Vol. 56 Issue 5: The Strand Magazine by The Strand

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Campus community

Empty spaces, abandoned places

The female body in the public sphere

Public space and music

An elegy for privacy

Blurring public and private

Riding the rails to a grim future

Unlocking the potential of city streets

Shrinking maps

Green space revolution

Digging up underground literary culture

Humorous section of humor

EDITORIAL LETTER From the editors Editors-in-Chief Patrick Mujunen Paula Razuri Blaire Townshend

Design Editors Amanda Aziz Vivian Che Sarah Crawley Catriona Spaven-Donn Emily Pollock

Copy Editors Anthony Burton Matthew Casaca Eanna Morrison Barrs Emily Pollock

Contributors Tara Abrahams Amanda Aziz Geoff Baillie Anthony Burton Nadine Galle Kris Kinsey Jonah Letovsky Olesya Lyuzna Neil MacIsaac Anna Shortly Catriona Spaven-Donn Maria Zepatou

Art Contributors Victoria Chuen Sarah Crawley Emily Deibert Reem Farah Nadine Galle Kathleen Graham Seolim Hong Helen Kim Justin Lee Wenting Li Thomas Lu Emily Pollock Alice Xue

It seems fitting that we are producing a magazine on the subject of public space as we settle into a new office space of our own, and as we attempt to re-envision our space within community dialogues. The concept of public space, after all, is intensely relevant to students, as we are constantly engaging with not only the spaces of the university, but also the communities of Toronto and the global sphere of interaction—all while learning what it means to lead a private life in an increasingly publicized world. We are encouraged to be ourselves and to concentrate on self-discovery and improvement, while simultaneously being pressured to carve a place for ourselves in our communities and to make a difference on the public stage. It can be overwhelming to follow advice from both of these camps at once. And it can be more overwhelming still to break free of such pressures and to invent our path entirely on our own terms. In this magazine, we have attempted to follow just such an unfettered path. Our contributors have introduced a variety of issues and events that concern or interest them, and have tried to define what public space means to them on a personal level. From an exploration of the boundary between public and private to a piece on underground artistic movements to a discussion of land colonization and reclamation, they’ve covered a fair amount of ground. Discussing the value and nature of public spaces reminds us that the very nature of such spaces is to be malleable, to cater to the needs and desires of the people who create them, and to serve as springboards for the creativity and innovation that will keep these spaces relevant in the future. Looking ahead, what will we need our public spaces to provide? What dialogues are we looking to pursue and what intellectual spaces will they require to be successful? We are in a unique position to comment on these future spaces, as they will be the projects that our generation will soon be—and in many ways already are—working to shape. -B.T.

Special Thanks Toronto Zine Library

CAMPUS COMMUNITY:

ACADEMIA ON SITE AND OFF

If you’re reading this beautifully laid out magazine right now, it’s likely that you’re either a student of, or somehow involved with, the University of Toronto, located in the beautiful and cultured downtown of Toronto, Ontario. The magazine you’re holding in your hands is completely free, funded by the contributions of many that the University of Toronto redistributes as it sees fit. The concept of a public enterprise offering free content with no ulterior capital motives, advertisements, or a delusional publisher’s vanity might seem alien—but universities hold a special place as a facilitator of actions geared not towards a bottom line but towards the public at large. For many of these cities, given the moniker

of “college towns,” the postsecondary institution within its boundaries is often one of its only truly public spaces. Although this is the case for many small towns across the US, one can also take a threehour drive eastward to Kingston, Ontario, to see the effects that Queen’s University has on the cityscape. With its student body comprising a quarter of the population of the city itself, the university is very closely integrated into the city. Anyone who has visited Kingston for any period of time has surely travelled along the downtown waterfront, with university residence buildings acting as a wall along the shoreline. I haven’t even visited all the libraries at Uof T, yet am familiar with some at Queen’s. The university’s

green spaces are enjoyed by Kingstonians in the same way that a municipal park would be. Queen’s gives Kingston not only bright young students with money to spend on alcohol, but also something to rally around, and transforms the city from a quiet waterfront town to a collaborative, close-knit, and cultured community. The newest wave of millennial students has heard time and time again that a university degree is not about getting a job, but expanding your mind, learning how to think, and indulging yourself in your passions. This radical notion of an education as something intrinsically good rather than just a way of making money holds water with the university system as a whole. The idea of Knowledge as

a public goods is something that is academically understood, and this idea has fuelled many a philosopher, social activist, and professor. Knowledge often concerns the outside world and our understanding of it, and the public nature of academia fosters the advancement of society. There is a reason that education is outlined in the United Nations’ Universal Declaration of Human Rights—it’s one of the few things that almost everyone can agree upon to have the best chance of bringing good to the world. Universities, with a couple of exceptions relating to elitism and profit, can therefore be universally understood to have a noble purpose. Often they act as hotbeds of research, a system resulting from the mutu-

ally beneficial collaborations fostered between grad student and professor. MSN.com’s homepage is basically filled with pop-psychology articles based on the academic research of internships that has been put through the colloquial filter. Every time you get lost in Wikipedia reading basic summaries of quantum physics and dark energy, most of that info comes from cutting-edge research conducted by large tech institutes like MIT and Berkeley that’s been passed through the basements of of Jimmy Wales’s gratis editors. Innovations in online teaching have advanced the internet as a public sphere and forum. Universities foster collaboration between people with knowledge as the motivator, which drives innovation in many differ-

ent fields both academic and non-academic. It’s the public nature of the many aspects of academia that allow for each individual to bring forward their own ideas and collaborate in a public space to contribute to a public good. That’s not to say the only public merits of universities are at the academic level. Being a second year student living off residence has made me realize the drastic difference between normal life and residence (specifically frosh) life. Hundreds of people share the same anxieties about being in a new situation, sometimes a new city, sometimes hundreds of kilometres away from the familiar and comforting. It is the public spaces of the Victoria College experience that makes these anxieties much easier to navi-

gate. Don’t get along with your roommate? Head to a common room and watch a campy horror movie with your housemates. Want to get a coffee with someone to get to know them better? Take them to Ned’s (or you could have taken them to Wymilwood, for all the upper years out there). Burwash Dining Hall provides the dual service of being a great place to socialize and bring an entire group together while simultaneously giving everyone something to talk about (the distinctive Burwash taste that permeates everything served there from the chicken korma to the pizza). These factors seem anecdotal and small-scale when compared with the power that a university’s public nature has over a city and the advancement of knowledge, but

on a personal level one would be hard-pressed to find a public environment that does as good a job at making it possible for you to make friends as Victoria College does. In a sometimes overwhelmingly large university situated in a sometimes overwhelmingly large city, the College system uses public space to foster friendship and communication. It equips people with the right tools to contribute to an even larger public good, whether in the context of the university or the world at large. Unless you’re John Galt, it’s pretty clear that contributing to society at large does much good, and universities help tremendously to foster that within a relatively public sphere.

Anthony Burton

EMPTY SPACES, ABANDONED PLACES: A guide to Toronto’s top five deserted sites When everyday routine gets exhausting, you need an adrenaline boost to bring a little excitement into your life. While some people are satisfied with a late night screening of their favorite horror movie, there are certain individuals who like to go beyond two-dimensional zombies. Enter urban explorers; a new breed of fearless thrillseekers intent on delving into their city’s forgotten sites. Inspired by fascination with the unknown and historical interest, these reckless individuals set out to explore abandoned hotels, warehouses, factories, and other sites that are usually off limits to the average city dweller. There’s a reason for this extreme activity’s international popularity: people around the world continue to be fascinated by abandoned buildings. Indeed, there’s something endlessly captivating about their crumbling facades and shattered windowpanes. But their appeal isn’t purely aesthetic; what truly amazes us is the fact that these derelict buildings were once brimming with life. They remind us that even sturdy brick factories, built to last several centuries, can fall victim to time. Abandoned buildings remind us of our own mortality, which is probably why they inspire a sense of mingled fear, sadness, and fascination within us. Although Toronto may not be the number one destination for the experienced urban explorer, the city nevertheless yields a considerable number of abandoned places, ranging from vaguely macabre residential buildings slated for demolition to disheveled historic sites protected by national law. There is always something to discover for those who look closely. Listed below are five of the many abandoned sites that Toronto has to offer.

1. KODAK BUILDING #9 “Kodak Heights” was the majestic Mount Dennis block that was built at the top of Photography Dr. in 1912. This massive complex was home to thousands of Kodak employees in the 1920s. Building #9 was built in the 1940s as an employees’ building offering recreation for the company’s staff. Unfortunately, the dawn of the digital age proved fatal to Kodak: the company filed for bankruptcy in 2012 when it was unable to compete with companies like Canon and Sony. As for Kodak Heights, it’s currently owned by Metrolinx, the governmental agency that manages public transportation in the GTA. Their initial plan was to transform the property into a storage and maintenance facility for light-rail vehicles; however the space is currently up for re-evaluation in an attempt to retain the historical culture of Kodak Heights.

2. KING EDDY Officially known as The Omni King Edward Hotel, this building opened in 1908, and has attracted famous tenants including Mark Twain, Rudolph Valentino, Elizabeth Taylor, the Beatles, Louis Armstrong, Elvis Presley, and Ernest Hemingway. The gem of this hotel is certainly the Crystal Ballroom. It was opened on the 17th floor of the hotel in 1921. For 30 years, it remained the most prestigious venue for debutante balls and important announcements (such as the discovery of the polio vaccine in 1955) alike. It was closed in the late 1950s because of increasingly strict fire codes and it wasn’t restored in the 1979-81 renovation. Nevertheless, despite its dilapidated state, the ballroom remains a true gem, retaining most of its old glitz and glamour.

3. LOBLAWS GROCETERIA The Loblaws Warehouse at Lakeshore and Bathurst was opened by T.P. Loblaw in 1928. The building contained administrative offices and facilities for the processing, manufacturing, and storage of groceries. But more importantly, it provided employees with much-needed recreational facilities, such as on-site euchre lounges, billiard rooms, and bowling alleys. In the mid-1970s, Loblaw reallocated and the building fell into disrepair. The future of this building is uncertain.

4. THE DON JAIL Originally called the Don Gaol, this was the third jail built in Toronto upon its completion in 1865. Its stunning facade hides sinister stories of violence, cruelty, and overcrowding. It was the site of 34 executions by hanging, the last of which was in 1962. Thankfully, the jail’s shutdown in 1977 put an end to its many horrors. Today, it has been transformed into the reception wing of Bridgeport Hospital; but ghostly reminders of its past, such as narrow cells in one basement and the indoor gallows, have been retained to preserve the history of the building. It’s also known as one of Canada’s most frightening prisons, and polls have ranked it as Toronto’s most haunted place.

5. THE CANADA LINSEED OIL FACTORY This building has been standing on Wabash Avenue since 1910, and was abandoned in 1969. Linseed oil was a thriving industry at the turn of the century, since the oil was used in paints, furniture polish, linoleum, and even as an ingredient in a bizarre cough syrup made of laudanum, cannabis, and chloroform. By the end of the 1960s, cheaper or more efficient alternatives to linseed oil had gained popularity, which inevitably led to the shutdown of the factory. Today, things may be looking up for the dilapidated building: several projects to develop it into a modern, LEED-certified structure have been proposed, with the longterm goal of transforming the factory into a community centre.

Olesya Lyuzna

IN TROVE R S I O N, E MPOWE R M E N T, & TRAVE L I N G ALO N E

So I’ve always been an introverted person. I like writing more than talking, I like running in remote places more than going to the gym, I enjoy silently listening to a conversation until I have something important to say—and that doesn’t mean I’m bored, mind you. I’m not a misanthrope, I’m not rude, I’m not embarrassed or afraid to talk to people. But small talk, I can’t do. If I ask you how your summer was, it means I sincerely want to know how you’ve spent your summer. Otherwise I just can’t bring myself to chit-chat. I’ve recently read somewhere that being introverted is genetic and has something to do with the brain. I don’t have the scientific background to confirm or deny this, but it certainly feels that way. I’ve been like this for as long as I can remember myself, and although I can fake extroversion, it’s always forced and it’s always uncomfortable. Now if this is true, and introversion is an inherent trait, then it shouldn’t be discouraged or encouraged any more than left-handedness. Nevertheless, other people’s attitudes do make a difference: they affect the way introverted people see themselves. And being an introverted girl gets two kinds of reactions, sometimes from the very same people. First, there is the popular notion that bashful, withdrawn girls are “good girls.” People always complimented my parents on how good a child I was because I was quiet. Today I still find myself wondering when my boyfriend tells me that friends I’ve only met once and barely talked to think that his girlfriend is a “great person.” Second, like many other personal qualities that are considered

“feminine,” introversion is also considered to be negative. Counting the times I’ve been told to “not be so shy” would be a full-time job. People are shocked when they discover that not only am I not timid, but my introversion actually comes with a big package of empowerment and independence. “Will you be running in the woods alone again?” is usually asked in a high-pitched voice. Yes. Because rapists really do lurk in the woods. They‘re waiting for antisocial jogging women that were foolish enough not to have a male protector every hour of the day—whether that’s a friend who is actually with you or passers-by in a crowded park. The idea that female bodies should be guarded seems to be what’s behind this concern. Female bodies do not belong in the public sphere—and they endanger themselves by standing there alone. The public: that’s where introversion stops being considered a good thing. There, it’s called “unsociability,” “stubbornness,” and “depression.” When I announced I would be using my summer job money to travel solo to Finland, I was often asked if I was depressed. That question’s message was loud and clear. A woman who feels safe in public in a body that isn’t guarded by male members of her community can’t possibly be thinking clearly. People suffering from mental illness are constantly dismissed as unable to make conscious choices—let her join them. A lighter version of this was being asked if I broke up with my boyfriend. Because again, a boyfriend is so perfect for the role of a male bodyguard: why voluntarily not use him as such? Well, I wasn’t depressed: I was floating in happiness. And I hadn’t

broken off my relationship, either. I did ask my partner if he could come with me, and he couldn’t, so I told him I would go alone. Then I told my mother, and finally I bought the tickets—only to find out neither had believed me. They were stunned, but I did go. I got lost a lot, I saw half of the sights I planned to see, and I walked in parks I’ll never know the names of, because I only ended up there accidentally. I ignored all the travel-alone tips that said you should talk to people, and spent hours at the port photographing seabirds. We didn’t speak the same language, but a female body alone in public looking relaxed and happy seems to be the universal word for “freak.” The memories of the lonely ferry trip to Suomenlinna, of exploring the fortress alone, of picking up delicious food to bring back to my single hotel room... I think the equivalent for an extroverted person would be an epic 4-day-long party. I can’t really tell; even if I have a good time at parties, I get tired quickly and want to go home. And no, I did not get bored during my solo trip— not for a moment. Besides, I had a chance to meet Havis Amanda. A nude female statue in Helsinki, Finland, she caused feminists to protest (back in 1908, when she was unveiled) that by depicting a nude woman in a public place, the statue sexually objectified women. But times have changed, and I find her beautiful and empowering. It’s a female body alone in public, placed to be as visible as possible, and in spite of her little shy gesture, she looks content and confident. And people stare at her.

Maria Zepatou

PUBLIC SPACE & MUSIC In the first week of October, a chalk illustration of a large black circle appeared on the sidewalk outside of Robarts Library. Within the circle was a grid of nine squares, each containing a letter of the word “Reflektor.” It was the logo for Arcade Fire’s latest single and eponymous album. The graffiti was part of a guerilla marketing campaign which encouraged fans to recreate the logo with

chalk or soluble paint in a public space. The logo turned up in major cities across the globe, and fans everywhere were suddenly incentivized to check out new music from Arcade Fire. With this approach, the indie rock heavyweights managed to circumvent conventional methods of promoting new music by putting the promotional capabilities directly into the

hands of their fan-base. And it worked—the album premiered at the top of the Billboard charts, and Arcade Fire are already slated to headline most of 2014’s major music festivals. But while some might see this marketing approach as an ingenious, cost-effective way to promote new music, others deemed the band’s efforts petty vandalism. A couple in Austin, Texas, found the logo

spray-painted onto their picture framing shop, prompting them to write a letter of complaint to the band. Selfproclaimed fans of Arcade Fire, the couple felt betrayed after having their property abused as part of a marketing campaign. Frontman Win Butler responded, apologizing for the band’s actions and citing Haitian veve drawings as the inspiration for the graffiti.

Despite Butler’s claims that the band meant no disrespect, many people saw a certain egocentrism in the idea of using public space as a personal canvas. Arcade Fire aren’t the only artists who have caught flak for using public exhibitions to promote new music. On the subject of egocentrism—hiphop’s self-proclaimed deity Kanye West made the release of his single “New Slaves” difficult to ignore last May when he projected a 60 foot high black and white image of his own face performing the song onto the outside wall of the Royal Ontario Museum. Similar projections took place in 65 different locations across the globe in cities including Chicago, Berlin, Paris, and New York. The event was only promoted through wordof-mouth (although it was probablyhelped by passersby intrigued by a gigantic face spouting a racially charged anthem on the side of an historic building). These projections were the first opportunity to hear Kanye West’s first new release in three years. By drawing fans together into a public space, Kanye generated a unique, shared experience for people to hear “New Slaves” for the first time. The public exhibitions were so popular that many of them had to be shut down by police who feared that the enthu-

siastic crowds might break out into rioting. These shut downs attracted even more attention to the release and helped to generate exactly what Kanye wanted: controversy. “New Slaves” is undoubtedly a controversial song. Kanye’s lyrics tackle the persecution of blacks in modern society, and aggressively assert the too often ignored truism that racism in America is far from over. His frustration is paired with discordant melodies and abrasive rhythms that would probably sound quite displeasing to the average Torontonian wandering down Bloor Street. But Kanye is saying things that most people are afraid to talk about, and by premiering this jarring piece of music in public spaces across the globe, he is making these issues difficult to ignore. Not to mention the fact that this controversial subject matter makes “New Slaves” ill-fitted for a conventional radio release. The song makes for a challenging listen; it’s a far cry from the buoyancy and jubilance of some of Kanye’s massive radio hits like 2005’s old soul throwback “Golddigger” or 2007’s hip-hop meets French house banger “Stronger.” A song that is as downright unpleasantsounding as “New Slaves” would have been a failure on the radio, so Kanye found another way to get

people to pay attention. Kanye’s achievement should not be underappreciated; the public’s attention is an increasingly valuable commodity in an era flooded with more new music than one person could possibly listen to. The Internet has made it easier than ever to release music. An artist can post a new track to an mp3 host like Soundcloud or YouTube within a matter of seconds, and sit back as the track is propagated across social media platforms around the world. But the leisure with which new music can be released comes with a downside. Tracks we hear on social media will usually receive only half of our attention, while the other half is fixated on checking our e-mail or perusing our Facebook feed. Artists are looking for ways to have their music heard on something other than a computer and to get it the proper attention that it deserves. For some, the utilization of public space is the best way to do that. In late October, rapper Childish Gambino, also known as the actorcomedian Donald Glover, gave Toronto its first listen to his latest album Because the Internet by playing it through speakers in Trinity Bellwoods Park in the mid-afternoon. Glover announced a free public performance in the park that

same morning via Twitter, attracting a huge crowd eager to see the rapper in action. What they showed up for wasn’t exactly a concert—more like a group listening session. Glover arrived, briefly addressing the crowd, before plugging his iPhone into the speakers and letting the album play while he sat down on a picnic table and silently read a book to himself. The majority of the audience couldn’t even see him. But once the crowd set aside their disappointment over the lack of a live performance, all they had to fixate their attention on was the music itself. There was nothing to distract this group of people as they stood in the park and collectively heard the album for the first time. With his pop-up listening session, Glover managed to attain the undivided attention of large crowd of people. And this, all things considered, was a rare accomplishment. If there’s one thing that these artists are achieving, it is the separation of their art from the over-cluttered realm of social media. Nothing cheapens a song like having to hear it as a heavily compressed mp3 version on laptop speakers. If artists can buck this trend by premiering their work in public spaces, maybe it won’t be so uncommon before long.

Geoff Baillie

An elegy for As much as we try to deny it, we are god-awful nosy people. We may be strangers, but everything we do in public is a part of everyone else’s business. There’s an unwritten set of codes for how to behave in public if you don’t want to come off as a social outcast. We may not look eyeto-eye when walking by each other while crossing the street, or sitting down in a café (and if we do, then one of us will anxiously look away in an “oh no, I wasn’t staring at your wonderful face, I was just looking at that thing above your head” way). We usually don’t quickly grab a seat next to join in the group of friends at a restaurant who seem to be laughing loudly and enjoying their time to be in on the joke. And we likely won’t

walk up to someone shading their blood-shot eyes from everyone else, hiding the fact that they’ve been crying, and ask, “What’s the matter?” But we will take a quick glance (or glare if we have no mercy in us) and judge. Although I do agree with the basic unwritten codes, like respecting one another and keeping to your own, (but then again, shouldn’t we be doing that everywhere?), there are some rules that go too far into invading the way we behave. These rules are invading our right to privacy when we are in a public setting. Somehow, once we walk out the door of our own humble abodes to the outside world, we sign every single part of ourselves into the public domain. If you wear a funky

Privacy outfit that you think is cool, but others might consider “oddball,” or “outlandish,” you risk the act of someone becoming the fashion police taking a picture of you, and posting it online for the rest of the world to see. Or if we go to a live show, and dance a different way than everyone else does, then we might risk into becoming the next YouTube sensation that everyone laughs at. I can’t even eat a damn salad properly without someone telling me that I’m not eating it right (but how does one eat a salad properly?!). Not everything about being in public has to be taken so literally. Even if being outside requires us to act a certain way in matter of respect, it doesn’t mean that those of us who do decide to go against the status quo

and not blend in have to be punished for it. Or even for minor things like tripping, crying, or eating salad the wrong way (but seriously, how?!), we at least deserve a little privacy without having the whole public intervening by judging us. Don’t we have our own lives to tend to anyway? Of course, after writing this, I will proceed to dance in my room with my hands-in-the-air-like-I-justdon’t-care with the curtains drawn shut. But for the next live show I go to, I’ll get out there and whip out those moves that I’ve been practicing. Call me a rebel, but the way that I act in public isn’t your business, thank you very much.

Amanda Aziz

Blurring The public/private dichotomy has long been part of our collective imagination. It boils down to one main idea: there’s a boundary between public space—what is open and within a wider community—and the private space—what is more intimate. But, as with any dichotomy, it’s not as simple as it seems—especially in residential neighborhoods. One would think that residential neighbourhoods easily fit within the boundary of private space: after all, they are a collection of homes, the place we associate most with intimacy and privacy. The home belongs to the family, and they get to define what goes on in their space, who gets to enter it, and how much information about reaches outsiders. Yet these neighbourhoods aren’t a bubble of private spaces. For those living in them, residential neigh-

the public and private

bourhoods act as their community and connection to the public. Some neighbourhoods establish community centers, public spaces for residents to interact with each other created within an area of private space. Parks and parkettes are other common features of many residential neighbourhoods, and they act as places for the residents to come together in the openness of a public space. These, too, are public spaces within an area of private spaces that blur the public/private boundary. Even without or established public spaces, residents build their communities through other methods, like interacting on their streets and at events run by residents like street fairs, garage sales, and community parties. These emergences of public space in an area of private spaces are the norm rather than the exception.

Indeed, the front of the house constantly shows the intermingling of private and public spaces. Though some residents enhance the privacy of their home by putting up fences, many residents have their front lawns and porches open for anyone to look at, and some put effort into making them eye-catching. A front lawn is part of the residents’ private land and a non-resident can’t loiter on it, yet the aesthetic effort the residents put into their lawn is in the open for any passer-by to look at and enjoy. Porches, too, are on private land and not just anyone can occupy them, but as they are also in the open, anyone can witness what happens on them—some passers-by may even interact with those on the porch. A more subtle boundary-blurring is how a passerby can see into the home

through the windows at night if there is a light on and no drawn curtain. All of these are interactions between the private space of the home and the public space of the community . Anyone in the public can look at what’s happening in front of the house—sometimes even what’s happening within it—though they can’t occupy that space. Public and private spaces have unique characteristics that shape their different functions, but they aren’t as distinct from each other as we often think. The homes in residential neighbourhoods do, in many ways, fall under the category of private. But they’re also commuities, and communities need to operate in public space.

Anna Shortly

Riding the rails to a grim future Let me recount the trip I take from Paris’s Charles de Gaulle airport to my apartment, in Paris proper, every time I fly into the city (three trips so far). I leave the terminal and walk to the train platform to get on the RER—Paris’s version of the GO train—for suburban commuters. Sometimes I can catch an express train. When I can’t, the crowded train takes close to an hour to get downtown, stopping at roughly ten stations

in the northeastern suburbs of Paris. These are some of the poorest and most immigrant-heavy areas of the city. Beginning with Villepinte, Sevran Beaudottes, and Aulnay-sousBois stations, huge numbers of North African and Arabic immigrants shuffle on board, bound for the heart of the French nation’s capital, its economic engine. The train fills up, hot and crowded with voices speaking

French, Arabic, and other languages that I should know, but don’t. For the next 45 minutes, usually, I am one of the only people on the train car who isn’t a visible minority. I am distinctly aware of my difference. Then, starting at Châtelet-Les Halles station (the Paris metro’s biggest interchange, a web of interconnecting 19th century tunnels stretching under dozens of city blocks), my train’s anatomy begins to shift dra-

matically. Riders pour out, destined for work or more commuting, only to be replaced by a new tide. The demographic suddenly becomes whiter. I squeeze out at Saint-Michel—Notre-Dame station, beneath Île de la Cité—the centre of Paris— and emerge at Boulevard Saint-Germain where it intersects Boulevard Saint-Michel, one of the wealthiest neighbourhoods in the city. Here, I’m surrounded by the two other predominant groups in the city: wealthy professional and retired Parisians, and tourists. There is an enormous demographic difference. I take the Metro line 5 to the edge of the Latin Quarter, and walk the final ten minutes to my apartment, encountering some families along the way but mainly seniors and students. My neighbourhood and a few others still buck the trend for now, but Paris’s growing split is obvious to anyone who pays attention. Undesirable, under-serviced, and deteriorating suburbs attract poorlypaid new migrants like magnets, their pull growing stronger as the cost of urban life increases. And driving those increases—along with the ubiquitous factors of population and globalization—are this city’s constant influx of tourists and super-rich residents. Saint-Germain-des-Prés, along with almost every other neighbourhood (“quartier”) that I’ve visited in the first through eighth arrondissements, is characterized by wealthy older couples, chic designer clothing, expensive cafés, and thousands upon thousands of North American, European, Asian, and Russian tourists, maps in hand and cash in pocket. Contrast this with the poorer sections of Paris,

characterized by cracking façades, run-down shops, and unhappy commuters constantly in a hurry. Almost entirely black, almost entirely segregated. What does this leave us with? A picture of a Paris split down the centre by a growing chasm—or, rather, encircled by it. Obviously, this is linked with inequality—the major issue of the past half-century. But most Western nations, including France and Canada, have actually been having a healthy discussion about the general plight of the middle class. What’s missing is talk of how the ongoing hollowing-out of cities impacts the ownership of urban space (figuratively; I’m not talking about who actually has title for the mansions along the Champs-Élysées— or the apartments along St. George, for that matter). Paris represents a model of urban disenfranchisement that could be Toronto’s future. The French capital has embraced neoliberalism over the past few decades to such a degree that the heart of the city is now, essentially, for sale to the highest bidder. The attic apartments that were once cheap and prolific have been converted to luxury second homes or profitable Airbnb-style rental apartments en masse, leaving an urban core that’s not only wildly inaccessible to middle and lower incomes, but that’s also increasingly plastic—lacking the permanent residents that care for a neighbourhood, patronizing its shops and minding its safety. “Neighbourhood,” may soon be a stretch to describe many areas of the city. I don’t know about you, but I find this incredibly sad. Our cities

should not be jewels that we stare at, greedily own and jealously covet—they are our homes and communities, the lynchpins of our societies and economies, and the best tool we have to better ourselves. They are catalysts for social and political change. They are possibly our only opportunity to solve the global environmental crisis. How can we give them up so easily? As these poorer, non-white groups are pushed out of the city, everyone suffers. They lose their opportunities to engage with public space, their economic opportunities, their participation in cultural heritage, and their political agency. They become external, visible only when filling the wealthy core’s unskilled labour needs as restaurant and hotel workers, retail security guards, and street cleaners. The city suffers as a result, too—losing the vitality and dynamism that comes with genuine economic and social diversity. In other words, money and exclusion sanitize the city. This is obvious in Paris. That’s why we should worry about Toronto’s future. The cost of renting and home ownership is skyrocketing, wages are stagnating, and international investment is flowing into the city. The latter should be positive—but not when it’s poorly directed, used to build condominium towers that inflate real estate prices and house no one and nothing except their owners’ cash. In a recent article on New York in the New York Daily News, Edward Glaeser, Harvard professor and author of Triumph of the City, argues that concern shouldn’t be for extreme inequality itself, but instead for when certain groups on that

spectrum of inequality are shut out of both physical neighbourhoods and opportunities for economic mobility. He’s right. And it’s not just low-income that’s been (and being, in Toronto’s case) pushed out of Paris—it’s middle-income too, and students. As students, we’re in a unique place, existing with a foot in both worlds. Many of us, white and largely supported by our parents, are almost certainly part of the urban elite now: we can take advantage of bars, restaurants, public spaces, and have access to the human and educational resources that enable upward mobility. Most of us must be extremely budget conscious, and yet some of the largest

student populations are located in some of the most expensive—and unequal—cities in the world. This is true in both Paris and Toronto. We live in the in-between bits of the city, the small rooms and grungy basement apartments that almost no one else wants but that we take because we need to be in the city; we pack lunches and eat crappy food and make eggs—lots and lots of eggs—because the cost of food in supermarkets and in restaurants is set for the city’s high-income earners, not us. But we won’t be able to live like this forever—as students are already realizing in superexpensive London and other major cities. Toronto still has a remarkable

amount of economic, cultural, and racial diversity at its core—and its development offers an opportunity to expand on that quality, letting more people live in neighbourhoods downtown. But we have to be vigilant that our city doesn’t follow in Paris’s footsteps. We’re in a unique place to advocate for a city that everyone can take ownership of: one that rejects conformity, fear of change, racism, and the inequality that threatens to cut out the economic middle—the heart of Toronto. For Paris, the train is already in the station; for Toronto, maybe there’s still time.

Jonah Letovsky

the latter half of the 20th centur y, the growth of the automobile industr y led to a dramatic reorganization of the urban landscape. During this time, large networks of highways were constructed to ser vice the growing number of people getting behind the wheel. This elaborate infrastructure of overpasses and interchanges literally paved the way for suburban life, creating neighbourhoods whose residents were wholly dependent on cars to get around. Since the bir th of sprawl more than 50 years ago, an increase in the size and diversity of urban populations means that the car-centric Levittowns of yester year are no longer feasible models for building accessible and engaging cities. To battle the enduring effects of automobile dependence, many municipal governments are adopting a Complete Streets approach to urban planning. The goal of Complete Streets is to enable safe and convenient travel for all users, regardless of their mode of transpor tation. These inclusive street designs often reduce space for vehicular traffic to make way for

A SUCCESSFUL PUBLIC SPACE MUST BE ACTIVE, SOCIABLE, AND CONNECTED TO ITS SURROUNDINGS

UNLOCKING

THE POTENTIAL OF CITY STREETS Kris Kinsey

accessible pedestrian infrastructure, separated bike paths, and dedicated lanes for public transit. By providing a safe space for pedestrians and cyclists, users of all ages and abilities can engage in healthy activity while getting from one destination to another. Also, by increasing access to public transit, cities can reduce the number of cars on the road, helping to alleviate congestion and lower pollution. Other effor ts to reclaim city streets include the creation of pedestrian-only zones. In Toronto’s Kensington Market, automobile use is restricted for one day each month from May to October for Pedestrian Sunday. This event transforms the street into a dedicated space for spotlighting the community’s ar ts and culture. In areas of the city where closing the entire street isn’t a viable option, curb lanes or street parking may be repurposed to expand public space. In the summer of 2012, a downtown por tion of Yonge Street reduced vehicular traffic in order to host Celebrate Yonge—an event that conver ted half of the street into a space for ar t exhibits, public seating, and licensed patios.

A similar project piloted this past summer saw the construction of several “parklets” in the Church-Wellesley Village. These patio-like units, complete with tables and chairs, temporarily replaced a number of parking spaces along the east side of Church Street, creating new venues for social interaction. Projects like the Church Street Parklets, Celebrate Yonge, and Pedestrian Sunday underline the benefits of reducing automobile use in urban areas. In reclaiming and repurposing por tions of the street, communities are given the oppor tunity to add welcoming public spaces to their neighbourhoods. The more sociable, active, and connected the space is to its surroundings, the more effective and successful it tends to be. As cities like Toronto continue to grow, one of the greatest challenges they will face is providing adequate public space. By unlocking the tremendous potential of their streets, cities can not only car ve out space for socializing, leisure, and transportation, but can also create a healthy, engaging, and accessible environment for all.

We cannot live without the land and water. We have laws older than this colonial government about how to live with the land. – Idle No More manifesto

A wise woman once said, “If you really love the land and you think of her as your mother, then you cannot hate.” Perhaps she was talking about the footprint we leave on the Earth and the environmental impact of human activity. Perhaps she was talking about the socio-political problems of conflict over land ownership. Or perhaps she was asserting the First Nations’ belief that we are mere “caretakers” of a world that does not, and cannot, fully belong to us. Lee Maracle, First Nations writer, activist, and community leader, addresses the necessity for unity and togetherness in the public sphere. In listening to her, one starts to question their inherent sense of place, entitlement, and ownership. Notions of public space are complicated by our treatment of the land and the people who inhabit it. Companies and governments are both guilty of using (and, in many cases, abusing) the land for natural resources and other financially-lucrative

enterprises. Here in Canada, we are all too familiar with natural resource extraction projects. We hear about mining in Alberta, fracking in New Brunswick, and pipeline development in Alberta, British Columbia, and Ontario. Our land is becoming a commodity; it is handed between the government and big businesses to ensure optimum commercial and financial gain, without a thought to conservation. Furthermore, the people who live on this land are often ignored or even forcibly removed. Now more than ever, we need to understand our relationship with the world around us. As ownership and possession make our eyes grow bigger and our hearts grow greedier, we must turn to our neighbours who have lived off the land for many thousands of years without trying to own, abuse, or misuse it. As the Assembly of First Nations explains on its website, Mother Earth is the sustainer of all living things. This spiritual way of looking at the land and all that grows from it—including people, cultures, and languages—allows for a relationship with the natural world that excludes control or exploitation. The website states: “First Nations peoples have a spe-

cial relationship with the earth and all living things in it. This relationship is based on a profound spiritual connection to Mother Earth that guided indigenous peoples to practice reverence, humility, and reciprocity.” It goes on to highlight the fact that the land must be respected and only used for what is needed, no more. Otherwise, future generations may be “put in peril.” The issue of land, then, is not just central to how we live our lives, but also to how governments allow us to live them. This is not just an environmental issue. This is an issue that affects our relationships, our geography and our history. For Chief Shawn Atleo, National Chief of the Assembly of First Nations, the unethical use of land must be protested. He states: “First Nations have the right to free, prior, and informed consent over what happens in their territories.” That in many cases has been denied, leading to the violation of treaties signed between the British Crown and First Nations as far back as 1701. In his article for the news source Rabble, Mike Palecek describes the nonrecognition of an agreement signed between the Federal Government, the

Quebec Government, and the Algonquins of Barriere Lake (ABL). The ABL “aim to share the land in a way that works for everyone.” Despite living on the land for thousands of years, the ABL do not claim specific rights to the land: “Private property is a concept that is completely incompatible with this society,” Palecek explains. However, they never agreed to any of the deforestation that is now happening in their traditional territory. Clearly, attempts at peaceful coexistence have not been respected by the government or the logging companies. This is not a unique story. One group of people occupying a space inhabited by another group is called colonization. And it has shaped the world as we know it. In Canada, settlers forced First Nations to sign treaties that took away their lands in exchange for money and the establishment of reserves—small areas where tribes became alienated and social problems increased. In South Africa, the Apartheid regime attempted to move all people of colour into their own separate states called Bantustans. In Palestine, a separation barrier has been erected by the Israeli government in the Occupied Palestinian Ter-

ritories which divides the land based on the ethnicity of the people who live there. The issue of land is central to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. As the map of Palestine shrinks, and Israel continues to construct illegal settlements in the Palestinian West Bank, the land of thousands of people is swept away from them from under their feet. In 1973, former Israeli Prime Minister Ariel Sharon said that the Israelis would “make a pastrami sandwich” out of the Palestinians—they would “insert a strip of Jewish settlements in between the Palestinians, and then another strip of Jewish settlements right across the West Bank,” so that no one (“neither the United Nations nor the United States”) could get rid of Israel. As Hadani Ditmars notes in her January 2013 Ha’aretz article, “Palestinians and Canadian natives join hands to protest colonization,” Gaza bears resemblance to a giant indigenous Canadian reservation. It is also often described as the world’s largest open air prison, bordered by a separation barrier which is made up of sensors, buffer zones, wire fences and walls. According to the UN Office for the

Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs, the West Bank’s proposed separation barrier is 708 kilometres long (about 62 percent of which is currently completed), more than twice the length of the 1949 Green Line established as the border separating Israel and the Occupied West Bank. Most of the Wall therefore runs inside the West Bank and isolates at least 150 Palestinian communities from their own land. Thousands of people now need special permits to continue living in their own homes. A further 23,000 will be isolated from their homes if the barrier is completed as planned. Their mobility is further restricted by checkpoints, roadblocks, so-called “sterile roads” on which only Israelilicensed cars can drive, and by permits and documentation which are often made virtually impossible for Palestinians to obtain from the Israeli government. Ditmars explores statements from various Palestinian and First Nations activists in her article, including Blackfoot Mike Krebs, who collaborated on an Australian journal article entitled “Settler Colonization,” which compared Canadian and Israeli models. Ariel Sharon once said

to a US official, “We have learnt a lot from you Americans, how you moved West”—indicating that the colonization of Native American land was an inspiration and a model for Israel. Ditmars draws a comparison between Palestinian and First Nation peoples saying that “the real commonality lies in the land.” She quotes Krebs: “Both peoples have a deep sense of relationship to and responsibility for the land. And when that land is taken away, it destroys the culture.” Similarly, in the documentary Roadmap to Apartheid, South African poet Don Mattera connects the Palestinian and South African struggles under Apartheid by asking; “if [they] take away my house, [they] take away my life, my dignity.... where will I go?” He says that “home is the sacred space,” which is precisely what the Apartheid system attempted to destroy. They envisioned a multi-state solution where people of colour were “decitizinised” and given new identities in imagined states called Bantustans. This concept, Ditmars notes, was inspired by the Canadian reserve system. Mattera explains that in post-Apartheid South

Africa, “[they] were all freed from the ethically corrosive vision of trying to build an ethnically pure state.” PalestinianAmerican journalist Ali Abunimah, interviewed in the same documentary, describes a similar predicament in Palestine. There, he says, a twostate solution encouraging the separation of two peoples based on their ethnicity is completely unethical. “Let 100% of the people live on 100% of the land,” he appeals. Ultimately, it’s clear that occupied and colonized lands are similar across the world and throughout history. And, unfortunately, we’re still a long way from understanding and sharing our public space. As the Canadian movement in support of indigenous rights, Idle No More, gains strength and recognition, we must hope that situations of oppression and occupation continue to be addressed and redressed. To do this, we need to emulate the respect that First Nations groups show for the land. As problems arising from land issues intensify on a global scale, we all need to embody these three tenets of wisdom: reverence, humility, and reciprocity.

Catriona Spaven-Donn

THE REVOLUTION OF GREEN SPACE RECLAMATION

Fed up with encroaching motorized traffic, Torontonians are taking back their public spaces—green spaces that is. The past ten years have seen an impressive movement within Toronto’s communities in the reclamation of green public spaces that were once theirs. And in a city where the mayor has declared that the deaths of cyclists are “their own fault” it has been no easy feat! The demand for public spaces in cities is nothing new. Since the days of the first civilizations, humans thrived in public squares, parks, and promenades. It was the place where one could do their groceries, gossip about neighbors, and watch people go about their errands all in one place. It fostered both human interaction and economic opportunity. With the advent of the automobile, increasingly larger incomes, and rising economic growth, larger roads were required to accommodate the motorized traffic, often at the expense of public spaces such as sidewalks, bike lanes, and green space. Throughout many European capitals, the public spaces, tried and true, have remained. But within many North American cities, including Toronto, the car took priority and the public spaces vanished. A recent reclamation stor y came out of Toronto’s Bickford Park. Nestled between Bloor St and Harbord St at Grace St, the park was repeatedly assaulted by vandalism last spring coating the rear wall of the community centre in spray paint. Frustrated by the City’s lack of action, local residents grouped together, grabbed their shovels, and planted a dense row of trees to block the vandalized wall from view. Similar commitments were seen at Etobicoke’s Mabelle community, where an undeveloped green space has been transformed into a hub for year-round activities including parades, festivals, and gatherings.

Armed with only their neighbours, local residents Leah Houston and Noah Kenneally have put in benches, a public garden, and facilities to suit the needs of the unique Mabelle community. People often say, “‘Oh, we want someone to come in and design a park for us,’ and it actually can’t be done,” said Houston. “Each neighbourhood has its own culture and has a culture to build and that takes many years. It is not something that a designer can deliver to you.” One of Toronto’s largest reclamation projects is the Evergreen Brickworks. Located in the Don River valley, the former quarr y and industrial site was home to a brickworks company, which, for nearly 100 years, supplied the bricks to build Toronto’s skyline. Keeping its unique and historic buildings, the site has been completely revitalized into an environmentally focused community and cultural center, featuring classrooms, gardens, hiking trails, naturalized ponds, a farmer’s market, and a café. Social and environmental innovationabounds in their year-round programs, which are accessible to anyone wanting to explore how to live, work, and play more sustainably. On weekends and holidays, the Evergreen Brickworks attract large crowds of families, students, and professionals alike eager to rediscover Toronto’s heritage and local ecology. During the week, young children are invited on field trips to learn more about their local environment and what they can do to preserve it. Today, the project has been widely praised for its “green” achievements and stands as a model for innovative and sustainable urban design. The logic is simple enough. As Kevin Costner said in Field of Dreams, “If you build it, they will come.” This is precisely the notion driving local

Torontonians to reclaim their public spaces. Much of the recent development in green space reclamation has been grass roots and community-led initiatives. Caught in the constraints of bureaucracy, the department of Toronto’s Parks, Forestr y and Recreation have, in the past, pulled red tape over any kind of citizen-run park development project. But the “culture of ‘no’” has seen a massive paradigm shift in recent years that shows the parks department not only approving projects, but also blessing them. Great green space requires great people, but not necessarily piles of cash. Toronto, like so many North American cities, has a discouraging budget for parks that often fails to meet the public’s expectations. But unless you are investing in a massive revitalization project such as the Evergreen Brickworks, many local green spaces need only a committed team of passionate residents to design, and to maintain, a valuable park. The best green spaces are those that are unexpected. A wall of trees obscuring a wall of graffiti. A tiny parkette transformed into a sculpture garden. An old industrial site rejuvenated into an environmental haven. Those who have discovered and uncovered Toronto’s existing (and potential!) green public spaces are familiar with the scenic and inspiring relief it can bring from the relentless madness of urban life. Esteemed urban planner and Danish public space expert, Mikael Colville-Anderson, said it best: “Our public spaces reflect the community that we live in, and are thus the best places for us to begin modeling a new way of thinking and living.” Consider this the next time you find yourself wandering one of Toronto’s public green spaces.

Nadine Galle

DIGGING UP UNDERGROUND LITERARY CULTURE: THE ROOTS AND BRANCHES OF TORONTO’S LIT SCENE

Underground literary culture isn’t new to Toronto. At the Victoria College book sale, I spoke to a man who shared his experiences of in the 1950s beatnik lit scene of Toronto. It was a time when poets and authors such as bpNichol, Allen Ginsberg, William S. Burroughs, and Jack Kerouac were revered and poetry was something to speak aloud, not to be read in library silence. What’s new is the recent revival of this literary culture. Notoriously personal, honest, and often shocking, much of Toronto is a buzz with this underground—and whole-hearted—form of literature. In the past three months, Toronto has been host to the Word on the Street Festival and Canzine, both events that support independent bookstores, publishers, authors, and poets, as well as organizations that support indie lit on a smaller scale. These events take up an entire city street or the whole of an arts centre, respectively, but it isn’t their size that makes them noteworthy: it’s the attention they garner from the people, those who may not necessarily be aware of this literary culture. Bringing underground lit aboveground changes it—but it also allows it room to grow. Poetry readings are slowly creeping into the city’s dimly lit nooks and crannies, including Victoria College. The Goldring Centre hosted an open-mike night at the end of October to celebrate the settling of autumn and the oncoming winter chill. Nothing, in my opinion, is better than curling up with coffee and friends to enjoy watching someone pour themselves out on a stage via their written work. Approaching a public space with one’s work can often be intimidating, which is why small, amiable gatherings at universities, colleges, and cafes can so appealing. But some still prefer to use the whole world as their canvas Kaile H. Glick runs the Spontaneous Prose Store, which consists of Kaile herself, a typewriter, some sticker paper, and plenty of time. She brings this bookstore everywhere she goes on her travels around the world, and for any donated amount, she’ll write a short work based on a word or phrase of your choosing. When I encountered her, I picked “ghost orchids” as the topic—in return, I received a fascinating, unique piece of prose. Kaile creates a space for her work

wherever she goes. But what about the quieter side of underground lit: the reading, the writing, the careful planning, and the preservation? Unless these performances are caught on film, they remain only in the memories of attendees. The other, more permanent side of literary culture is zine culture Zines, arguably the most personal way of presenting literature, are homemade or small press publications that feature the art and/or literature of the authors. They are the physical incarnation of these moments of indie lit performed, and often work much more effectively at spreading their message. But zines aren’t exactly easy to find, except at zine fairs: usually a one-day event that occurs once a year. To combat this problem, Toronto has two zine libraries—spaces reserved specifically for zines and their readers. One is run by the Ontario College of Art and Design, the other is operated by a group of collaborators who want to keep zines and their creators in the public sphere. These organizations work to bring the most independent form of indie lit into the hands of those for whom it may be just out of reach. The Toronto Zine Library is located on the second floor of the Tranzac Club, 292 Brunswick Ave; although the space is small, the collection is not. Currently in the process of listing their works online, the TZL has dozens of zines on their shelves—a collection that has been growing since 2007. OCAD’s zine library can only be accessed if one is accompanied by an OCAD student—so if you have the opportunity to visit, you should definately take it. Though smaller than the TZL, the six shelves are overflowing with zines, a display of the newest additions is accessible at eye-level, and the last shelf features a drop-box where zine-makers can leave their zines for evaluation and possible inclusion in the library. These spaces, sustained for a specific clientele and creative community, are areas of the Toronto lit scene that hold it together. Zine libraries are spaces that allow for the personal to become public.

Tara Abrahams

confession text by emily deibert/art by wenting li

“Something about doing it in public spaces excited me.”

“Was it the knowledge that virtually anyone could see me?”

“The thrill of potentially being caught?” “Anywhere public would do, but something about campus was just so...

...titillating.” TORRENTING. Oh Yeah, check out those download speeds! 8MB/s, hot damn!

“Those late nights at Robarts, all alone in the dark....”

Fin.

HOW I LEARNED TO STOP WORRYING AND LOVE THE PLANE

My hometown’s airport has two gates: one where you board and one where you disembark. J.A. Douglas McCurdy Airport, named after a man with many “firsts” in flight that aren’t “first man to fly a plane,” is the kind of airport you would expect Sydney, Nova Scotia to have. Despite this, I have spent an inordinate amount of time flying due to attending Uof T and having family spread out across the continent. And flying still weirds me out every time. Planes are our strangest public space: they’re narrow cylinders hurtling through the air so high and fast that when everything goes well they merely hit the ground and screech to a halt. You’ve gone through a lot of security checks, you’re currently at the highest speed most humans move in their lives, and you’re a pack of geese away from understanding that you really will die. They also throw in access to a bunch of TV shows and movies, because if you’re close to death, you might as well be watching something good. I usually don’t watch in-flight entertainment, given that Modern Family and Jason Statham movies

are passed their peaks (Season 2 and Crank 2, respectively). Instead, I read for 20 minutes, nearly fall asleep, and then listen to my iPod and watch other people watch the backs of their seats. This once led to my favourite plane experience ever; since sex, alcohol, and/or friends have not featured prominently in my flight experiences. A man about two rows in front of me and a seat to my left was deciding what to watch after getting back from the bathroom. He was on his own and the flight was Calgary to Toronto, so there was enough time that he could watch anything he wanted at least once. He started with the TV section but after one cycle through “Comedy” and “Drama” it was clear he wasn’t feeling it, despite hovering briefly above New Girl and Homeland. He moved to the movie section and quickly looked at the “Contemporary” section before hitting the back button. I figured this guy is rather critical of the media he consumes, and has already seen the classics in that category. He moved into the “New Releases” and started culling them out

with about four cycles through all the titles. He paused over ones he seemed more interested in, fewer and fewer titles each time until he was down to two. After about 20 minutes of deliberation (during which I was on the edge of my seat) he opted for The Croods instead of Argo. THAT’S RIGHT: THE CROODS. A movie which could be fairly described as starring Nicolas Cage and unfairly described as Dreamworks hallucinating while lost at sea, cursed with wearing the corpse of Shrek around its neck. I was blown away by this man’s decision, a man at least a decade older than me. But I realized in that moment the best way to travel by plane is judgement-free. We’re all dancing on the razor’s edge up there; we’re all stressed about wherever we’re going; we’re all carrying our own emotional baggage *high fives self*. If a man is willing to spend some of his potential-last-wakingmoments watching The Croods, I can’t pretend I’m better than him—especially since I’ve spent them watching him.

Neil MacIsaac