By: Grace Bocking
On behalf of all students, I would like to commend you for your impeccable timing. You somehow managed to coordinate your arrival with the start of a new semester, and I couldn’t think of a better way of welcoming us back if I tried. Truly, nothing motivates me to jump back in to school more than the promise of blistering winds in my face. It’s just what I need to get me out of bed in the morning.
For a while there, I had been convinced that you weren’t planning on showing up at all. I had spent the break mitten-less and with my coat unzipped, so you can imagine how overjoyed I was to learn of your sudden return. I always did like that about you, your spontaneity. There really is no better surprise than being caught in -15 degree weather without a hat or gloves. After all, nothing can beat that moment of pure bliss when your extremities finally lose all feeling. Sure, the first few pages of my lecture notes may not be entirely legible because my fingers were still in the process of thawing, but it’s not like I had anything better to do than rewrite them when I got home.
While some like to complain about the chill in the air, I can only revel in the many joys it brings to my everyday existence. I’d have to say that one of my favourite things about you, cold weather, is the eternally drippy nose you cause. Sniffles are the unofficial sound of the season—a symphony that echoes through every lecture hall for four to five months each year. I mean really, there is no more pleasant sight than that of a floor littered with discarded tissues. And if a nose that runs like a faucet wasn’t enough to warm me to the cold, the copious amount of clothing I have to layer on before venturing outside definitely did the trick. I had been searching for an excuse to wear that hideous-yet-undeniably warm sweater I had been given for Secret Santa this year, and now I have the perfect opportunity.
So, cold weather, I am glad to have been able to take this brief moment to give you the appreciation that you truly deserve. The fact of the matter is that you can only last for so long. We likely only have three more months of you left to enjoy – four, if we’re lucky. Time flies when you’re freezing, so please, stick around for as long as you’d like.
Signed,
Winter’s number one fan
By: Olivia Monadro
It has recently come to my attention that there is a terrible infestation in the McMaster hallways. A mob of them lurks in the shadows, scanning the crowds of students, patiently awaiting it’s next hurried victim. What kind of creature is this, you ask? Its blood thirst rivals that of a shark; it’s more ruthless than an anaconda, and sneakier than a raccoon. It’s the slow walker. This horrid creature tends only to reveal itself when you’re in a rush and already late for your next class. There are many of these creatures disguised as regular-speed students, and they choose to inhabit the parts of campus with the most traffic.
My most recent encounter with a slow walker happened two days ago while I was unsuccessfully trying to get to tutorial on time. I was zipping through the student center, doing my best to weave my way through the throngs of students, when all of a sudden I was stopped dead in my tracks by a group of three girls walking slower than slugs. I tried to dip left, then tried to veer right, but there was no getting past these zombie walkers. My urgent stress about being late for class didn’t seem to cross their minds as they took their delicate stroll through the student center that day as if they didn’t have a care in the world.
Some of these monsters are separated from the pack, but these are even more dangerous. They pull out their phones, trying to find their way back to their pack. In their desperation, they abandon any pretense of a reasonable field of vision. They’ll walk into you, stop, or pull a 180-degree turn. Individually, these creepers are even more unpredictable. What Mac needs is a slow walker lane, just like the ones that have recently popped up in Shanghai.
These slow walkers who have taken up residence within the walls of our school need to be stopped. Don’t let their apparent innocence trick you, and never let your guard down. The only way to anticipate a slow-walker attack is to keep your eyes peeled and your pace brisk. Go to a parkour lesson and take notes from the chase scenes in the Bourne movies. Get pumped listening to Ludacris’ Move B**ch. The chase is on.
Get outta the way!
People with actual things to do
Last week, I noticed a particularly offensive message had been posted to the Spotted at Mac Facebook page. The post was blatantly racist, and the majority of commenters agreed that it was extremely inappropriate. Frustrated and confused as to how this ever made it past the moderators, I commented explaining my issue with the post and questioned who could ever have deemed it appropriate to publish in the first place. Unfortunately, despite many people agreeing with me, it seems Spotted at Mac cares more about its reputation than it does about silencing discriminatory content, as I soon found that not only had all my comments on the page been deleted, but I had been banned from ever commenting again.
Before I get into why this is such a big deal, I want to preface this by saying that I actually did enjoy Spotted at Mac, and was - initially - a fan. Like many McMaster students, when Spotted at Mac was first introduced, I admired the concept of broadcasting anonymous messages to nearly 10,000 students, as this could be a way to give students a voice, helping to build a community among students while boosting the confidence of those involved. This anonymity could be used as a way to break down the intimidating aspects of student life, allowing those who needed advice or help transitioning through the experience that is university life to have a practical resource. Unfortunately, Spotted at Mac proved like so many things before it that anonymity is dangerous in the wrong hands.
While the page did in fact start out the way I had hoped, over time Spotted devolved into something uneducated, and deeply flawed. While the flirty and complimentary messages were there, more frequently I found negative comments that existed only to insult someone, rather than making them feel welcome. Even posts that seemed positive initially were soon filled with sexism, racism, homophobia, and other forms of discrimination that made people feel anything but welcome. All of this brings us back to the issue: why does any of this matter?
Well, the way I see it, there are two models Spotted at Mac could work under. The first is to heavily moderate the content that gets posted. This means making sure that anything offensive doesn’t get published, and if it does, making sure it is quickly taken down. This moderation would have to extend to the comments as well, ensuring that users understand that the page is promoting an inclusive environment for students. Obviously this is flawed for several reasons, but there is one that is especially important. It is clear that the administrators controlling what gets posted on Spotted are likely prejudiced themselves (I can’t imagine any other reason for the discriminatory content I’ve seen getting past moderators besides them simply thinking it was funny themselves) which makes this ideal option unfortunately not an effective one.
So, the only alternative is to let your community regulate itself. Much like Smith’s economic “invisible hand”, this system involves moderators doing little to regulate Spotted’s content, allowing community members to decide via comments what is and isn’t appropriate through self-regulation. This theory has a lot of flaws. In fact, one needs only to browse through Spotted at Mac for a few minutes to see that this theory isn’t an effective one. What’s worse is that even if you like this idea, Spotted at Mac simply isn’t practicing it. By banning those who speak out against negative content they are essentially combining the two methods to create a truly unfortunate hybrid. If you are a lover of free speech, you too are out of luck.
The current system of Spotted at Mac is one where free speech is allowed, but only if it is done with the forum’s own wellbeing in mind. Seemingly borrowing from major dictatorships of the past and present, Spotted picks and chooses what they like and dislike, while removing anything and anyone who disagrees with them. What’s left is a mouthpiece for hate speech and discriminatory content, so long as Spotted supports that message, which unfortunately is far too often.
My message to Spotted at Mac is simple: start working to make your page an inclusive one, choosing to censor discriminatory content and promote a positive environment, because McMaster is not a school that opposes diversity. We embrace it. If you cannot do this, it’s time for you to go.
With the final wave of midterms over and finals looming over us, it’s the time of year when grades are returned and people inevitably talk about how they are all doing oh so poorly. How is that possible? Is everyone at McMaster stupid? Are all the professors out to ensure none of us succeed? Oh wait, you got an 11 and you are worried about it dragging your 12s? Let me play you a sad song on the world’s smallest violin. Some of these people who complain about their near perfect grades seem so oblivious. To be fair, I understand that if you worked your tail off all year and just miss the all 12 mark, it is pretty frustrating. You have every right to be upset, but why don’t you think of the other student with an 8 average who just passed you? How does he feel? Obviously you have no moral obligation to make this lower achieving student feel good about his mark, but it’d be nice. Or at the very least not say something that makes them feel like shit.
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On the flip side, this does not mean this 8.0 individual can then go complain about it on Spotted @ Mac and make some obscene comment about snobby Health Science students. One, they’re not all snobby. That’s just rude and you’re making a very hasty generalization. Two, why don’t you use that person’s success to motivate yourself to try harder? Instead of trying to shift the blame to high achieving students, you should reflect on why you are not one of them. At the end of the day, if you put forth your absolute best effort, and you end up with an eight average, there’s no shame in that.
And then there’s the average Joe who spends 20 hours studying for a midterm and gets a mediocre grade. I cannot even begin to imagine how annoying it is when your friend tells you he studied for an hour and got a 12. It probably does not help that he spend the entire week before explaining to you how screwed he was for the test and how he had not started studying yet. I would not blame you if you slapped him in the face.
Am I being hypocritical? Maybe a little. I think the difference though is that in my first example, the high achieving student earned the grade, whereas this other student just seems blessed with an impeccable brain. It comes down to the general belief that you get what you put into something.
Tl;dr: keep your head up, and keep it to yourself too.
Sincerely,
Oh-My-God-Finals-Are-Next-Week
Jason Woo
The Silhouette
Who do you think you are? Strutting all up in my face and telling me to change my diet. I know KFC’s Double Down is a death trap designed to put me to sleep. This doesn’t mean you need to tell me I should be munching on some celery instead.
Don’t confuse my hate for you as hate for your brother, real healthy food. I know he means well, which makes him hard to hate, at least until my mom gives me some Diet Coke to drink. The consolation is that bits of him are quite good – like baked fish, oatmeal and honey nut Cheerios. This doesn’t mean we are best friends, but we’re definitely pleasant acquaintances.
My real gripe is with you, not-healthy-healthy-foods, or as I like to call you, two-faced healthy scumbag. It’s one thing for me to give up scrumptious sugary goodness for a little less flab on my tummy, but it’s another thing for me to give it up in exchange for the same amount of flab, but with no satisfaction from what I eat. You know what I’m talking about: cranberry juice, granola bars, premade salads. I should have smelled something fishy when it didn’t taste so different from what I usually consume, but I guess I simply thought you were a decent human being.
And how dare you trick me into paying more for ‘healthy’ foods? There are people out there, myself obviously not included, who genuinely want to get healthy, and instead are deluded by your shady marketing schemes. Thanks for letting me know that your smoothies are made with real fruit, while handily ignoring the boatload of syrups and dairy products you threw in as well.
Stop throwing words like ‘organic’ and ‘gluten-free’ at us too. They don’t always mean healthy and you know it. At least McDonald’s has the decency to tell me straight up that their fries are deep fried multiple times and with enough preservatives to last a couple months.
I hope you’re content knowing that a bunch of us are happily making PB&Js with reduced-fat peanut butter – blissfully unaware that you just replaced the fat with sugar, salt and empty calories.
Don’t let me see you on campus, because I am not afraid to throw you into my deep fryer.
Sincerely,
I-Love-Food
Emma Suschkov
The Silhouette
Why must you taunt me so? Every time I hear a catchy song, you make me want to move to the rhythm despite never actually imparting on me any talent.
Unfortunately for me, it is not exactly acceptable to break out into enthusiastic, if far from skilled, dancing in many social scenarios. Say for example my favourite dance tune comes on while I’m in the dentist’s office waiting for the receptionist to call my name. The other people in the waiting room might be tempted to run away if I suddenly busted some (awkward) moves. But that’s exactly what you make me want to do. In addition to the social constraints that keep me from dancing whenever you make me want to, money prevents me from attending dance classes. Whatever, I don’t want to follow steps in front of a giant mirror anyway. I want to groove somewhere where I don’t have to watch myself and realize the visual horror I am creating.
Which brings me to the problem I face today. I don’t have a dance outlet. Apparently, that’s what clubs are for.
Except not.
When I say “dance”, I mean I want to do my thang and my thang does not involve grinding.
Grinding, while I see its utility as both a mating ritual and a way to dance/feel all sexy-like without having to learn how to dance, is not what I’m looking for. It’s not what you make me want to do. I’ll go to a club with the intention of dancing my face off to keep you in check for a while and instead of finding myself shaking a tail feather, I find other people trying to rub up on my tail feather. This is not, in fact, what everyone in a club wants (some do obviously, and they have every right).
But what, then, am I supposed to do? Do I turn around and shout over the ridiculously loud music at them that our desires are not mutual? Do I give up trying to stress my vocal cords to insane decibels and just sort of run away so they are left grinding, confused, all alone?
Seriously, desire to dance, you must see how you injure me. If there existed some way for me to manage you without all these problems and awkward encounters, we might live in harmony.
Until that day, please save it for when I’m alone in my room.
Please and thank you,
Coordination-challenged Cora
Miranda Babbitt
Assistant LifeStyle Editor
The wait for you each year feels so much longer than 365 days. It feels like a billion, drawn out, sugarless hours, as though I am perpetually stuck in the post-sugar-high rut. This is a condition characterized by alarmingly low levels of Christmas spirit, persistent drowsiness, and a general sense of whatever, man. Its onset is caused by the distinct and often ridiculously sudden disappearance of our favourite friends, our baked friends – our Christmas goodies.
Apparently you’re made of an addictive quality, and so if you’re not by our side, a fierce craving fills the void you have left in our hearts, or stomach. Sugar, they call it. You know, at one point in time, I thought I knew everything about you. Now I feel like I hardly know you at all. Are you angry because, what, we eat you? Look, friendships are about sacrifices. Let’s not get into this again. I’m mad at you. You left us all over again. No tins of shortbread, no jars of rainbow-sprinkled brownies, and certainly no polka-dot plate adorned by a charming red velvet cake, dollops of white icing dipping up and down like the sea of joy it is.
You know how we like to pretend we’re disappointed to see you for the sake of our waistlines? Yeah, that’s a big fat lie. Everyone likes to feed into the twisted, hilariously common misconception that their body is, among other things, a temple so sacred that one cookie will lead to a devastating collapse, walls crashing down the flour-dusted kitchen tiles. When you come through our front door, often held in the hands of our grandma (not emasculating at all, I don’t know what you’re going on about), or after having magically appeared on our bedside table paired with a cup of tea, haven’t you noticed the way our eyes light up? That’s chemistry, my love.
And let me just say, come Christmas time, you’re a damn miracle. Honestly, your conception is divine nearly every time. You are reborn each holiday. Man plus woman = human. But sugar, spice, plus everything nice = miracle. I know you’re not comfortable with the talk still. I’m just saying I, for one, do not disregard your divinity.
So, can you stay? Just a couple weeks more? I literally just stooped to the level of hailing you as divine. Buddy, I just likened you to a god. Fine, sugar-coating the problem won’t work? What about some brutal honesty, huh?
You’re severely emasculated when you’re carried to my front door in my grandma’s arms. There. It had to be said.
Signed,
Still want U back
Brianna Buziak
The Silhouette
Especially around the holidays, even though “‘tis the season to be jolly”, being single has unfortunately led me to have a great feeling of sadness about love and relationships. A season meant to bring people together makes people feel so lonely and long for that “special someone” more so than any other. The holiday season brings upon us two holidays that often make singles feel even more like singles, Christmas and New Years Eve.
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When every other commercial or advertisement you see around this time of year is about getting the aforementioned “special someone” the “perfect gift,” it tends to get to you a little bit. The gift itself is not what is at the root of the problem but who gave it and how. Remember that commercial where the couple is skating on a pond and he leaves a diamond necklace on a tree branch for her to find? Or the one circulating this season is where a guy travels by foot and subway with a multitude of balloons to stand outside his girlfriend’s window in John Cusack Say Anything-fashion in an attempt of a romantic proposal. I have almost cried watching two-minute jewelry commercials
And if I end up crying at a short YouTube ad, you had better believe that I am a wreck for feature-length romantic Christmas movies. One in particular that pulls at the heartstrings every time is Love, Actually. Seeing all the relationships work out in the end or become resolved makes you wonder- if all these people can get it together, why can’t I? I’m well aware that this is fictitious and a Hollywood representation, but when even the twelve-year old boy professes his love to his dream girl on Christmas Eve, cute factor aside, I feel like I may as well quit trying.
And New Year’s Eve. I absolutely love New Year’s Eve, the possibility of something new or a fresh start is always exciting, but one part is extremely daunting. The New Years kiss. I wish I could say that it doesn’t mean anything, but it does. When the clock quickly approaches midnight and there is no one around, that feeling of loneliness seeps its way into your psyche. Healthy relationships are wonderful any time of the year, but around New Years Eve, it is comforting to know who that person will be at midnight and hopefully it will be someone you want by your side for 2014. Because if what “they” say is true, how you spend New Years Eve is how you spend the rest of the year, and no wants to spend 12 months feeling lonely.
So to all those who are shaking their heads, this is just an interpretation of singledom during the holiday season. Not everyone who is single and in their twenties will feel this way, this is just one girl’s take on it. So bring on the mistletoe-adorned doorways and fireworks to ring in the New Year, but in the mean time, I’ll be spending my days with a box of Kleenex and a queue of jewelry commercials.
Jason Woo
The Silhouette
You are human bromodosis. You are the guy who pees in the urinal right next to mine despite there being other empty urinals. You are the opposite of Robert Downey Jr.
All joking aside, you are the worst.
Every year I tell myself that I shouldn’t hold you to such a high standard – after all, Halloween was pretty amazing this year, especially with all the Miley Cyrus costumes parading around. But here you go again, proving me wrong year after year.
In my work-induced fits of anger, I’ve come to realize that I hate you because you’re an incredible tease. The weather is too cold for fall fashion but too warm for winter wear. Sometimes it looks like you might unleash some snow, but instead you either let the rain drizzle or sprinkle us with some hail.
And then there’s what you do to me and my relationship with school, or lack thereof. With exams around the corner, I should be looking into studying, but instead I am clobbered by a wave of assignments and projects. This in turn means I’m spending an awful (correction: deathly tragic) amount of my time in the library, where I can gaze out the window at 6 p.m. to let my mind innocently wander… only to see nothing but a pitch black sheet of doom. I don’t understand the trade of one extra hour for what seems like an eternity of darkness.
Sometimes I decide to head over to Starbucks, where Christmas drinks are back and maybe the baristas will comfort me with their recommendation to enjoy a sweet today, to which I always say yes. At the end of my drink, however, I’m really just reminded that it’s November, and alas, these red cups are a part of the teasing nature of this dreadful month.
I’ve also had to retire my bike because it’s too cold, so now I have to walk like a caveman. In my walks, often marked by philosophical musings, I get to see just how drab the world around me is. Most of the leaves have fallen off the trees and the colourful fall hues have all faded to a monotonous grey.
Maybe I’m not giving you enough credit, November. After all, it’s through collective complaints about you that I have bonded with many friends. Nothing like some good ol’ fashioned talking behind a month’s back to bring us all together.
I would love to talk more about how awful you are, but I have a paper to hand in tonight. Thanks for that.
Feel free to leave whenever your cold heart desires,
A struggling student
Sarah O'Connor
Staff Reporter
Dear Christmas,
You're my favourite holiday, and I know I’m not alone on that. I just can't resist you. I love the Christmas music, the Christmas specials, the candy canes, the Santa hats, the multicoloured trees and singing ornaments. The looks on my family’s faces, excitement and love, sitting around the Christmas tree and opening presents with glee. It’s a chance for us all to be together with no work or school. And once it snows, it will feel like you're right around the corner and the countdown can begin!
But while I love you dearly, you do get on my nerves from time to time. It's only November, Christmas. And that means one thing – it's too early for you!
Last week, I saw you in every store in the mall. Your red and green sweaters, flashing toys, ridiculously early sales and neon twinkling lights[1] - you were practically shouting that you were on your way. Halloween hadn’t even arrived yet! I’m sorry, Christmas, but that’s just a little rude.
Even though Halloween isn't my favourite holiday, I enjoy the appearance of black cats and witches’ hats, but I certainly don't need you breathing down my neck so much. Halloween gives you no excuse to be so creepy.
Christmas, it’s only November. We still have Remembrance Day, and our neighbours in the States still have Thanksgiving, I know we don’t have any more days off until you arrive but these holidays are just as important as you, maybe even more so since they haven’t been commercialized like you have.
Every time I leave my house I’m afraid to see your telltale LED lights because you’ve convinced another person that Christmas is only two months away. I shiver looking at my Newsfeed on buying propecia Facebook in case one of my friends has posted a daily countdown to Christmas.
I love you Christmas, but let’s slow it down. By the time it's really your moment to shine, people will be sick of you. With the way you're acting now, people are going to replace you with Boxing Day. Perhaps some already have.
In a nutshell, people are starting to think you're desperate, Christmas.
Sincerely,
A Christmas lover who likes the wait
