McMaster brought home 40 championships in everything from swimming to track and field—a huge improvement over the one and only title won during the entire 42 years the institution had been in Toronto.

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If teaching history and serving on the Athletic Union were not enough, New was also a University Senator and worked hard to ensure that every student would enjoy some personal contact with their professors. He also tried to make work in the arts more recognized. He believed scientists should appreciate the value of the arts and that both worked equally hard to produce valuable work. Occasionally he made swipes at scientists during Chapel with his “exuberant sermonettes.” Scientists were less than thrilled by this interruption, even though the message was sound. Matters were not helped by New’s absentmindedness: he once gave the scripture reading with his gown on inside out!

This fashion mistake is maybe forgivable because New had a lot on his plate. He tried to run for a seat in the House of Commons as a Progressive Conservative candidate. Mrs. New was not pleased with this decision, objecting strongly to his candidacy. The Chancellor at the time, George P. Gilmour (whose building can be found nearby), was also dissatisfied because he worried that New would only be able to take on a minimal teaching load and that the position would prove too strenuous for his advanced age. He already needed the support of Kenneth Taylor, seen as a brilliant scholar and the bridge between history and economics, to fulfill some of his duties so these fears were likely well-founded. Luckily for both objectors, his election bid was unsuccessful, and he continued to be deeply involved in university life.

Kenneth Wiffin Taylor, one of New’s closest colleagues, had come to teach at McMaster in 1925 for a $2400 salary after distinguishing himself here as an undergraduate. He was affectionately known as “The Brain” to many. Where New had been distressed at the lacklustre academic performance of McMaster students, Taylor worried about the lack of interest in social issues and the absence of commitment to the Baptist cause. And while New spoke out about his concerns, Taylor displayed his brilliance most notably as an economist. His skills were recognized by the Canadian government during the Second World War when he was summoned to Ottawa to act as Secretary of the Wartime Prices and Trade

Board. This board tried to conserve supplies and eliminate wartime profiteering. He was better suited to this position and eventually chose bureaucracy over academia. Even though McMaster was not his ultimate calling, he made enough of an impact on the university to get his own building.

The final namesake of the Arts Quad is Edward Togo Salmon, who saw much of the world before settling in Hamilton. He was born in London, England, educated at the University of Sydney in Australia and then attended the University of Cambridge before finishing off his studies in Italy. Italy was a great place for the historian to study, bestknown for his work on the Romanization of Italy and the Samnites, a tribe that controlled part of Italy from 600 to 290 BCE. When he was appointed to McMaster in 1930, other academics in the field were pleased, believing that it placed McMaster on a “thoroughly sound basis” in Classics compared to other Canadian schools.

While he understood the past, Salmon also seemed to be able to predict the future. He wrote a weekly column in The Silhouette about foreign affairs, predicting as early as 1936 that the unrest in Europe would lead to war. Before he left for Europe three years later, he made a bet with a colleague that war would breakout before he came back in September. He won. In fact, on the very day Salmon was to return home, the first Allied ship, the Athenia, was torpedoed by a German U-boat. Another McMaster professor was supposed to sail on the Athenia, but had booked an earlier ship to better prepare for classes. Salmon would be very involved throughout the war, moving to the emerging medium of radio to perform nightly broadcasts. He was so well known as a host that he was considered by the government to be both a classicist and a broadcaster.

While the Arts Quad buildings tower above the rest of campus, the feats of their namesakes have largely dwindled from memory.

Yet each man contributed to the university in substantial ways and their collective total of 95 years of service to McMaster is impressive in its own right.

SUBJECT TO CLASSIFICATION

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IN THEATRES EVERYWHERE FRIDAY, MARCH 13!

The minimum wage is going up.

If you're an employer, here's what you need to know.

General Minimum Wage

Students under 18 and working not more than 28 hours per week or during a school holiday

Liquor Server

Hunting & Fishing Guides: for less than five consecutive hours in a day

Hunting & Fishing Guides: for five or more hours in a day whether or not the hours are consecutive

Homeworkers (people doing paid work in their home for an employer)

Current wage rate

$8.75/hour

$8.20/hour__

$7.60/hour

$43.75

$87.50

110% of the minimum wage

Mar. 31, 2009 wage rate

$9.50/hour

$8.90/hour__

$8.25/hour

$47.50

$95.00

110% of the minimum wage

On March 31, 2009, the general minimum wage will increase to $9.50 per hour from the current rate of $8.75 per hour.

To find out more about how the new minimum wage guidelines affect employers and employees, call or visit the Ministry of Labour web site.

Paid for by the Government of Ontario

1-800-531-5551

www.ontario.ca/minimumwage incite 19

El Malec贸n

Havana

Photography by Will van Engen

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