Incite Magazine -January 2012

Incite Magazine Volume 14, Issue 3 · McMaster University, Hamilton ▪ January 2012

ADVENTURE: Three former editors trek to the Canadian prairies THROUGH THEIR EYES: Helping fight a cholera outbreak in Malawi plus SINGLE AND LOOKING: An experiment in online dating

Editorial make it so

Sam Colbert & Anna Kulikov, Editors-in-Chief

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ne of the first things you’ll learn about 18th-century thinker Immanuel Kant in an introductory philosophy course is that, in his nearly eighty years of life, he never once traveled more than ten miles outside of his hometown. And yet, despite his lack of foreign exploration, he’s been credited as the greatest philosopher since the ancient Greeks.

Like Kant, my travels have yet to take me very far from home.

(This, of course, is only the beginning of a long list of striking similarities between the great philosopher and myself.) But I’d like to believe that a life of limited geography is not necessarily one lacking insight and excitement. Whatever your routine is, there’s fun to be had.

In, “For Queen and Country”, Kathryn Morrison discusses how, over time, the protagonists of our adventure stories have changed from being the Hero to the Everyman. In an effort to add excitement to her life, Meg Peters puts a twist on each day of the week in “Day To Day”. Jane van Koeverden and Leanna Katz go looking for wild times at a downtown Hamilton bingo hall in “Happiness is Playing Bingo?”

Beyond that, Incite’s ‘Adventure’-themed December issue has nacho reviews, tales of risky fashion statements, an analysis of what technology has done to the fun in our lives, and a little poetry.

So go put your bed on the other side of the room. Substitute a few new ingredients in tonight’s dinner recipe. Have a few drinks, buy a watermelon, walk with it to an old friend’s house, and see what happens.

Our hope with this month’s issue is that it encourages you to try something a little different.

-SC

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artwork by joshua lewis

have given in to temptation, and will begin this month’s editorial with Star Trek flair. Cue Sir Patrick Stewart: “These are the voyages of the magazine Incite. Its continuing mission to explore strange new themes, to seek out new stories and new witticisms, to boldly go where no one has gone before…”

While such an introduction may be thematically appropriate, I have just reached a new height of nerdom. In print, no less.

This month’s theme created the opportunity for our writers to tell tales of grand adventures past and to embark on new ones. Join Larry Evans on his risky self-guided tour of Hamilton’s abandoned places in “Urban Exploration”, and Devra Charney and Kaila Radan on their first Geocaching mission right on McMaster’s campus in “Gotta Cache ‘Em All”.

Adira Winegust recounts her experiences hitchhiking in a foreign land while Charlotte Mussels and Julia Redmond forgo the GO for a long bike ride from Hamilton to Toronto in “Hitchhiker’s Guide Meets Bicycle Diaries”. Karina Redick shares the story of her journey “In the Warm Heart of Africa” and discusses the implications of so-called ‘development tourism’.

The Romanian dramatist, Eugene Ionesco, once said, “A work of art is above all an adventure of the mind.” Incite has always striven to be an outlet not only for writers, but for artists as well – and this month is no different. Inside our pages, beautiful art and photography awaits!

So, with a cup of tea (Earl Grey, hot), embark on your own adventure through Incite. Fair winds and following seas, dear reader!

-AK

incitemagazine.ca Features

photography by nicki varkevisser

Departments

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Happenings Selected news from near and far

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Brief New World Shawn Fazel

Rainy Days Anna Kulikov Art Spread Sukanya Biswabharati, Emily Johnson, Nicki Varkevisser, Ianitza Vassileva, David Yoon

Incite Magazine is published six times per academic year by Impact Youth Publications, founded in 1997. Entire contents copyright 2011-2012 Impact Youth Publications. Opinons expressed in Incite Magazine are those of the author(s), and do not necessarily reflect the views of Incite Magazine’s staff or Impact Youth Publications.

Letters of up to 300 words may be sent to incite@mcmaster. ca; they may be edited for length and clarity and will not be printed unless a name, address, and daytime phone are provided.

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Livin’ on a Prairie Road tripping across Canada Andrew Prine Gotta Cache ‘Em All Geocaching at Mac Devra Charney, Kaila Radan Clicking With Someone Online dating Dayna Taylor

Editors-in-Chief Sam Colbert Anna Kulikov Managing Editors Irena Papst, Layout Ianitza Vassileva, Graphics

Urban Exploring Prowling abandoned buildings Larry Evans

Content Editors Jeremy Henderson Matt Ing Kate Sinclair Jane van Koeverden

Distant Companions Two travel logs over 70 km Charlotte Mussells, Julia Redmond, Adira Winegust Merry-Go-Round The journey to death Kacper Niburski A Brief Guide to the Deep Web The Internet’s underside Steve Clare Camp Outlook Life-changing canoe trips Alisha Sunderji In the Warm Heart of Africa Debunking volunteer tourism Karina Redick Homeless in Hamilton Story from afar Melissa Ricci Gotta Get Out On Friday The effects of technology Alison Greco Manic Meg’s Wacky Week Seven days, seven themes Meg Peters Long Live Joe A typical tale Dylan Hickson For Queen and Country Heroes then and now Kathryn Morrison Sex Lives of Existentialists Sartre and Beauvoir Palika Kohli Death by Misadventure Taking it too far Anthony D’Ambrosio

Contributors Anthony D’Ambrosio, Mark Belan, Sukanya Biswabharati, Devra Charney, Steve Clare, Liz Dermarkar, Larry Evans, Shawn Fazel, Mallory Fitz-Ritson, Leila Gaind, Zoe Godfrey-Davies, Alicia Giasante, Alison Greco, Dylan Hickson, Emily Johnson, Leanna Katz, Palika Kohil, Joshua Lewis, Victoria McKinnon, Kathryn Morrison, Charlotte Mussells, Kacper Niburski, Oskar Niburski, Meg Peters, Andrew Prine, Kaila Radan, Karina Redick, Julia Redmond, Melissa Ricci, Jen Shamo, Brianna Smrke, Alisha Sunderji, Dayna Taylor, Livia Tsang, Nicki Varkevisser, Karen Wang, Adira Winegust, Afrisa Yeung, Jing Xu Covers Jing Xu & Victor Pope Printing Underground Media & Design Contact incite@mcmaster.ca

Looks That Could Chill Campus’ best dressed Liz Dermarkar Sailing Bottles A poem Oskar Niburski Plastic Fantastic Interview with Pandemonia Mark Belan

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Happiness is Playing Bingo?

Hamilton’s bingo scene Leanna Katz, Jane van Koeverden Review: Dat Nach Hamilton’s nacho offerings Jeremy Henderson, Irena Papst, Kate Sinclair Volume 14, Issue 3 ▪ Incite Magazine ▪ 3

Happenings what are you ganderin’ at??

Photography by jing xu

AROUND THE WORLD 1% of The Cats Have 99% of The Wealth ROME, Italy – A widowed Italian heiress has left her entire €10 million estate to the stray cat whom she adopted years earlier. The 94-year old Maria Assunta never bore children and lost her husband, a property mogul, at a young age. Despairing of finding a suitable animal welfare organization on which to bequeath her wealth, she instead chose to bestow it on the fortunate feline: Tommaso. The estate will be administered by the nurse who cared for Assunta in her final days.

Tommaso’s address has been kept secret, for fear of swindlers who would seek to skin this cat. He’s a real life Thomas O’Malley!

The Empire Strikes Back ODESSA, Ukraine – Last Month, officials in Odessa were caught off guard when Darth Vader approached them and demanded a plot of land on the Black Sea “for his space cruiser.”

The city had recently declared that it would give 1,000 square meters of land to any citizen for free, provided the proper paperwork was filled out.

Apparently one Odessite saw this as an opportunity for a prank. The man was given his plot of land after lifting his helmet to confirm his identity. Although the man’s motivations for pulling this stunt are unclear, it is quite fitting for the Black Sea to join the Dark Side.

Would You Like That Gift Wrapped?

LOS ANGELES, California – The AIDS Healthcare Foundation submitted over 71,000 signatures petitioning the City of Los Angeles for a public ballot in June 2012. If the signatures are verified, residents will vote on whether condoms should be a requirement for porn actors on adult film sets. Most pornographic films forgo the use of condoms, and industry producers argue that incorporating them would eliminate the fantasy element of their product. The Los Angeles City Attorney’s office has filed a lawsuit against holding the ballot, as workplace safety laws already mandate the use of protective barriers when workers are exposed to STIs. What a rubbery situation!

Forbidden Fruit EUROPE – An unnamed Islamic cleric recently caused a cyber-kerfuffle when he advised Muslim women not to touch or look at bananas, cucumbers, carrots, or zucchini. His reasoning?

These fruits and vegetables resemble the penis and would cause women to experience sexual thoughts. “The matter,” he says, “is between them and God.” Though he did not explain how they should be controlled while shopping for groceries, the Sheikh assured women that they could still enjoy eating these foods – provided that their male relatives secretly chop them into small pieces beforehand. Finally, a salad worthy of Freud!

Compiled by Sam Colbert, Jeremy Henderson, Matt Ing, Anna Kulikov, Kate Sinclair, Jane van Koeverden

Target Practice DUBLIN, California – It was a quiet afternoon on the suburban San Francisco area street. The Shetty family had been sleeping in their home when they were rudely awakened by a cannonball crashing through their front door, up the stairs, and out the back wall of the master bedroom. The ball exited the house, bounced a few times, and landed on a minivan. As it turned out, employees of the show Mythbusters, who were testing the speed of the steel ball against other objects fired out of a cannon, had overshot their target during a nearby filming. Producers of the show have since visited the family and assured them that it wouldn’t happen again. Talk about a bust.

Aurora Bo-really?

TROMSO, Norway – It all started with a short film by the Finnish Tourist Board. The movie featured, among other things, an awe-inspiring timelapse of the aurora borealis as seen from the Finnish Lapland. Debuting in early September, the video has now claimed more than half a million views and sparked an unprecedented amount of controversy. The issue? Norwegians complain that the Finns are trying to “steal” their northern lights. Per-Arne Tuftin of Innovation Norway complains that they “cannot stand by and watch the Finns try to grab a bigger share” of the northern lights market.

“We will not give up,” she says. “The northern lights will be ours!”

It is a cloudy day, and you’re feeling rather blue. To clear your head, you decide to take a jaunt through the trails behind campus. While walking, you stumble upon a strange looking coin. You stoop down to pick it up, but all of a sudden you sense an element of danger.

The coin could be valuable, and it looks so pretty. If you ignore your gut feeling and grab the coin, go to pg. 22.

Maybe this is some sort of trap. If you choose to back away slowly, go to pg. 20.

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livin’ on a prairie Andrew Prine

A former Incite editor-in-chief lives on a prairie, mounts mountains, and crosses the dateline in search of adventure. Here’s a short piece about the first leg of his round-the-world trip:

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n the morning of my 22nd birthday, I woke up shivering, stiff, and glad to be alive. It was the 14th of September, and though summer was still going strong in south-western Ontario, autumn had painted our Saskatchewan campsite with a hard frost. By the time I’d made it back from the composting toilet, the sun was just starting to creep over the tree line. Its raw, red rays lit the icy tall grass like torches. Despite the startling beauty that the sunlight revealed, I couldn’t help thinking, “fat load of good you were last night.”

Chris, Angela and I, running from summer-long brush-ins with the real world, had been on the road for eight days. We christened our carriage with a day trip from Sarnia to Point Pelee, and, after one last night at home, sallied forth. Driving up and west along the Great Lakes, we’d been impressed by the rugged, wild, and stereotypically Canadian beauty, but the prairies at harvest time hit us even harder.

Ontario extended a lot farther past Thunder Bay than we’d expected, but when we finally made it to Manitoba, the transition was surprisingly abrupt. As if sanded bare, the hills, lakes, and trees that had bordered the highway since Sarnia suddenly disappeared. We’d set aside four days for the prairies before making for Calgary, Edmonton, and the Rockies. Hoping to give our faithful steed, a beige 2001 Pontiac

Montana affectionately known as Chuck, a little something to cut his teeth on before tackling the Western Cordillera, we thought we’d try the Cypress Hills, one of the relatively few elevation changes to be found on the great plains.

The rain had held off since half-way up Lake Huron, but when we arrived at the park, there was a price to pay for our good luck with the weather. Cypress Hills was under a fire ban, and though we had enough peanut butter, bread, and apples to make it through the night, we’d been looking forward to making a hearty pot of campfire chilli.

Since our gear would also have to serve us in Australia’s tropical north in just a few weeks’ time, we’d packed light. Without fire, chilli was out of the question, but chilly we did get.

Not long after sunrise, awake, alert, and eager to regain feeling in our digits, we packed up our campsite, skipped breakfast, and thought we’d take the scenic park roads across the Saskatchewan-Alberta border.

Unfortunately, the fire ban also covered internal combustion engines, so after a few roadblocks, breathtaking lookout points, and close calls with escaped cattle, we finally admitted defeat and left the park by the route we came in, returning, embarrassed, to the Trans-Canada.

A few more hours of driving brought us to

the home of our Calgary hostess, Chris’s sister, Natalie. Glad for a chance to shower, shave, and sleep indoors, we decided to postpone any birthday-brations until we were better rested.

Sympathetic to our plight, Natalie assured us that there would be ample opportunity for revelry at a University of Calgary Engineering event to be held just two nights later.

The goal for the evening was to board converted school buses, drive out to rural Alberta, and drink a bar dry. The unlucky sports bar in Okotoks that was their victim, filled with throngs of young, rowdy engineering students, was something of a new experience for me, but it wasn’t without some comforting familiarity; I was, as always, one of the worst dancers.

Stepping out to get some air, I also witnessed a fairly unique attempt at courtship.

A young man introduced himself to two women smoking in the parking lot and offered to show them how he earned the name “Indiana Skywalker.” Laughing, the girls agreed. The man walked to his car. After a few moments of rummaging, he returned carrying a fedora, a whip, and a light sabre. Whatever can be said of his ultimately unsuccessful performance, it certainly didn’t lack originality.

The next day, after a somewhat late start, we drove to Drumheller, climbed the world’s largest dinosaur, stopped at the Royal Tyrrell Museum, and rekindled a long-dormant childhood passion for palaeontology. It meant we’d have to face a night-time trip into Edmonton, something we’d been hoping to avoid, given the state of Chuck’s headlights, but we had absolutely no regrets.

photos courtesy of andrew prine

Volume 14, Issue 3 ▪ Incite Magazine ▪ 5

gotta cache ‘em all Devra Charney & Kaila Radan

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reasure hunts are no longer just for pirates. Geocaching is an outdoor treasure hunt, where participants find geocaches using a global positioning system (GPS). The cache can be a variety of different things, such as a box full of stickers, a capsule containing a note, or a magnetic coin. There are currently 1,532,000 geocaches spread over 100 countries. When adventurers discover one, it is common practice to sign the logbook and then either take or leave a token, depending on the nature of the cache. Sometimes people stumble upon geocaches without knowing what they are. These people are called muggles (disclaimer: they shouldn’t be, as this term is purely for Harry Potter-related use). There are some geocaches right here on the McMaster campus! We decided to search for them.

Failure: McCache Hint: “A geocoin is waiting to start its journey with you. Beware of muggles!”

We were so excited by our assignment that we set out right away! The first geocache was allegedly located near the McMaster Museum of Art. Despite the late hour and impending darkness, we braved our way from

Artwork by livia tsang

Burke Science Building across the field until we reached the destination shown on the GPS. The clue said that the geocache was magnetic, so we started with searching around the railings by the entrance to the museum. It soon became clear that the treasure had eluded us.

Not wanting to give up, we continued to look in more obscure places, becoming increasingly discouraged with each failed attempt. We even resorted to searching on the roof and in the ice box, but our efforts were in vain. Tired and hungry, we decided to call it a night.

Success: Crack at Mac! Hint: “Walking Woody and I passed this interesting statue. WW turns and says, ‘Their [sic] is a man sitting in the bush.’ What?? A man sitting in the bush?? I thought he was crazy.”

This time, we knew we would be on the road for a while, so we decided to make a brief stop in order to stock up for the adventure ahead. After making sure we had all the necessary gear, namely sustenance from Bridges, we took out our treasure map and followed the route it laid out for us. Soon we found ourselves at the daycare behind The Phoenix.

Now came the difficult part: locating our geocache. The clue mentioned a man in the bush-

es. Turning around, we saw a statue of a sitting person surrounded by a mass of thorns.

We tried to make our way to the statue, but the thorns impeded our progress. Finally, after many scratches, we circled the bush in search of another entrance. We found an opening, which led to the back of the statue.

Peering closely, we made out a glint of green.

The statue was sitting on the geocache – hence the term, “crack at Mac!” With fingers trembling with anticipation (we were actually just cold) we opened the capsule. Inside there was a slip of paper with a list of names on it.

After adding our names to the list, we closed the capsule and returned it to its place. The completion of this difficult journey merited a reward in the form of a delicious treat.

With our spirits lifted due to the success of our mission, we walked off in search of the third and final geocache on campus. Although our last cache was unsuccessful, we came out of the adventure with new insight into the world of caching. Geocaching challenges you to find new places that you would otherwise overlook and allows you to interact with people all over the world. It is indeed a modernday treasure hunt!

The ghost walks over to you and offers you two pills, a blue pill and a red pill. At this point, you feel that refusing the specter is not an option. Which pill should you take?

Red pill, pg. 13.

BIue pill, pg. 11.

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clicking with someone Dayna Taylor

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t the last Incite planning meeting, it was suggested that someone write an article about online dating. Regrettably single but with low expectations, I volunteered.

After reading reviews of a few possible online dating sites, I settled on OKCupid. It’s free, it’s easy, and the internet tells me it’s significantly less sketchy than PlentyOfFish, whatever that is. Registration took just a few minutes, and then it was on to filling out my profile. The site prompted me with a few generic questions: “list six things you can’t live without,” “describe your typical Friday night,” and so on. I answered a few and skipped the rest.

The quiz section was more addictive. I planned on answering a few dozen multiple choice questions about myself, and ended up plowing through a few hundred. I still wasn’t expecting to meet anyone I would actually like, but it was a lot more fun than I had envisioned. A few minutes later, the messages started rolling in.

The more people I talked to, the more I realized that my judgements about the kind of guys who date online have been entirely backwards. Every man who messaged me was putting himself out there to be judged by who-knows-howmany women. Even if he’s just looking to hook up, a guy with a well-done profile is putting in a lot more effort than a guy who just throws on a semi-clean shirt and skulks around a club on a Friday night. If he’s taken the time to write twelve short essays about himself in the hopes of meeting a girl, he

must really want to meet one: no games, no beating around the bush, none of that “wait three days to call” bullshit. It’s actually really refreshing. That’s not to say there weren’t creeps. “Hav a drink wit me 2nite” suggests a 35 year old man in Toronto. No thank you, I’d rather not get murdered.

The other thing I’m surprised by is the number of Mac students I found (mostly engineers, read into that what you will). I always figured online dating attracted an older

Photography by nicki varkevisser

crowd, but I came across dozens of guys from McMaster with whom I’m apparently extremely compatible but whom I’ve just never run in to.

After being signed up for about a day, I got a message from a guy, whom I’ll call Tom, asking my opinion on a book I’m reading.

He seemed friendly, wasn’t too pushy, and I didn’t notice any major spelling or grammar mistakes in his profile. So far, he’s three for

three. And his profile picture looked cute.

Really cute. I checked out his stats. Male, 25, Single, Hamilton, and a 91% match. Google tells me it’s proper online dating etiquette to IM for a few weeks before suggesting a real-life meet-up, but I was working with a deadline, so I decided to rush things along.

“I’ve got some free time this weekend, feel like getting a cup of coffee?” Tom responded a few minutes later. “I’d love to. How about noon tomorrow?”

I skimmed through his profile before we met up, and realized this is actually pretty convenient. I won’t suggest grabbing a burger if his profile says he’s a vegetarian. If we disagree politically then I won’t bring it up. If we start running out of things to talk about, I’ll just oh-so-casually mention a band that he likes. Disingenuous?

Maybe. But this is the future we live in.

I headed out to meet him at 11:30.

My housemates made me promise to text them half-anhour into the date at the latest, and one of them solemnly loaned me her rape whistle. Although I wasn’t nervous before, I sort of was now. It turned out I would have nothing to worry about. He was just as cute in person, paid for my coffee, and we talked for two hours without a lull. It was the best first date I’ve ever had. I can’t help but marvel at how easy it felt. I sent a quick text to my housemate on my way home: “I’m alive, FYI. And I think I might actually like this guy.”

As it turns out, I do. We’re having our fifth date this weekend.

Volume 14, Issue 3 ▪ Incite Magazine ▪ 7

Urban exploring Larry Evans

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e approached on foot, quickly and quietly.

The road was dimly lit and deserted, our visibility aided only by a few streetlights. There were only four of us this time, down from the previous mission’s uneven five. The factory loomed ahead in the distance, ominously lit by a full moon. Scurrying along the narrow road, we vaulted over the curb and slid down through the rubble and scree into the ditch below. Running the length of the quarry, we clambered gingerly over the low barbed-wire fence, down the long-abandoned stairs, and began to sidle our way along the edge of the building. I turned to Frenchy, our newest addition, nudged him and promised, “This is where it gets good.” Having been here before, we considered this fairly routine, but for Frenchy it was an initiation into the world of urban exploration.

This past summer my housemate introduced me to urban exploration (UE). It started out with a casual conversation about the abandoned Dundas District School. It ended up with us planning our inaugural urban exploration mission, which we embarked upon that very night. It was altogether a daring escapade. From fencehopping to rappelling through second-floor windows, dodging motion detectors, sprinting from security guards, and hiding on the roof, our first UE mission got us hooked, and we haven’t looked back.

Back at the factory, we tried to make our entrance. First, we tried to enter through the flooded basement, then by the shoddily constructed smokestack ladder. Neither attempt was successful. If you go UE a lot, you learn quickly that the primary obstacle to most UE missions is actually gaining access to the site. Typically locks, boarded-up windows, and similar obstructions limit base-level trespassing to those willing to break-and-enter. In other words: criminals – a label we weren’t yet comfortable adopting. Luckily, we managed to squeeze our way through a gap in the bricks. We were in.

We turned our flashlights on, listening for the sounds of alarms, approaching footsteps, or police sirens. We surveyed the building’s deserted shell; it was a maze of once-busy workstations, rubble-filled coal tanks, endless interwoven planks and catwalks, strewn with tools and personal belongings from bygone days. We familiarized ourselves with the intricacies of the site: exploring every inch and leaving no stone unturned. When the plant was operational, its function would have been to burn coal and produce steam which could then be transported through metal pipes to a larger neighboring factory. The first factory was a leisure tour; exploring the second was our real objective.

Using the emergency ladder to escape the roof, we crawled through a gap in the chain-link fence, and emerged in a scrapyard.

One by one we sprinted across the void, diving into the shadow of the second factory. But after half an hour of searching, our efforts were in vain: we could not find an entry point. Frustration set in and the four of us threw our packs on the ground and sat, backs against the brick wall, to plan our next move. In frustration, I wheeled around and slammed my fist into the wall and – it moved.

The cinderblocks were loose; there was a way in! But we were faced with a dilemma: should we stop here and adhering to the “take only pictures, leave only footprints” principle, or should we abandon it in favour of a more criminal label?

“F*** it,” said Frenchy, “let’s do this.”

Beginning with that first cinderblock, the four of us worked tirelessly for half an hour peeling away at the edifice, brick by brick, until we had finally bored out a hole large enough for a person to fit through. One by one, embracing our new criminal identities, we clambered through the aperture and into the unknown. Scanning the length of the warehouse that lay before us, we spread out, each of us covering foreign territory. Suddenly and without warning, a shrill wail pierced the night. Someone had tripped the alarm. Time to go.

In the seconds of panic and mayhem that ensued, the four of us threw our belongings across the threshold, scrambled back through the hole, sprinted out across the yard, under the fence, and ran for our lives.

This story is entirely true. And there have been many others: the Main-King CSO Tanks, the factory on Dundurn South, Dundas District School, the Federal Building downtown, and the list goes on. In a world that is entirely charted and stripped of its wonder by technology and globalization, exploration is possible under our very noses. Hamilton’s seedy underbelly holds many secrets, and I suspect we’ve only just scratched the surface.

Artwork by Sukanya Biswabharati

You’ve launched yourself off the edge, legs still running in the air. For a second, you feel like you can fly – that is, until your body begins its very rapid descent. The frozen river below is about 50 feet away, then 25 feet, then 10 feet. You crash through the ice, plunging into the frigid water. The coin you picked up acts as an anchor and drags you to the bottom of the waterbed. Fortunately for you, the instant you are about to drown, the river is flash frozen and you are preserved in ice until archaeologists unearth and reanimate you in 2999. The end.

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Distant companions

Charlotte Mussels, Julia Redmond & Adira Winegust

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hort of walking, what is the most unconventional way to travel 70 kilometres as the crow flies? During her gap year, Adira decided to break out of the cultural bubble of a North American city and live on an Israeli kibbutz.

One of the shocks was that hitchhiking is one of the most accepted modes of transit in Israel. One day, she needed to get form the kibbutz to Haifa, and hitchhiking it was.

Here in North America, what would you do in the case of a GO Transit strike?

For the Hamilton-Toronto trek, Google Maps provides no alternative to your trusted transit system. Your choices are a) four different regional public transit systems or b) to bike. Charlotte and Julia chose the latter, hoping that it would take less time than the estimated six hours by public transit.

While Adira recorded memories of her trip those years ago, Charlotte and Julia took notes at matching checkpoints to see how their trip stacked up against hers.

Here’s how it turned out.

4 Kilometres In AW: I’ve arrived at the highway interchange where all the hitchhikers wait. I’ve also learned that I have to point my right index finger downward to flag a ride; thumbs-up is an offensive gesture in the Middle East. As a single girl, travelling alone, I’ve decided I will only agree to a female driver.

CM & JR: We had been biking for only a few minutes, along the bridge that spans Hamilton Harbour. Our map had told us we’d need to depart the paved trail and take the stairs up to the road.

Little did we realize the stairs consisted of a dozen steep flights with a narrow bike trough. A little disconcerted by how easily winded the climb left us, we won-

dered if we would be able to complete the journey.

15 Kilometres In AW: I finally got a ride from a nice grandmother in a rusty, old, and tiny Fiat.

As soon as the door closed, she proceeded to lecture me about the idiocy of hitchhiking. As my eyes glazed over, I stared out at the kibbutzes and farms rolling

artwork by Ianitza Vassileva

past the window.

CM & JR: We were surprised about three things. First, it’s dangerously easy to let your mind wander while you’re coasting on your bike. Second, Burlington is hilly. Third, Burlington has a lot of dead squirrels. Our condolences to the families of the eight furry friends we found plastered to the pavement. We swear we had nothing to do with their deaths.

30 Kilometres In AW: Having gotten out of my first

car, I stared out out at two big white dove statues. There were a couple of other people here waiting for a ride. Although I’d only been here for about 5 minutes, some had already spent an hour.

CM & JR: The saga continues. Oaksaga, that is. By this point, we’ve made quick work of Oakville, discovering some beautiful real estate along the way. Mississauga has a lot of healthy cyclists, mostly older men on fancy road bikes, all of whom sped by us.

62 Kilometres In AW: I got into a car after waiting for 30 minutes. I just broke the cardinal rule I had made for myself: no male driver. But how could I resist? He was in a Mercedes and blaring Beatles music.

After a while, he turned the music off to listen to the traffic report. A government commercial then played – I translated it roughly as “Girls, it’s dangerous to hitchhike. Arrive alive, take the bus.” It was merely a suggestion.

CM & JR: Speaking of mere suggestions, as we continued through Mississauga and into Toronto, many signs told us to dismount when crossing the street.

We did not. It was dangerous and awesome.

Journey’s End AW: I arrived at my cousin’s house in Neve Sheannan, a south eastern neighbourhood of Haifa. My cousin was amazed that a North American could arrive alive by hitchhiking. He made me promise never to do it again.

CM & JR: The final leg of our journey brought us to Union Station. We racked our bikes on the front of the bus. Satisfied and tired, we relished the comfortable and non-saddle-like seats. As we dozed off, our five-hour journey was replaced by a forty-five-minute drive.

Volume 14, Issue 3 ▪ Incite Magazine ▪ 9

Merry-go-round Kacper Niburski

W

e are all born into a life caught on a merry-go-round.

As children, we grasp onto the ride for utter enjoyment. For a short time, we circle around not realizing that each revolution brings nothing but the same, that our caricaturized horses, hippos, and giraffes are cemented into place, and that all rides will one day end no matter how fast they go. We are happy. We know nothing else.

Then, one day, we grow up. How it happens, we are not sure – but it does.

The steeds upon which we galloped begin to deteriorate. Soon, they break, colours fade, and gears exhaust. Where once stood a majestic stampede of cartooned joy and genius becomes a circle rotating evermore.

And as it does, life becomes doomed to repetition and stagnancy.

In short, life becomes death.

Or at least, that’s what he – a man in his last moments of life – told me one day.

In fact, he said that all his days were his last because they would never come again.

But at the time, I couldn’t see this. Instead, I was restricted, and perhaps overwhelmed, by the present and the other riders stuck on the merrygo-around around me.

At first, I didn’t know who they were.

I only knew the them through association and stories. I was told that they were my brothers, my sisters, my friends, my enemies, my fellow man, woman, and child.

Often, without any other option but to accept, I believed exactly that.

From their lips came unimaginable tales of strength and bravery. “Life,” they said, “despite its rocky roads and harrow-

10 ▪ Incite Magazine ▪ January 2012

ing moments, is the greatest of adventures.” To express this, they mentioned that time in Paris or that night in Spain, that miracle where they were blinded by kindness, or the tragedy where they were left bitterly in the dark, alone, crying, and wondering what went wrong.

As far as they understood it, life’s adventurous beginnings were without regrets or mistakes. How couldn’t it be? At its outset, life is perfect. All brand new. There are first breaths. First cries. First hugs.

There’s only a vision of how wonderful the future would be.

But there in the hospital, between the same walls that harboured the beginning of all adventures, was another room. It is here where I met him and learned that life

artwork by joshua lewis

was not an adventure. Through tears, sadness, and a persistent bitterness staining my tongue, I found out that I was dying.

We all are.

It was that man who informed me of this. I remember when he did. It was sunny outside. I had a fruit cup in my hand. He was in front of me, staring into a corner that was just recently scrubbed clean, and whispered, “On June 25th, 1982, I died.”

He told me not to worry, though.

“Death happens,” he shrugged. He was just mad that he didn’t quite know it back then.

He claimed it was because he was only just born.

I don’t blame him, though. I wouldn’t have known either. On both our parts, I’d like to say that it wasn’t an act of ignorance. I’d like to say that life was indeed an adventure, with a beginning, an ending, and the ability to tell the story again.

But he had AIDS. He was born with it.

He was born dead.

Or at least, that’s what he told me.

After that June 25th, the adventure of life wasn’t questions of what his future would hold, but instead where he was going to die.

Professions weren’t outlined as possibilities, hospital beds were. There would be no “that time in Paris or that night in Spain.”

There would be medication, infections, and a cough that got longer, harder, and more painful with each breath.

He laughed about it all though, repeating again and again that this is how life goes.

“We are born only to die,” he said in between chuckles.

As he did, I wanted to argue that while it may be true that death is the final stopping point, it matters what somebody does before it, and more importantly, that his name would live on.

But from a very young age, he had lived in the confinements of hospital walls, was abandoned by the ones he “loved”, and couldn’t stand. AIDS had taken away his legs before he could learn to move them.

So instead, I only gazed deep into his eyes as he told me that to hope is to lie, to expect is to fail, and to live is to die, for an adventure only has meaning when we have something to venture upon, and he didn’t.

A Brief Guide to the Deep Web Steve Clare

Artwork by Jen Shamo

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<BEGIN TRANSMISSION> reetings.

Welcome to the Deep Web, also known as the Darknet or Invisible Web. This hidden underground of the internet comprises of the sites that are not among the eight billion indexed by Google. The Deep Web is several orders of magnitude larger than the surface web that you know and love.

Experts disagree on its exact size, but the consensus is that the Deep Web is five to five hundred times larger than the surface web.

Most of this space is filled with digital warehouses of sorts: databases, corporate networks, and sites protected by passwords.

In truth, this is not your first visit to the Deep Web. Whenever you check your email, Facebook profile, or online bank account you are accessing data that is not available to everyone.

This hidden world is more than data storage, though. The Deep Web is also home to many dynamic web pages returned in response to specific requests or forms. These sites are secretive and, with no search engines, can be difficult to navigate. This secrecy has bred a culture of anonymity. With the proper software and knowledge, a tech-savvy

Deep Web surfer can browse in almost complete invisibility. It’s not hard to imagine the appeal to all sorts of unsavoury individuals.

Although not part of the Deep Web itself, the Hidden Wiki is a directory for most of the popular Deep Web destinations. It is a list of links separated into various categories. Let’s scroll through a few of these sections.

The first sections in the Hidden Wiki address the basics of Deep Web browsing: anonymity, navigation, and finances. Here, a user will find helpful software and introductory blogs that try to make a Deep Web venture relatively safe. Of course, even these basic sites are cloaked in Deep Web jargon designed to scare off novice users. Unless you know what people mean when they refer to “onions,” “Janitor Joints,” or “Bitcoins,” you are not ready to browse any further. Your Deep Web experience ends here.

If you are determined to soldier on, though, you may continue scrolling into the heart of the Hidden Wiki. First are the file and image hosting services, then the blogs and forums. There is the hacking forum, political discussions, security chat, and, of course, the Assassination Marketplace, where you can find contract killers all over the world.

Over here are the whistleblowing sites.

Wikileaks maintains a strong presence on Deep Web, taking advantage of the anonymity and security. Hacking is another major activity on the Deep Web, and there is a variety of sites providing instruction and software for cyber attackers.

Near the end of the Hidden Wiki come the drug, pornographic, and miscellaneous sections. Of the drug sites, the most popular is the “Silk Road.” This is the eBay of narcotics, complete with seller ratings.

Unsurprisingly, the Deep Web is saturated with pornography. But unlike the surface web, the anonymity attracts all manner of pedophiles, zoophiles, and sadists searching for material difficult to find above ground.

The Deep Web is a perilous place to visit, and the dangers of browsing cannot be overstated. Illegal content pervades even the most innocent message boards. There is nothing here for anybody except drug dealers, pedophiles, and sociopaths. The inexperienced user will be eaten alive by scammers, hackers, or the police.

This is one adventure you should not take. <END TRANSMISSION>

Things go dark, but you quickly wake up in your bed. Phew! That was a bizarre dream. The end.

Volume 14, Issue 3 ▪ Incite Magazine ▪ 11

Camp Outlook Alisha Sunderji

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these youth contend with recently divorced parents, foster homes, trouble at school, and sometimes even trouble with the law. Over the course of the summer, we learnt about some of the challenges that these youth face, but we also discovered their immense potential, ability and wisdom. Seeing how campers developed this summer reinforced our faith in youth programs that focus on youth empowerment, rather than on bureaucratic and punitive approaches to discipline.

Campers are referred to Camp Outlook mostly through social workers and teachers.

Often, the referral documents paint a picture of snarly and volatile teenagers who are totally out of control. Certainly, this was our first impression when we heard we would be dealing with “at risk” teens. The people we encountered, however, were quite the opposite. Ben, who was medicated for Attention Deficit Disorder, thrived on portages – once he finished carrying his pack, he would run back to help those who struggled with theirs. Eric, who we had been told was “desperate to be accepted by his peers”, fit in with his group almost instantly.

The hilly portage trail, the rain, and the inescapable adversary of the wilderness united us.

The random assortment of people at the start of the trip became a closelyknit community by the end. The wilderness is free of conventional labelling and so challenges all of us to find new ways with which to define ourselves and measure our success.

Adrian, sits around the fire, smiling proudly as we eat the fish he caught for dinner. Suddenly, we are presented with boundless opportunities and freedom.

Unlike his usual Emineminspired lyrics, Tyler rhymes off encouraging rap parodies for campers struggling on the portage photography by Zoe Godfrey-Davies trail. Brian reads “The

he rain hits the metal bottom of the canoe violently; the sound, like that of machine gun pellets, fills our ears.

The portage trail, reduced to a brown sludge, turns our steps into a slow drag. Squinting through the blur of the storm, we can see that Adam has thrown his pack into the mud in frustration. Hard to tell if his face is stained with tears or rain. Surrounding him is a thick cloud of misery, “I hate Camp Outlook.”

Camp Outlook is a non-profit organization that sends “at-risk” youth on 9 and 15 day canoe trips through Algonquin Park. Ron Kimberly, a Queen’s University medical student and camping enthusiast, founded the organization in 1970. Outlook seeks to help youth establish a community of mutual trust through wilderness camping.

Campers attend for free and all of Camp Outlook’s staff are volunteers who need no prior camping, canoeing, or tripping experience. This past summer, with the work of 20 full-time volunteer staff, ourselves included, 139 campers were able to experience Camp Outlook. But, who are these “at-risk” youth? For the most part, this label describes young people experiencing various social and financial hardships. Often

12 ▪ Incite Magazine ▪ January 2012

Catcher in the Rye” aloud in the tent while his friends help him through some of the difficult words. As a group we slowly evolved, developing ritual, language and routine. We chose, as a group, what was important to us, and how we wanted to structure our days.

A fellow staff member remarked that being a part of a group in the wilderness is rewarding because all of our actions directly benefit others. From building fires to setting up tents, our actions were “outward focused”, serving needs beyond our own.

Maybe it’s this sense of purpose that really draws people to Camp Outlook year after year.

Another part of the appeal of Outlook is its intrinsic set of challenges. One was socks.

Smelly, wet socks seemed to proliferate in the forest, all of them flocking to our daypacks.

Another challenge that we faced was the heaviness of responsibility – wondering how people were really doing. Were we doing this right? Could it be done better? We were plagued by the futility of wanting desperately to connect with campers but being unable to do so. We couldn’t connect with the boys’ incessant chatter over Megan Fox. We had to constantly remind our campers to do their dishes, share their food and stay on course. Sometimes, we felt ancient and also, powerless – wanting desperately for campers to realize the implications of their actions, to show some gratitude, and to cooperate.

At the same time though, we were proud of their achievements and recognized how far they’d come.

Camp Outlook is equally transformative for staff and campers alike. One of the most memorable and happiest moments of the summer was finishing our first portage on the staff-training trip. We had been slowmoving and tearful for most of the trek, seriously questioning whether we could do it with campers. But when the portage opened up and we saw the sun beating down on the next lake, it was pure bliss. We put down the canoe, waded our aching bodies into the water and decided that the feeling that came at the end of it all was absolutely worth the struggle.

Campers’ names have been changed.

in the warm heart of africa Karina Redick

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alawi has definitely earned its who my work was directly affecting. So what name as “The Warm Heart of Afri- was I actually doing there? My typical week ca.” I spent four months there this would be riding my bicycle to surrounding summer, in a rural village nine hours away villages and speaking to those in charge of the from the nearest volunteer on my team. I felt sanitation, like the headman, the volunteers, overwhelmed by the creative, intelligent, and and the health committee. The Malawian hardworking people of this inspiring country. government was implementing a sanitation Allow me to take you there to see, smell, and program that was meant to change personal feel some of the adventures I had, and what hygiene behaviour of the rural people. The that means objective of for developthis program ment work. was to conI lived in vince people the northernto use latrines most district of (outdoor toiMalawi where lets) and wash I wore a long skirt and sweater most days because of the cool weather.

There were three other international aid workers living in this district and a sprinkle of volunteers every now and then who visited for a week, but aside from these people, I was the only Muzungu (white person). I lived five kilometres from the capital city of the district, where I received constant stares and inquiries about how long I would be staying. Whenever I would reply in Photos courtesy of Karina redick the native language that I was staying four months, people were very sur- their hands afterwards to stop prised. This is because volunteers rarely stick transmission of diarrheal diseasaround for more than a week. Away from the es. The World Health Organizacity life, electricity, the internet, and flushing tion reports that diarrhea is the toilets, my actual home was in a remote village second leading cause of death in surrounded by corn fields and banana trees. I children under five years, claimresided in a brick home with cement floors, ing 1.5 million lives every year. an outhouse, no running water, an outdoor Convincing people to use a toilet shower, and an outdoor kitchen. Here I met and wash their hands may seem young children who had never seen white like a simple task, but open defskin before. Some stared in awe, a few stroked ecation is a cultural norm. For my bare arm in wonder, while others ran example, over three-quarters of government away screaming at the sight of “the ghost.” field staff admitted to defecating outdoors I could have easily lived in the comfort- the day before they underwent training to able city, but I chose to live with the people implement this program. In addition to using

a latrine, washing your hands requires a great deal of work. In the village, I had to pump and then carry 40L of water on my head to fill up the hand washing facility. I had to travel to the city to buy soap. Using a public latrine in the city costs one hour’s wage, and do not get me started on the smell and the onslaught of flies when the latrine lid breaks.

In the West we think the solution is so simple: build a bunch of toilets and the people will naturally start using them, stopping the spread of Cholera and E.coli, reversing the trend of children dying from diarrhea before their fifth birthday. What we do not realize is that changing behaviours is a very complex process and that a much greater understanding of the social context is required before jumping to a solution. This cultural adventure enabled me to see through the eyes of the woman whose child is sick, the man who has to build the latrine, and the young boy who has to pump and carry an extra 40L of water on his head.

Any person who is interested in global health or international development must realize that it all comes down to the people. We must stop seeing them as passive recipients of our good intentions and more as the main contributors to the solution.

We must stop trying to solve problems that we do not truly grasp, and start learning from the people who are actually impacted. Thank you for allowing me to share the perspective that I gained from this cultural adventure. Thank you for letting me take you there to look through their eyes.

You find yourself floating in a world of fantasy. It’s dreamlike and strange. Good luck getting out. The end.

Volume 14, Issue 3 ▪ Incite Magazine ▪ 13

homeless in hamilton Melissa Ricci

S

orry, I don’t have any change.”

“Get a real job.”

“She’s probably a hooker.”

“She’s probably just going to spend it on booze.”

“I’m not going to fund your addictions.

Buy your own crack.”

“There’s probably a shelter down the road. You should go.”

“Leave my children alone, please.”

“We’re going to have to ask you to leave.”

“You’re scum. You’re worthless. Get a job.”

“I wonder what you’d do to me for money, hot stuff.”

“I wonder how many babies she has.

Probably seven, all abandoned so she could go sleep with people for drugs. What a whore.”

“I left my wallet in my car.”

“Move along, ma’am, or we’ll call the police. You can’t loiter here.”

“Ugh if I get too close, I’ll be able to smell her. She definitely hasn’t showered in weeks. I can practically feel her stench “

oozing over here.”

“You need to leave, ma’am, or we’ll arrest you. It’s against the law to loiter.

You’ve been warned and have ten minutes to get your things and leave. We can point you to the direction of a shelter if you want, but you can’t stay here any longer.

You’re scaring people away from shopping, and the shop owners feel uncomfortable.”

Some of the above was said aloud to her, while the rest was implicit from the looks of passersby. I am waiting for a bus when I see her sitting down on the street, right outside the doors of Jackson Square.

She leans against the wall, a worn paper coffee cup in front of her. Every so often a person will offer her some change; it clinks in her cup but she doesn’t acknowledge it.

She is stoic, sitting silently and showing no emotion while people pass her hurriedly, afraid of an awkward confrontation or making eye contact. From what I can see, she’s collected about 60 cents – not even enough for bus fare.

She’s probably 25 years old at the most, but she looks much older than that.

artwork by livia tsang 14 ▪ Incite Magazine ▪ January 2012

She clearly hasn’t showered in a while, making her appear more haggard than she might actually be. The focus of her eyes is distant. She is mentally quite far away, maybe hoping for something better than what she has right now.

She is frighteningly thin and her clothes hang off of her. The bottoms of her jeans are ripped and her coat’s zipper is broken. I shiver from the cold but she doesn’t budge. She has several scars on her face and large bags under her eyes. She hasn’t moved since I sat down on the bench at the bus stop. She is so still I wonder if she is still alive. Maybe she just floated up away from her body and isn’t even here anymore.

She doesn’t make eye contact with anybody who passes her. For several minutes, I stare at her from afar, just wondering about her. She is so young. Why is she living on the street? Does no one love her?

Does she have friends? Where are they? Is she addicted to something? Does she know there are shelters around here? Where are her parents? Does she even have parents anymore? I wonder if she has any kids, or brothers or sisters. Has she eaten today?

Where will she go when the police come back?

I can’t stop staring at her. I need to know. There is something about her. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I just need to know everything about her. I want to see what is happening in her mind. I want to know about her past, her present, and what will become of her.

Eventually, she turns and looks right into my eyes. Her gaze is penetrating, but I can see beyond her static exterior. Though the temperature is frigid, I am sweating.

We hold eye contact for several moments. I can feel all of her anger, her rage, her angst, and sadness. I shiver. She doesn’t blink.

Several minutes later, a bus screeches to a halt in front of me, a burst of air following it. I jump right off of the bench. I turn around to see it, and when I look back she has gone. All that is left is a plastic bag and some dried leaves stuck in the cracks of the pavement. I pull out my student card and get on the bus, colder than before.

Rainy days from russia with love Anna Kulikov, Columnist

L

ast year, he was running for governor of Arizona – this year, Cary Dolego found himself homeless on the streets of Western Ukraine, his bank accounts empty, and his quest for love forlorn. This bizarre news story is just one part of a puzzle that I have been piecing together for a while, trying to paint a picture of what my birthplace has become since my parents ferried me away as an infant in 1991.

Cary was the unsuspecting victim of a commonplace scam in Eastern Europe. A foreign man looking for love, he was lured halfway across the world only to find that the woman with whom he had been corresponding was nothing more than a papery-faced con-artist. Duped, Cary was stripped of his money and belongings, only to be left alone and disarmed in a strange land. Although Cary’s tale is certainly a pitiful one, it is just another symptom of an illness that festers in the heart of Eastern Europe – unbridled corruption.

Each year, Transparency International ranks all the countries of the world according to their Corruption Perception Indices.

These are lists of figures generated from an algorithm based on variables like bribery of public officials, kickbacks in public procurement, embezzlement of public funds, and the strength and effectiveness of anti-corruption efforts in the public sector. As expected, most of the countries at the bottom of the list are members of the third-world.

But the rankings also reveal an unsettling pattern. For many years, former Soviet satellite states – Russia, Ukraine, Turkmenistan, and Kyrgyzstan – have ranked toward

the bottom of the list, nestled comfortably between Somalia and Colombia. I say comfortably because corruption is so widespread, unchecked, and unchallenged, that it has been ingrained in the social norm – it has become part of the Russian psyche. The recent uncovering of fraudulent elections in the Kremlin should hardly have been as shocking as it was to the West. After all, in Russia, corruption is a day-to-day affair.

The Rossiyskaya Gazeta estimates that the Russian market for corruption exceeds 240 billion dollars, and according to the BBC, Russian companies are the most likely

of 28 other countries to pay bribes. It isn’t just the politicians and businessmen who engage in bribery. In fact, doctors, teachers, and policemen – educated professionals and the pedestals of democratic society – are the most likely to accept bribes. Patients going into surgery, for example, must bribe the nurse, the anaesthesiologist, and the surgeon in order to guarantee the most basic level of care. Police are often paid by gangs to weed out a neighborhood’s drug dealers and eliminate their competition.

Even the military will exempt conscripts and accept recruits if paid the requisite

bribes. The bribe is the new rouble, only, it isn’t so new.

Bribery was commonplace in the Soviet Union. And why wouldn’t it have been?

In a system where there was virtually no financial merit for education or hard work, a kickback to the right officials could stimulate your otherwise stagnant social and economic mobility. I would even argue that corruption can be traced beyond last century’s communist regime and all the way back to Russia’s imperial history. Gogol, a master satirist, explored this aspect of Russian society in his novel, Dead Souls. Gogol’s protagonist, a member of the lower-class, concocts a get-rich-quick scheme, offering to buy provincial landowners’ dead serfs in order to deceive the bank into taking out a loan against them and thereby inflate his social status.

In Dead Souls, the protagonist attempts to traverse the void between an impoverished lower class and the wealthy aristocratic one. This void, which denotes the absence of a middle class, persists in today’s Russia. Its presence has established corruption as the only surefire way to advance in Russian society and so it continues to swallow those who cannot afford it.

Corruption has endured in Eastern Europe because, although social and political systems have changed in form, they have not changed in substance. The enduring disparity between rich and poor leaves lower-class Russians deeply dissatisfied with their government. Will anything come from their recent protests? Even cynics can hope.

The pinching fails to wake you up and the ghost is approaching faster and faster. Running away is your only option, and you take off. The ghost gives chase, and you soon realize that you’re heading for a cliff. You have two options: jump, or face this mysterious figure.

It might not be too high of a drop, and the ghost looks dangerous. If you jump, turn to pg. 8.

You are too afraid of jumping into the unknown. If you turn and face the ghost, turn to pg. 26.

Volume 14, Issue 3 ▪ Incite Magazine ▪ 15

16 ▪ Incite Magazine ▪ January 2012

Volume 14, Issue 3 ▪ Incite Magazine ▪ 17

BRIEF NEW WORLD why occupy?

Shawn Fazel, Columnist

F

rom Zucotti Park to the McMaster Student Centre, North America is being occupied. They have been called aimless hippies, hopeless dreamers, and anarchists taking out their rage on “the man”. Everyone is asking them for their concrete demands, but there is no answer. Yet, the movement is raising important questions, namely: who is benefitting from the current socio-political system? In my opinion, the system is not egalitarian, and we have an obligation to our future generations to consider alternative economic and political structures.

It begins with the realization that our current lifestyle is unsustainable; we are destroying our climate and running our resources dry. Like Wiley Coyote chasing the Road Runner, we only start falling once we look down. The protesters are reminding us to look down.

It’s normal to want to dismiss the movement: the current structure has rendered many unable to even imagine a different system, and this is the true nature of the problem. Don’t think that

Occupy is unique – it is natural. This is how revolutions begin. From the French Revolution to Tahrir Square, people are awakening to the reality of the oligarchy that has been stifling their economy, with all its opportunities and freedoms.

Ursula Franklin, as quoted by Samantha Nutt, a McMaster graduate and founder of War Child Canada, explains that “the role of social causes is not necessarily to provide answers, but to ask the right questions.” Stimulating discussion is the purpose of Occupy; it is essential to at least give their questions some thought.

I don’t want to alienate the 1% but here are some important facts: Nobel Laureate economist Joseph Stiglitz has shown that the American 1% take nearly 25% of income and control 40% of the wealth (12 years ago it was 12% and 33%, respectively). Over the last decade, their incomes have risen 18% while the middle class as stagnated and the lowest incomes have decreased by 12%. Inequality in the United States today is worse than that in Russia and Iran and is on par with that in

Mexico, Columbia, and China. Moreover, while the Neoclassical Economic Labour Market Theory suggests that income is related to marginal production, Stiglitz argues that “those who have contributed great positive innovations to our society, from the pioneers of genetic understanding to the pioneers of the Information Age, have received a pittance compared with those responsible for the financial innovations that brought our global economy to the brink of ruin.”

Stiglitz argues that this inequality is bad for three reasons. Firstly, it reflects inequality in opportunity. The most pertinent example of this is education - it is expensive and not everyone can afford it, yet college graduates are virtually guaranteed higher incomes. Secondly, free-market distortions such as monopolies, lead to inequality that undermines efficiency and leads to further inequality. Thirdly, governments in modern economies are responsible for investing in public services like education, infrastructure and technology – but since the

The man explains that you have fallen into an in-between world, a matrix of sorts. You’re given the chance to stay and explore, but there’s no telling when or if you can ever go back. If you refuse the offer, you will be transported home safely, and awake in your own bed.

If you choose to stay, turn to pg. 13.

If you say, “Get me out of here!” hurry to pg. 11.

18 ▪ Incite Magazine ▪ January 2012

1% can buy these things for themselves, they are alienated from the public. Further, the 1%, fearing a government that can redistribute income through taxes, uses its funds to purchase influence and maintain the status quo. As the financial industry was deregulated, given credit at near 0% interest, and collapsed; it was nevertheless bailed out. The backdrop to all of this is a society in which one in seven Americans rely on food stamps and in which youth unemployment hovers around 20%.

The influence that this elite group exerts on politics is astonishing. The 1% have built a system that is self-enforcing and self-sustaining. Not surprisingly, the Supreme Court’s Citizens United case uncapped campaign spending, allowing corporations to openly purchase influence.

Wealth begets power, which begets more wealth. Even less surprising is that the same financial elite runs both the government and the banks - it has become a tradition for Goldman Sachs alumni to work in the public sector: Jon Corzine is now governor of New Jersey while both Henry Paulson and Robert Rubin have been treasury secretaries. Even our own Mark Carney, governor of the Bank of Canada, worked at Goldman Sachs for 13 years.

Nevertheless, not all the 1% are on Wall Street. Financial firms play an excessively important role in the economy.

Mark Carney is widely credited with helping maintain Canada’s financial stability through the current crisis and is now the Chairman of the International Financial Stability Board. The real problem is the corporate domination of political discussion.

Corporations and lobbies have unreasonable amounts of political power.

The reason that Congress has ruled pizza as a serving of vegetables in schools is that agricultural corporations have power while diabetic and obese children and their parents don’t. Now that America has been split between the haves and have-nots, the notion that what is good for the corporations is good for the people is outdated. Now money is speech and corporations are people, so when real people with no money speak out, they are met with dismissal and indignation.

The government has made its allegiances clear. Occupy protests across the United States have met with considerable police brutality. From the pepper spray

showers on students at UC Davis, to the tear gas headshot of a young Iraq veteran at Occupy Oakland, or the beating of a Pulitzer Prize winner Robert Hass at UC Berkeley, the government seems threatened by Occupy Protesters. The eviction of Zucotti Park was hidden from journalists and media coverage, even though major media outlets seem to be taking very little interest in the protests.

This is the world we live in. American politicians have become egotistical, self-serving, opportunists that are systematically auctioned off to the highest bidder. Like McMaster’s very own SRA, they have completely lost contact with their purpose and people. Just look at the creeps in the republican race; congress is a political marketplace.

The true worth of the movement will be what it leaves behind. The Occupy station is temporary but the message will hopefully remain, because everything is happening now in the turfs of the government and the media, and they can wipe it away with sufficient oppression.

The Internet is their best medium because it is decentralized and anarchic, much like the movement itself. Occupy’s biggest threat is apathy and silence - the refusal of dialogue.

We would all do well to remember the fundamental proposition of Occupy: we do not live in the best of possible worlds, and we are allowed - obliged even - to think of a new way of running things.

This government is part of a greater form of primitive capitalism that has not given us true democracy and is not interested in the people but in their capital. Remember that the most successful capitalism today is run by communists while paralysed capitalist democracies in Italy and Greece have been swept away and replaced with technocracies. Everywhere around us the rules of the game are changing.

McMaster’s own Patrick Deane has expressed support for Occupy McMaster.

The small corner of the student centre deserves your respect. In many ways it is not an occupation, but the establishment of an open, dynamic, and safe political space. I encourage everyone to visit. Open your mind but keep in mind GK Chesterton: “Merely having an open mind is nothing; the object of opening the mind, as of opening the mouth, is to shut it again on something solid.” Form an opinion, break the silence and take action.

Volume 14, Issue 3 ▪ Incite Magazine ▪ 19

Gotta get out on friday Alison Greco

A

hhh… Friday night. That time of week when you just want to sit back, relax, and hang out with your buddies. It’s the escape that we all look forward to after a long week of hard work and stress. However, if you reflect, especially over the last couple of years, you will see that recreation is increasingly isolated and unimaginative. As I’ve grown up through the past decade, I have noticed that this pattern has become more and more obvious as technology has continued to evolve. And while the advancement of technology has heralded the age of knowledge, it has also left me quite bewildered and less confident in my ability to be a creative and sociable person.

For instance, I remember that when I was a little kid, playtime involved being outside with others, playing tag, climbing trees, and just reveling in the sight of mud and grass stains all over my jeans. It honestly felt like we would share these adventures forever. But now, whenever I drive through my old neighbourhood, it

artwork by Afrisa yeung

seems that something beautiful has died.

There are no more kids riding their bicycles or playing pick-up or badminton in the middle of the street. That trace of innocence has completely vanished, and not only on my childhood street.

Look around. Do you see any kids in your neighborhood playing street hockey during the summer or having snowball fights in the winter? It’s a rare sight these days.

So, where have all the kids gone?

They’ve retreated indoors to play their video games and chat on the net. Children don’t need to go outside and discover things for themselves or to think of fun activities to share because technology can do that for them these days. The Internet has become such a huge source of information. If I’m interested in something, I just type it into Google and instantly I’m given all the information I could ever want on the topic. I’m not implying that having access to such a vast amount of information is wrong. However, it is a luxury that can get addicting and therefore distracting if one does

value the benefits of human interaction.

You can also apply this to entertainment.

I can just pop in a DVD and watch it on a 60-inch 3D television. Perhaps one day we won’t even have to go to the movie theatres because we’ll all have one in the living room. We can become so immersed in our own material desires because technology gratifies them so easily.

Don’t get me wrong; the advancement of technology is an exciting thought. However, we must look at the bigger picture. Technology exists to simplify our lives. But how much easier do we want it? How can we be adventurous and have a keen imagination if our adventures and fantasies come mainly through technology? So, do yourself a favor. If you are an Aries like me and crave adventure and excitement, call up your friends and plan a camping trip or a night out at a club. Trust me.

You won’t find adventure by sitting in a room, watching your friends glued to a TV or computer screen all night.

You decide to go with your gut feeling, because something seems strange about the coin. However, as you’re inching backwards your feet suddenly give out from under you. You fall into darkness, finally landing on a hard floor. You’re in an interrogation room with a seat in the middle. You start yelling out for help, and a man in a suit walks in. He asks you to take a seat on the chair.

You don’t know where you are or how you got there, but you see an exit to your right. To book it out of this unknown room, run to pg. 25.

Curiosity gets the better of you. If you take a seat, go to pg. 18.

20 ▪ Incite Magazine ▪ January 2012

Manic Meg’s Wacky Week Meg Peters

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n the name of adventurous journalism, Meg Peters lived each day of a week according to a different theme. Read on about the wackiest week that alliteration allows!

Mute Monday Today, my lips were sealed. I received a compliment and didn’t thank the girl who gave it. I waved instead of saying hi, gave a thumbs-up whenever I was asked “How’s it going?”, and sent my text messages in emoticons, not words. For the most part, it was fun to be speechless. But at the same time, I felt disconnected from those around me. In class, my normal questions and contributions were replaced by boredom and restlessness. The one time I slipped up was during a painfully tedious movie in-class; I turned to the girl next to me and colourfully expressed my boredom. It’s official: I talk when I’m bored.

Tech-free Tuesday Around 11:57 P.M. on Monday night, I did the unthinkable: I turned off my Blackberry. It was a painful experience – borderline amputation. For the rest of Tuesday, I abstained from using any electronics that didn’t involve food preparation. I woke up 2.5 hours late because my Blackberry normally serves as my alarm clock. I didn’t listen to music, didn’t text, didn’t call, and didn’t check my emails. While I was expecting it to be liberating, it turned out to be extremely annoying. Although technology can be energy-draining, impersonal, and frustrating, it’s so ingrained in my everyday life that I feel empty without it.

Watchful Wednesday I sat in the student centre and people-watched. I even wrote a lengthy paragraph about the girl sitting next to me – what she was doing, what she looked like, and what she was wearing. But I quickly realized how ridiculously creepy

it was how ridiculously creepy it was to sit a foot away from someone and write about them without their knowledge. Ironically enough, my adventure was creeping me out. So, I put down my pencil and went back to watching without recording. I learned that I would make a terrible spy.

Theatrical Thursday I was given sets of “lines” to perform in specific scenarios; I was scripted to start all my text messages as “OMG LOL HEY!!!!!!!!!!!!”, to use Shakespearean insults instead of contemporary ones, and to break into overdramatic tears

artwork by Emily Johnson

following every quiz or assignment. One especially enjoyable part of Theatrical Thursday was replying in a valley girl voice whenever I received a compliment.

This was definitely an adventure I would be willing to recreate.

Fat Friday In light of today’s theme, I decided to be a Hobbit for a day…

First breakfast: coffee and oatmeal; 2+190= 192 calories.

Second breakfast: 2 eggs, cheese, and bagel; ~50+70+300= 420 calories.

Elevenses: (uhh… I’m still full) granola bar; 230 calories.

Luncheon: Bridges’ soy chicken nuggets and sweet potato fries; 650+400= 1050 calories.

Tea: 2 cups of tea, 4 Oreos; 0+240= 240 calories.

Dinner: Burger King veggie burger, fries and medium coke; 410+410+290 = 1110 calories.

Supper: 3 glasses of red wine, pasta with red sauce; 300+400+70=770 calories.

Randoms: 10 mini chocolate bars left over from Halloween; 60 x 10= 600 calories.

Total calorie count: 4,615 calories.

I’m pretty sure that this is more than twice my calorie count for a normal day.

Sexy Saturday I spent most of the day inside, rifling through my wardrobe, trying to find something sexy enough to wear. I borrowed clothes from housemates, put on heels and took them off again, put my hair up, then down, and just generally complained. Then I realized that Sexy Saturday wasn’t about the clothes, makeup, or shoes. It was about the attitude. That evening, I hit up Snooty Fox, wearing a black corset, bright red lipstick, tight jeans, and the right expression. Although I didn’t get any numbers, I did end up spending the night with a good friend…with glitter in my cleavage! If that’s not enough for Saturday to be sexy, I don’t know what is.

Solo… no wait, Social Sunday I was supposed to round off the week with some alone-time, getting to know myself. Instead, I spent half of it working on a group project, and the other half bowling for a friend’s last minute birthday. Social Sunday was a success, complete with housemate bonding.

Overall, it was a pretty adventurous week. Although my daily activities weren’t completely altered, it was a still a challenge. At the end of it, I had a lot fun and got to know myself a little better.

Volume 14, Issue 3 ▪ Incite Magazine ▪ 21

long live joe Dylan Hickson

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eet Joe. Yes, your average Joe. Joe loves Jane, a girl he will never be with, he has a job he will never enjoy, and he lives an unfulfilled life. Day in and day out, Joe plays out the day’s routine, until one day, he awakes to a surprise: a wizard curled up at the end of his bed.

“About time, there’s much to do!” says the wizard, perking up once he sees Joe’s astonishingly sleepy face. “So very much.” The wizard is dressed in extravagant robes decorated with constellations. He tells Joe that it’s his destiny to rule the kingdom and bring peace to all its people. “You must have the wrong person,” says Joe, groggy and confused. “I’m no hero.”

The wizard replies in a bored tone, “Yes, yes, of course you’re not. Now get dressed.”

Joe and the wizard leave and walk the remarkably short distance to Jane’s house. Jane is reluctant to embark on the journey but after some customary banter, agrees to accompany them. The wizard leads them down a brightly lit forest path. As Jane grows more comfortable, the three get to talking. But suddenly, three

masked bandits appear! Joe is quick to repel the attackers with powers he never thought he had.

Astonished, he turns to the wizard, who only nods reassuringly. Joe prevails, and the three continue on the road with renewed confidence.

Dark clouds appear on the horizon, and soon the forest path turns into a muddy trail leading up to an old decrepit house. The wizard points at the house ominously: “It is up to you to stop the evil witch responsible for all your troubles.” On top of the world and looking to impress Jane, Joe struts to the door, but then slows with a hint of hesitation. “Ladies first,” flirts Jane as she saunters into the house.

The heavy iron front door slams shut behind her, locking Joe out of the house. “Joe! Joe! J—“, Jane calls from inside before her voice is quickly muffled by something. Panicked and angry, Joe turns to the wizard. “This is all your fault! I wish you had never come into my life.” The wizard smiles and looks at Joe. “Now, you’re ready. My work is done.” In a shower of light, he vaporizes into thin air.

Joe turns to the house and smashes in the

side window, hurling himself inside. “You’re much too late, foolish boy!” squeals the witch, who stands beside a boiling pot. Jane is suspended precariously above. “We’ll see about that!” growls Joe heroically. Taking her by surprise, Joe grabs the witch and , mind the irony, throws her into her own stew. He grabs Jane and carries her outside just before the house collapses on itself. And evil is vanquished!

The clouds disperse and slowly woodland creatures poke their heads into the clearing and begin to assemble around the two. Jane stares lovingly into Joe’s eyes, and Joe gathers her in his arms and plants a long overdue kiss on her luscious lips. The woods ignite with delight, and the new lovers return walk home down the path. Returning to the city, they find it different from when they left it. Now it looks more like a medieval kingdom than a modern city. As they walk through the kingdom, all the villagers bow to Joe. The crowd parts in the middle, creating a lane straight to the throne of a great castle.

Walking hand in hand among his new admirers, Joe turns to Jane and whispers in her ear, “What just happened?” “I’m not sure,” she replies. “I think we just became characters in a classic adventure plot.” They stop for a moment, shrug their shoulders and proceed to the throne, where they rule the kingdom in bliss, just as the wise wizard foretold. As the kingdom celebrates its fabulous fortune, its new leader stares up into the stars and sees the face of the old wizard smiling back at him.

The king smiles, winks, and returns to his new life, in which he lives a fulfilled and far-fromaverage life for the rest of his days. The end. artwork by Afrisa yeung

You decide to pick up the coin. Suddenly, everything goes dark. You shut your eyes for a split second, and when you open them, you see a glowing light emerging from the darkness. It appears to be a ghost, and it’s calling your name.

If you call out to this figure, turn to pg. 6.

You don’t believe in supernatural beings; it must be a bad nightmare! If you want to pinch yourself in a (vain) attempt to wake up, go to pg. 15.

22 ▪ Incite Magazine ▪ January 2012

For Queen and country Kathryn Morrison

W

hen we think of adventure, we reflect on the traditional journeys of our favourite heroes. We remember Frodo Baggins and the Fellowship, travelling through mystical forests and perilous mountains while encountering new creatures and new challenges. We may also think of spies like James Bond, travelling around the world, protecting Queen and Country. We may even imagine the “The Doctor” exploring space and time or Captain Kirk “boldly going where no man has gone before.” Whether fantasy, espionage, or sci-fi, traditional adventures consist of the same key elements, including journeys, discoveries, and, of course, heroism in the face of perilous danger.

Although at first it may not seem like it, there are valuable moral lessons that can be taken away from any good adventure. Our heroes face countless difficult choices, ones that force them to choose between their own well-being and that of mankind. Heroes must bravely overcome obstacles, confront danger, and maintain friendships. They must look out for mankind and accept responsibility for the unintended outcomes of their actions. Our heroes teach us to consider our own choices carefully, inspiring us to be more courageous and self-sacrificing in our own lives.

Our heroes develop tremendous bonds with their fellow adventurers. As a result, the

PHOTOgraphy by Nicki Varkevisser

audience can readily identify with the friendships forged between protagonists. For example, in The Lord of the Rings, we can identify with Samwise Gamgee’s loyalty towards Frodo Baggins. At the same time, we understand the guilt Frodo feels for letting Sam risk his life along the way.

Today, the most compelling adventures seem to be those that take place closer to home.

In 1985, the movie The Breakfast Club was released. Instead of the characters discovering new places, the emphasis was on self-discovery and the journey was mental instead of physical.

Ultimately, the characters found that, although they had their differences, they all fundamentally shared the same dreams, hopes, and aspirations.

Today, adventure is more about discovering oneself than it is about embarking on an epic quest. More and more, authors and filmmakers seem to be choosing teenaged heroes rather than adult ones. In television shows like The OC, Gossip Girl, and Skins, teens cannot fully rely on their parents, who try to be friends rather than role models. Instead, they depend on each other for guidance. The contemporary ‘teenage adventure’ is still a heroic quest, it’s just no longer a physical one. Instead, courage, loyalty, and selfsacrifice are discovered under ordinary, rather than extraordinary, circumstances.

There are, however, some obvious exceptions to this rule. Some modern adventure books and films do entail physical danger, journey, and discovery. The most famous of these is the Harry Potter series, chronicling the adventures of the famous “boy who lived,” and his fight to protect the wizarding world against Lord Voldemort. Another example is the book, soon to be adapted to film, The Hunger Games.

The novel’s protagonist, Katniss, fights for her life in a televised competition facilitated by an authoritarian government. Both of these adventures, although they retain classic elements, are still distinctively contemporary in that they center on teenagers, and place substantial emphasis on friendship, morality, and discovery. For example, in addition to being centred on Harry’s battles with Lord Voldemort, the plot of Harry Potter focuses on the hero’s experiences as a school boy, and his friendships. Similarly, the plot of The Hunger Games focuses not only upon Katniss and her struggle to survive, but also on the dynamic between she and the other contestants. Clearly, adventure has evolved to place more emphasis on friendship and self-discovery. Now, more than ever before, the everyman can be a hero. Heroism has been redefined and is accessible to all, regardless of social standing or age. It seems that, in our modern day, adventure really can be found just around the corner!

Volume 14, Issue 3 ▪ Incite Magazine ▪ 23

sex lives of existentialists Palika Kohli

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hat makes life an adventure? People. Education. Travel. Stories. Sex. Either we try to make our own adventures, or we observe the more interesting ones of others. We are drawn to novels, movies, TV shows, Facebook, Twitter, blogs, Wikipedia. We observe and investigate aspects of other people’s lives – dead or alive, fictional or otherwise. And yet, we never think about why we’re so interested in them.

We draw comparisons and seek to understand more about their lives, without ever reflecting much about our own.

Consider the widespread fascination with Simone de Beauvoir and Jean-Paul Sartre. If these names are familiar to you, it’s likely because you know something about existentialism, the theory du rigueur of the 1960s. This philosophy centres on the idea that people are utterly free and have moral responsibility for their own lives, thoughts, decisions, and actions.

Both Beauvoir and Sartre supported it staunchly, and even expounded upon it, helping to shape the post-modern philosophies of today.

That Sartre and Beauvoir were intelligent is undeniable. They were philosophers, psychologists, novelists, and professors in their respective subjects. Headstrong in their beliefs, they publicly dismissed Freud’s theory of the subconscious and fiercely advocated homosexuality, feminism, and atheism. With their scandalous ideas and outrageous relationships, it’s no wonder that they were the intellectual celebrities of their time.

When they met in university, it was the intellectual equivalent of love at first sight.

Allegedly, Beauvoir turned Sartre down because of her lack of dowry, their difference in social status, and their positions in life. So they decided to maintain, for the rest of their lives, a “non-monogamous relationship and a marriage of the souls”; essentially, an open marriage.

In Jean Paul’s appraisal – “What we have

24 ▪ Incite Magazine ▪ January 2012

is an essential love; but it is a good idea for us also to experience contingent love affairs.”

The unconventionality of the relationship appealed to Beauvoir. She claimed that their relationship allowed them to be equals, loving mutually without exclusively committing themselves to each other. They also prided themselves on always being truthful to each other. It seems honesty was their only rule.

In fact, they were entirely open to each

artwork by Alicia Giansante

other about their sexual relationships. Initially, Sartre carried out most of the “contingent” affairs. But in time, and with coaxing, Beauvoir initiated her own affairs with other men, and, even more notoriously, with her female students.

Committed to Sartre, Beauvoir began systematically seducing many of her impressionable students. She would select a young and bright female who had been inevitably smitten by Beauvoir’s charisma, wit, and intellect. A torrid affair would begin and eventually, the student would be introduced into a ménage à trois with Sartre and Beauvoir.

These students often falsely believed that Sartre and Beauvoir loved them and considered them exceedingly important. What they did not know, however, was that behind the scenes their two lovers mocked them for their weak wills, and their pathetic temperaments.

Bianca Bienenfeld was one such victim.

She was the daughter of Jewish refugees in Poland and, under Beauvoir’s tutelage, suffered the same slow seduction. Her threesome with the philosophers did not last long. Much later, when she nearly perished in a concentration camp, neither Beauvoir nor Sartre helped her. For unfathomable reasons, Bienenfeld restarted a friendship with Beauvoir many years later, but it was not until the latter’s death, when posthumous letters between Beauvoir and Sartre were published, did Bienenfeld find out how she had really been perceived all her life.

Bienenfeld published a memoir in the 90s – A Disgraceful Affair – in which she bitterly recounted her sordid treatment at the hands of Beauvoir and Sartre. In the book she also brought to light Beauvoir’s jealous personality and flaws that the philosopher had attempted to hide her entire life.

Beauvoir and Sartre had been some of the most intelligent minds of their generation, perhaps too intelligent for their own good.

Amidst travelling, protesting, publishing, both still succumbed to the qualities that make us human – love, lust, and jealousy.

Even if passion was their failing, could they have accomplished what they did without it?

No matter who you are or where you go in life, relationships are the fundamental basis for adventure. You can be so in love with someone that you are willing to bring someone else into your relationship just to keep it alive. Conversely, you could knowingly enter into a relationship that already has two people in it. In the end, relationships – the ones we have with men, women, and ourselves – are the most exciting adventures of all.

Death by misadventure Anthony D’Ambrosio

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hat do martial arts master Bruce Lee, British pop star Amy Winehouse, and Rolling Stones guitarist Brian Jones have in common? Yes, they were all rich entertainers, but there is something much deeper which unites them. In death they joined an exclusive group of people who can boast that their unconventional passing earned them a special title on their death certificates. “Death by misadventure” is the legal distinction that someone’s demise is the unintended consequence of their deliberate actions. This type of death is the more badass cousin of the verdict “accidental death,” in which neither the action nor loss of life was intended.

Bruce Lee was a Chinese-American actor, philosopher, film director, and screenwriter, and is widely considered to be the most influential martial artist of all time. On July 20, 1973, the 32 year old Lee took a nap from which he would never wake up. Prior to his nap, Lee complained of a headache and took the painkiller Equagesic. The autopsy showed that his brain had swelled by 13% and that Equagesic was the only substance in his system. The coroner’s conclusion? Death by misadventure due to a reaction of compounds in Equagesic causing water to swell the brain. Not a very adventurous death for someone well-learned in the “way of the dragon.”

Brian Jones was a guitarist and founding member of the Rolling Stones, and was also known for playing harmonica and a wide variety of folk instruments. Less than a month after leaving the Rolling Stones in 1969, Jones was found dead at the bottom of his swimming pool. His liver and heart were discovered to be severely enlarged due to drug and alcohol abuse. So what did the coroner’s report state? You guessed it, death by misadventure. Controversy later emerged regarding whether or not Jones’ death was actually murder, but there was insufficient evidence to warrant changing the verdict. Perhaps this stone rolled just a little bit too far.

British pop-star Amy Winehouse is perhaps noted just as much for struggles with

drugs and alcohol as she is for her Grammystudded music career. So few were surprised when she was found dead in her London home earlier this year. Convinced that she was kicking her dangerous habits, her family proposed that she may have died from detoxing too abruptly. Though this is a comforting thought to any parent who just lost a daughter, toxicology tests later revealed that Winehouse had recently consumed more than enough alcohol to cause sudden death.

Another celebrity, another early death caused by misadventure.

Though death is certainly no laughing matter, dying by misadventure has recently been viewed under a new light. The Darwin Awards, which are documented online and in a book series, recognize dull-witted individuals who remove themselves from the gene pool by accidentally dying in noteworthy ways. Past winners of this prestigious award have offed themselves by juggling live hand grenades, prematurely exploding of suicide bombs because of failure to account for daylight savings, jumping out of a plane without a parachute to film skydivers, crash-

ing through a window trying to prove it was unbreakable, and alcohol poisoning after having three litres of sherry inserted anally.

Similarly, the T.V show “1000 Ways to Die” is a docu-fiction anthology television series that recreates bizarre reported deaths, and then brings in experts to describe the science behind each death. Each story is portrayed using CGI animation, live-action recreations, expert and witness testimony, and is given a dark, punny title. Be sure to tune in Sundays at 10pm on Spike for new episodes!

Death is just as final regardless of whether it was homicide, suicide, natural, or accidental. But as the deaths of Bruce Lee, Brian Jones, and Amy Winehouse show, dying by misadventure has emerged as the “cool” way to die. Their demises are proof that if you are going to die young, you might as well make it interesting. Some may even call this a fad, as enough people have died this way that books, T.V shows, and awards document the most note-worthy deaths by misadventure. Who knows, maybe the paper-cut you incur while turning the page will end up winning you a Darwin Award!

artwork by Jing xu

You made it out of that room and into another. You’re facing a wall with two large holes in it that lead to two slides. You don’t know where they go, but you have to make a decision, and fast.

To take the blue slide, go to pg. 11.

To take the red slide, go to pg. 13. artwork by Jing xu Volume 14, Issue 3 ▪ Incite Magazine ▪ 25

Looks that could chill Elizabeth Dermarkar

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PHOTOGRAPHY by nicki varkevisser

inter is well on its way and Hamilton is getting pretty chilly. I find it’s becoming increasingly tempting to crawl into my favourite pair of sweatpants and whatever else keeps me at my comfiest and coziest. Other days, I just want to throw on the first pair jeans I see and whatever sweater doesn’t have a huge, noticeable stain down the front before heading to a morning lecture. I know why students dress the way they do, because I do it myself.

But what about those fabulous few we spot on campus every once in a while? They’re the boys in blazers and wing-tipped shoes, the girls in bowler hats and satin skirts. They are few and far between, but they stand out far more than anyone in the hoodie-clad, lululemon-loving masses. We imagine they must be so cold in nothing but black tights when the temperatures start approaching the negatives, but they just load up on the chunky knits and continue on, making campus life a little less predictable for everyone they pass.

I know for some it takes premeditation and preparation, while others just have that natural panache, but whatever the process, they show various dimensions of their personality, mood, and outlook in the clothing selections they make. In terms of self-expression, fashion is no less legitimate a means than any other kind of art. We live in it.

Personal style is so much more than how well a particular dress flatters your figure, or whether that tie goes with this shirt.

It is really about showing who you are, who you want to be, and what inspires you to be that person. It takes courage to share that much of yourself, especially when everyone else’s clothing rationale seems to be no more than, “these jeans are comfortable and I knew no one would look at me strangely for wearing this mass-produced jacket.”

The individuality of a particular outfit is so often reflected in the pieces that make it up. People are always telling me that their favourite pieces, the ones they never seem to tire of season after season, are the ones that have been somewhere, the ones that have a story behind them. I have to say I agree with that. My favorite boots are the Doc Martens that my mum used to wear on archeological digs in the ‘70s; the denim cut-offs I wear all summer, and then over tights all winter, belong to an old boyfriend; the bracelets I wear everyday are a collection of sentimental gifts, souvenirs from various countries, and even a friendship bracelet whose counterpart resides with a faraway pal.

I really have no doubt that every single person on campus has a unique style, and I would love to see it expressed more freely. Chances are, you already have everything you need right in your closet. Trends are transient, but personal style is eternal.

So summon up your imagination, your courage, and some perennial favorites, toss your sweatpants into your pajama drawer, and turn some heads.

Fortunately for you, as you eventually find out, this ghost once lived as the playwright George Bernard Shaw. He feels lonely traversing the Earth by himself and you enthusiastically offer your companionship. The two of you become great friends and he writes all of your papers, including your thesis on his own life and literature. You graduate with top grades and gain academic fame as the preeminent scholar of Shaw. The end.

26 26 ▪▪ Incite Incite Magazine Magazine ▪▪ January January 2012 2012

Plastic Fantastic Mark Belan

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ew things I have stumbled upon online have excited me as much as Pandemonia. It isn’t that this artist sits with some of the most respected names in the fashion industry, or carries an inflatable puppy. It was the artist’s look and style that I found so incredibly captivating. This woman dresses in latex...from head to toe.

Everything about Pandemonia is shiny and plastic. Her hair, face, hands, and even clothing are all tailored and trimmed with the glossy material, and she exhibits herself as a walking and talking piece of art. A fine artist hailing from London, UK, Pandemonia and I have recently become acquainted and have been chatting about our interests in the art and fashion world, while she continues to step out to some of the hottest events for a little camera-time.

I had the opportunity to interview Pandemonia for this issue of Incite.

First off, a little bit of history. How was Pandemonia born? Where did she come from? For what reason(s) was she created?

Pandemonia was born on a drawing board. For a long time I had been thinking about how to do a piece of art that is relevant to today’s society. In the UK, celebrity is everything; Pandemonia is a story, a celebrity, and a current media item.

She is based on the language of advertising - the logo, the silhouette etc. Pandemonia works extremely well in the media.

My image has appeared right around the world.

“Pandemonia” is an interesting name. Why did you choose that name?

I chose Pandemonia because it’s a feminisation of the word ‘Pandemonium’.

[Carl] Jung says, ‘Out of chaos comes creativity’. Chaos and creativity are some of

artwork by mark Belan

the elements that make up Pandemonia.

How does the general public react to you when you step out? Do people give you compliments? Complaints?

[Usually] with amazement. Generally, they want to photograph me.

Why do you choose to display your artwork in this way?

I present myself as a celebrity. After all, is celebrity not the currency all over the world? To me, it makes sense to show my work directly to the public. It’s the interaction between myself and the public that becomes interesting. I think I look best when I’m photographed in the media.

What better way is there to comment on celebrity than to be in the very same publications they are in?

PVC and latex design have been around for a while now. How do you think you compare to other “plastic artists” that make work similar to yours?

Physically, my work is cutting edge.

I’m not aware of anyone else working at my level. My work also has a conceptual side. Everything’s plastic these days. I simply went the full way [since] going totally glossy is the next logical step in perfection. It’s the ultimate packaging! I’ve got that shiny, ‘new-you’ look. I create and make all my work. The intention behind my work is quite different from a fashion designer.

Have you created any pieces for other artists or clients?

So far I have refused to design for other artists. I would do something for someone else if it fitted into my concept.

Last year, Lady Gaga’s people contacted me about doing something for her, [but] I didn’t feel it was right and so I didn’t get back. I might do something in the future,

but I don’t want my work subverted or overshadowed.

Why do you do what you do?

I am exploring age-old questions surrounding who we are and what we are, and the things that drive us.

Do you think it is difficult to make an impression on the art world? Are there challenges associated with trying to stay current and maintaining a lasting impression?

I don’t know enough about the innerworkings. I suspect the art market is like the corporate world. If you have an excess of a commodity, the price will fall. There can only be a few artists or the market will drop.

In a hundred years time it will be interesting to see what history remembers about our era of art.

Who are some of your favourite artists?

Elsa Schiaparelli, Jean Cocteau, and Zaha Hadid for her 3D [work].

What message would you send to people who are interested in pursuing artistic careers? Any advice?

To do something good, you need to find your own angle.

For the record – male or female?

Pandemonia is obviously female!

Future Plans?

Next year I am doing a sculpture show. It is going to be a continuation of my ideas, a blend of commercialism, fashion and art; a temple to commercialism! I am taking it to the next level.

For those interested in learning more about Pandemonia, check out the following links: pandemonia99.blogspot.com facebook.com/pandemonia pandemonia99.com twitter.com/pandemonia Volume 14, 14, Issue Issue 33 ▪▪ Incite Incite Magazine Magazine ▪▪ 27 27 Volume

sailing bottles

Oskar Niburski

I didn’t expect to find Budda behind a bottle of bud, and wiser still, I didn’t expect to find you either.

But maybe I’m Columbus. Maybe I had to cross oceans and flat earths, just to find you actually curve. Maybe I had to call you my new world, only to find out you were already someone else’s.

I claimed you in the name of … this ceiling.

But you’re moving, moving across plains following Buffalo, and I’m following bottles, so I look through beer goggles to see if I see clear, see if blood and beer don’t mix cause I’ve never been sicker.

I ask you if you like adventure. You accidently spill water on my face, and probably say something like ‘yes’, so I want to buy you a drink.

I want you to see through my telescope, extend this glass bottle to where you reside.

These tides are changing, but maybe only in my stomach.

Yet I’ve been sending messages in bottles, glass, curved to match your figure with wide hips.

And sometimes I put my tiny ships inside them just to show you that this world is bigger than us, right now, so that when it came to sinking or swimming, I may have been drowning, because all my ships have sailed, but I wanted adventure.

I want treasure.

I am done with glass. I want gold, I want a treasure chest.

And oh girl, let me tell you, I treasure your chest.

What, I should get an attorney?

I heard, do I like a journey? Because yes, I do.

I like the blue skies when they have grey clouds because I know that the sun will shine, and it isn’t my only sunshine because I got you, guiding me.

Following you on my solar clock, I know when it is half past asshole and a quarter to drunk and I am probably there already.

But I want to be here, with you, two hours ago, on the bus we took because we were too broke to take anything else, and come into this bar hoping for adventure, for treasure, but all we found was each other.

I wish I was back then.

Two hours. Maybe I can go back the way I came, use your contours as landmarks and moles as reminders that sometimes mud makes the best foundation.

And I have muddled things up, I know, I’m sorry.

I have been sending apology notes in bottles ever since you left, S.O.S for ‘shit, oh sorry’.

But smoke signals need oxygen and I am stifling.

I have drunk too much I think I am flammable and maybe I was. I didn’t mean to burst.

I didn’t mean to show you my world through a telescope, I meant to show you through a satellite.

Yet bottles will never fly, they are left to pollute the waters.

So I left Captain Morgan’s ship only to smear and offer you forever.

But you carried your skirt out that door, walked off this shore, looking for an ‘x’ on some other map.

See the last thing you said to me was I smelt like stale fermentation.

Girl, I haven’t even begun to rise yet. I haven’t even begun to explore yet.

You wanna bet pretty luck that this lady in front of me is everything I have been searching for.

Like lost lovers do, I tried writing in iambic pentameter but I could not measure you up, so I tried carrier pigeons to see if they could deliver my heart in tiny bottles, but I am stuck in this bottleneck, I am strangling, I am drowning, and I am sorry.

This journey never meant to end.

I didn’t want you to become some milestone, a landmark I used to show that sometimes explorers run in circles, and that I can’t have you back.

You left, took your too-small skirt back on that too-big bus, leaving Columbus and his land.

And that ship sailed hours ago. photography by Jing xu 28 ▪ Incite Magazine ▪ January 2012

Happiness is playing bingo?

Leanna Katz & Jane van Koeverden

T

hursday night: it’s club night and we’re looking fly. Waiting at the bus stop, there’s a group of girls in miniskirts and stilettos. We’re wearing our boyfriends’ oversized t-shirts and faculty swag.

Cars honk at us as they pass by. Okay. Maybe not at us.

The girls might look tighter, brighter, and hotter than us. They might be louder, gigglier, and drunker than us. But no one’s got a buzz like us. They’ll spend their night dancing, flirting, and hooking up in a dark crowded club on Hess. We’ll spend ours in a brightly-lit, high-stakes, and even higherintensity Bingo Hall at Main and Hughson.

The Delta Bingo Hall. You dig?

We part ways with the broads on the bus. They spend their ten bucks on cover charge. We spend ours on a bingo booklet.

“You’re late,” the lady behind the counter tells us. But she lets us in anyway. Hurriedly, she explains the rules. We nod, but don’t understand any of it.

Calmly, we find seats in the thick of the action. Leanna tries to sit beside a lady in her mid-fifties, clearly a pro, engrossed in her game. The lady asks Leanna not to sit there; she uses that seat to rest her feet. Instead, we settle ourselves across from the man who would take us under his wing for the evening.

Artwork by brianna Smrke

The man, whose name we never learned, is wearing a Harley Davidson Motorcycle cap, which complements the spider tattoo on his forearm. His facial hair eclipses all the Movember staches we saw last month, and his mullet is sensational. He has at least eight brightly-coloured bingo dabbers, each emblazoned with “the ink of winners.” He had already been here for hours when we arrived midway through the fifth game. As we quibble on what to do, he gently gives us guidance.

We try to make small talk with our new friend. “You come here a lot?”

“Yes,” he answers.

“What do you like about it?” we press.

“I have a terrible gambling addiction,” he says.

“Oh.” The small talk ends.

We turn our attention back to the game, dabbing furiously. It is simultaneously overwhelming and boring. Someone yelps, “Bingo!” and the game is up. A frustrated growl rumbles through the room. It’s more than just a reflex; it’s genuine disappointment. But nobody turns to their neighbour to complain.

This is a solitary game. People haven’t come here to socialize. They’ve come to play bingo.

“Have you ever won?” we ask the man across from us.

“About three years ago,” he says, “got the jackpot, $3000.”

“What’d you spend it on?”

“Bingo.”

“Oh.” The small talk is over. Again.

The silence makes us self-conscious. We look around, aware of the grey walls, grey carpet, grey tables, grey bingo cards, and grey hair. There’s a buzz of talk in the air, but nobody’s actually speaking to each other.

The ripping of pages from bingo booklets and syncopated beeping of heart monitors compete to be heard. The announcer’s voice drones above everything in an unintelligible garble. Clearly, we don’t speak bingo announcer yet.

A lady from the table next to us calls out, “Bingo!” and the last game is over. Neither we nor our mulleted friend have won a penny. We turn to commiserate with him, but he’s already shifted his weight from his bingo hall seat to an electric wheelchair. Without a word, he drives away, the pirate ship flags affixed to his wheelchair fluttering behind him.

We get up and head for the exit. The night was not what we were expecting. We came to be part of a group of eccentric Hamiltonians, but we left with a punctuated sense of how alone a person can feel, even in a crowded bingo hall.

Volume 14, Issue 3 ▪ Incite Magazine ▪ 29

30 ▪ Incite Magazine ▪ January 2012

Volume 14, Issue 3 ▪ Incite Magazine ▪ 31

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