Author: Talia Kliot

Horror in Paradise

Spooky new statistics show a major uptick in breakups due to couples costumes this Halloween season, as reported in a study by a local ghoul. The study was conducted with hundreds of couples aged 18 to 28 in Montreal, but is representative of a greater worldwide trend.

Students make up 66.6 per cent of the demographic surveyed, with 13 per cent of them being Concordians. Of the Concordia students, a dismal two per cent of couples are slated to survive this Halloweekend without breaking up over their costume, and one per cent is expected to make it through without a heated screaming match.

“My girlfriend wanted us to dress up as peanut butter and jelly,” said Ben Shee, a third-year computer science student. “Normally, I’d be all for a couple’s costume, but I’m literally allergic to peanuts,” he said tearfully during a phone interview. Shee explained that after he vetoed this idea, his girlfriend dumped him because he wasn’t accommodating her need to wear the thrifted pink crushed velvet dress she had gotten specifically for the occasion.

Perry Noid is a second-year sociology major who broke up with his boyfriend because of their indecision. “One day he wanted to be Toopy and Binoo, the next day he was set on Linguini and Ratatouille.” Noid lamented his six midterms in the coming hours, and his lack of time to deliberate and plan their outfits.

“Don’t you think my degree is more important than a costume?” he remembered saying to his partner, who replied, “‘Absolutely not.’” From there, Noid explained that there was nothing else to do other than end the relationship and dress as a Montreal Canadiens player for the seventh straight year.

Dating expert Diane Rott noted that this year’s breakup numbers greatly surpass those in the past, and attributes this phenomenon to what she dubs a “high-stakes-Halloween.” Those who have yet to soft-launch their relationships need a clear and concrete way to claim their beloved in a sea of Britney Spears and cats, and therefore turn to couples costumes. However, since people are so excited to properly celebrate Halloween after last year’s terrifying turn of events, they place an absurd amount of pressure on themselves to have the best costume and the best time, throwing all concern for the person they’re with out the window.

So, dear Concordia couples, please beware of these gruesome figures, and remember, the only thing scarier than being alone is having a lame costume.

 

Feature graphic by Madeline Schmidt

Grab the Monet and let’s Gogh

 Museum reopenings to normalize art hoe migration patterns, experts say

Montreal museums reopened on Feb. 8 causing art hoes to flock to various museum sites around the city.

In a recent study written on a cluttered Notes app, an art hoe turned Anthropology major states that 90 per cent of indie Tinder dates are taking place at one of these newly opened cultural institutions. However, this student’s advice for securing these Tinder dates means refraining from mentioning one’s art hoe-ism on dating apps — few understand that they’re hoes for the art, and not necessarily the Chad who looks like a wet golden retriever.

Though, let’s be clear that the pilgrimage is not limited to dates; many group chats are buzzing with ideas to make the trek. And thank goodness they’ve got their Doc Martens to keep the snow out!

As with any phenomenon, the question on everyone’s mind is “why?” Through extensive research and perhaps a tiny ounce of introspection, we’ve compiled the most plausible reasons for this pattern.

The first one that comes to mind is the innate desire to wear thrifted clothes in public. This is a sentiment shared by 100 per cent of art hoes, and a need that has been hard to fulfill during the pandemic. Although many a mom jean and turtleneck have been spotted on a walk around the block or a trip to the grocery store, in our pesky climate, jackets tend to overshadow the carefully curated outfit (it is important to note that hoes are sometimes cold despite what pre-famous Cardi B may have told you — she’s clearly never been to Montreal in February). Nonetheless, museums offer coat checks and toasty heating to ensure that the whole ensemble will be on display. Some might argue that that’s the real art anyways.

Another possible explanation for this migration is, as always, the stars. Some believe that the recent Co–Star notification saying to “Open up your body and soul to art” has provoked the art hoes to storm the museums.

Others explain that after cutting quarantine bangs, this population needs a more permanent change in appearance, and hopes to gain inspiration from a Van Gogh or Matisse painting for new ink. Those not interested in tattoos, however, might be searching for a new screensaver for their phone or a spark for their next poem.

Speaking of poems, museums also provide benches for art hoes to sit on and scribble in their notebooks. This is an optimal location to be noticed for the way their quirky earrings clink against their mask as they write. Maybe someone will even ask them what they have in their Fruiterie Mile End tote bag.

Either way, their plants can survive another few hours without being watered and played Phoebe Bridgers, so it definitely can’t hurt to soak in some culture, and perhaps even bring up the single art history elective they took, From Realism to Abstraction in Canadian Art, after noticing the Romantic undertones of a specific tableau.

Or it could be that the museum provides a well-needed escape from the madness we’re experiencing. But hey, what do I know?

 

Graphic by Chloë Lalonde @ihooqstudio

Categories
Opinions

Disappointed, heartbroken, but not surprised

A Jewish Concordia student on the Shaar Hashomayim synagogue vandalism

As a Jew and the granddaughter of Holocaust survivors, every act of antisemitism feels personal. But this one, in particular, hits close to home.

Last Wednesday, the doors to the Shaar Hashomayim synagogue in Westmount were spray-painted with four swastikas. The suspect also brought a gasoline canister and a lighter, but was apprehended by the synagogue’s security team before the situation could escalate further.

One of the largest synagogues in Montreal, the Shaar is a hotspot for important holidays and life celebrations, and a host for many inspiring speakers. It’s the institution where people cook and deliver Meals on Wheels to 4,000 seniors annually. It’s the place where volunteers bake traditional cookies for the Purim holiday and donate the proceeds to Save a Child’s Heart, a humanitarian organization that provides medical care for children with heart problems who otherwise wouldn’t have access to treatment.

It’s devastating to process that such a horrid antisemitic incident happened to a place with such a positive impact on the entire community.

I used to attend Akiva School, the elementary school that is attached to the synagogue. In fact, the security guard who stopped the perpetrator helped me carry my backpack inside every morning as a child. I posed for my cousin’s wedding photos in front of the same doors that were tainted by hate.

At the Shaar, my grandfather watched all of his grandchildren graduate from elementary and high school — milestones that were stolen from him by the Nazis: the very people who those swastikas represent.

I am disappointed, angry, and heartbroken at this act of hate and the possible further destruction that was avoided by the security team’s quick action. But, I wish I could say that I’m surprised.

The most recently available Statistics Canada report states that 19 per cent of hate crimes targeted Jews in 2018.

In June 2019, a Jewish student was spat on and called a “nazi” at York University in Toronto.

A Dawson College bathroom was vandalized with antisemitic graffiti in October 2019.

And these are only two of the 2,207 antisemitic incidents recorded in B’nai Brith Canada’s 2019 annual audit—8.1 per cent more than the previous year.

This trend is not unique to Canada; a man wearing a Camp Auschwitz hoodie stormed the U.S. Capitol last week. A Jewish man was attacked with a spade outside a synagogue in Hamburg in October. Eleven people were shot dead in 2018 at a Pittsburgh synagogue. In 2017, white supremacists descended on Charlottesville, Virginia chanting “Jews will not replace us!” in their biggest and most brutal public assembly in decades.

This increase in hate crimes might be caused by the rise of social media and the platform it provides for hate speech. It could be tied to political unrest in the U.S. and other countries or a desire to find a scapegoat for the problems of our complicated world. Maybe it’s because the memory of the Holocaust is fading with time.

But regardless of the cause, I am outraged that these events keep occurring. I am tired of seeing my community hurt. Nonetheless, I am fuelled by this outrage to speak out against antisemitism and other forms of hatred, and I know that many others feel the same. In fact, social justice is an intrinsic part of Judaism known as “tikkun olam,” which literally means fixing the world. However, this value is something that anyone can bring into their life. And though fixing the world is a large undertaking, progress can be made in small strides and through a commitment to peace and understanding.

Complicity and silence must be replaced with education and discourse — not only about antisemitism, but about other instances of hatred and racism. I urge allies to stand beside us by following Jewish and anti-hate activists, asking questions, sharing our stories, and standing up when you hear people you know make harmful “jokes” or comments. When people come together to learn, discuss and hear one another, we can assure that while the pain won’t disappear, its cause will not be repeated.

 

Feature graphic by Lily Cowper

Sink your teeth into this: the shocking first thing taught in dental school

Why do dentists always ask questions when you can’t reply?

“Imin marobolog ah cahncourah” is about as good as it’s going to get when you’re asked a question from your dentist who’s elbow deep in your mouth.

Being asked a question while you’re unable to respond has likely happened to anyone who’s ever been to the dentist. It’s frustrating. Why would they ask if they know you can’t reply?

I’m sure this is something that keeps you up at night — and that’s why I’ve compiled some reasons for this common and irritating phenomenon.

“We had a whole class on it,” says Dr. Robert Abdulezer, when asked whether this was something he learned in dentistry school.

In fact, some very reliable sources have mentioned that this is one of the first things future dentists learn. But why?

“It’s more fun for us to ask questions and feel like we’re talk show hosts,” says Dr. Morrie Levy. Though he had dreams of becoming a comedian, dentistry was actually a better option — he gets to talk as much as he wants and his audience can’t leave, let alone boo him off the stage.

As with any profession, it can easily get tedious. Some dentists ask patients questions when they’re working on their mouths to spice up the monotony.

This is a little more far-fetched, but for some dentists, like Dr. Alyce Fischer, asking patients questions that they can’t answer is actually an unintentional reflex. She says that it can be used strategically, “To get their mind off of what is happening, as a distraction,” but that seems too simple to me. It has to be a bit juicier than that.

In fact, I’ve heard that there’s a sponsored points system by the Order of Dentists to reward those with extraordinary abilities to guess what patients are saying. It’s allegedly become a game among them and the assistants. But I can’t reveal more — crimes that involve divulging secret information are punishable by root canals.

“I remember when I was younger it would bother me so much. I was like, ‘Why are you asking me such open ended questions when I just can’t give you the answer?’” admits Dr. Abdulezer. However, upon becoming a dentist, he seems to have forgotten his younger frustration, and says that he partakes in these inefficient inquiries.

Some dentists argue that if patients are really just bothered by this, they should just let their teeth rot. They are not going to change their practices, but patients can change theirs if it really bothers them.

“The smart person would text me the answer and show me it on their phone. That’s big technology,” says Dr. Levy. He laments that teens are always Snapchatting in his chair and would rather them use their phone to solve important issues, like this one.

Only time will tell if this is an effective solution, but I won’t keep you here until your teeth fall out.

Oh, and don’t forget to brush and floss!

 

Feature graphic by Taylor Reddam

Categories
Arts

Tiktok’s Ratatouille musical scurries into hearts worldwide

A Ratatarticle about TikTok’s Ratatousical

There are few things that are better than the TikTok theatre community coming together to turn Ratatouille into a musical.

Ratatouille, the 2007 animated film, follows the story of Remy, a very personable rat, who finds his way into a declining French restaurant and dazzles critics with his cooking prowess. Naturally, he can’t be seen as the chef; therefore, he enlists the help of Alfredo Linguini, a gangly dish boy desperate to keep his job at the restaurant. Remy (consensually) controls Linguini’s movements by tugging on specific strains of his hair and cooks up a storm. It’s safe to say that it’s a masterpiece.

Even before talks of a musical, Ratatouille was considered by many as one of the most meme-able movies, and was popular on TikTok and other social media sites for that reason. Its vibrant characters and dramatic plot, however, make it a lively story to adapt for the theatre.

The idea for the Ratatouille TikTok Musical didn’t just happen overnight. Em Jaccs, a TikTok content creator known for her musical numbers, posted a video on Aug. 10 of an original song based on the movie.

Quickly, the video gained traction and reached other people who thought that this musical was rat up their alley. For example, Daniel J. Mertzlufft, a composer and arranger on TikTok, saw Jaccs’ acapella song and added orchestration and an ensemble, giving it the full musical theatre effect.

More and more of theatre TikTok creators became enthralled with the nostalgic thought of a Ratatouille musical, affectionately known by some as the Ratatousical. They’ve been using Mertzlufft’s audio to come up with choreography, which others have been dueting with their own vocals. Some have begun writing their own original songs and even designing sets and playbills for this show.

While extremely entertaining, these videos were simply blessing For You pages worldwide without any clear direction.

That is until someone called Josh Abram rectified this problem by creating a TikTok account called @RatatouilleMusical.

At the time that this was written, the account had already garnered 75.6 thousand followers and 186.6 thousand likes. On Oct. 26, Abram’s first video was posted, calling actors, singers, tech designers, musicals, composers, songwriters, choreographers and dancers to come together to make this dream a reality.

“I don’t know how we’re going to do this, but we’re going to do it,” Abram says, urging people to email him with original art, dance, song and design.

The next day, an update video was posted, thanking creators for their overwhelming support. Abram explained that the first round of auditions will be held on TikTok, but further details would be announced shortly.

A week later, on Nov. 3, an FAQ video was uploaded to @RatatouilleMusical. It starts with a screen recording of the many emails the team has received and explains that they’re doing their best to respond as quickly as possible.

Abram says that in order to become involved, creators should show their work by tagging the account in their videos and emailing in their portfolios. It’s also specified that this is purely a “passion project” and that the Ratatouille TikTok musical has no affiliation with Pixar or Disney. As for how it’s going to work, they’ve decided that their first goal is to create a concept album and then expand the project to create a full virtual production.

I think considering everything that’s going on, it’s a really fun thing to be focusing on,” says Aleah, a first-year student in Concordia’s Acting for Theatre program who prefers not to disclose her last name.

Vassiliki Gicopoulos, a third-year Dawson Theatre student, says that she “laughed” upon hearing about the musical, but echoes Aleah’s sentiments that “it’s just a really cool way to unite people throughout the pandemic, because there’s not a lot of art going on.”

Lisa Rubin, the artistic and executive director at the Segal Centre for Performing Arts, finds this project “impressive and entertaining.” She commends the TikTok creators for “the speed at which they seem to be able to turn out such unique content in such short little bursts, and also their talent, their vocal ability, and their writing ability.”

Using TikTok as a platform for the Ratatousical also renders the show more accessible. Aleah recalls that in order to watch the Mean Girls musical, she had to watch a “bootleg” version recorded on YouTube. She says that “something like this is great” because it allows everyone to enjoy it.

Even more than that, people are coming together from all corners of the world to create and watch the musical together. In this way, TikTok’s Ratatouille musical “shows that the theatre community is a community,” according to Rubin.

Collective creation within the arts is not a new phenomenon, however. Melanie Thompson, communications manager at the Segal Centre, remembers a time when Weezer crowd sourced one of their CDs on YouTube. Nonetheless, she explains that the “resources that TikTok gives you and the medium of it allows you to do so much more.”

Therefore, Ratatouille’s “anyone can cook!” philosophy is echoed in the birth of the musical on TikTok — anyone can, and should, partake!

Anyone interested in contributing can email Josh Abram at ratatouillethetiktokmusical@gmail.com.

 

Visuals by @the.beta.lab

Can toilet paper single-handedly fix Montreal roads?

Toilet paper might be the saving grace of Montreal’s terrible roads, but there are other theories about this interesting phenomenon.

Montreal has turned commuting into a religious experience; I’ve never prayed more than for my car to stay intact when going over one of the city’s characteristic potholes. Driving on Montreal roads is an experience perhaps more wild than La Ronde roller coasters, but luckily, a sneaky solution is in the works, and might be saving our dire situation.

The first time I noticed it was on my very own street. I was driving home from a friend’s house, and was shocked to see what looked like toilet paper blowing in the wind, scattered like streamers. At first, I wondered if we had been the victim of a movie-esque teenage prank, but as time passed, I began to see that this phenomenon was not unique to my neighbourhood.

As any self-respecting journalist, I realized that it was my duty to figure out why toilet paper keeps littering our streets.

In recent times, toilet paper has gone from a hot topic for giggly nine-year-olds to a widely discussed product by adults. Unless you live under a rock, I’m sure you’ve heard about the toilet paper shortages that marked the first wave of the pandemic.

Experts consider this shortage to be a possible reason for toilet paper on the streets of Montreal. The toilet paper companies, delighted with the boom in business, began to overproduce, leaving them with a surplus that would literally take years to deplete. The companies then decided to donate the surplus to the government, who chose to decorate the streets with it, claiming that it would greatly contribute to “a lack of ambiance.”

“I’ve done my research on this,” said Ben Wexler, who presents a different theory. He’s a student at Dawson in Liberal Arts, so you know that what he says is legit. He explained that though there’s not a substantial coverage of this on mainstream media outlets, there are actually “fluffy aliens” who have heard about the toilet paper shortage on Earth. These aliens have seen us fighting over it, and worry that we’re going to “come up there and start using them as toilet paper because we don’t have enough.” Wexler says that they dropped the toilet paper down to Earth as a precaution against this frankly rational fear.

Oakley Griffin, an Honours English Literature student at Concordia, originally wondered whether this phenomenon was the “aftermath of some failed protest.” He’s discovered, however, that stuffing toilet paper in the cracks of the streets is supposed to help mend them. To this, he wonders “whose dad is in charge of fixing the roads,” as this stunt is reminiscent of his own father dealing with an ant infestation by killing them using duct tape.

“With a 3-ply roll of toilet paper, from Charmin, no less, you get the best results,” explained Randy Brandman Farber, a Montreal therapist, on how it helps fix the roads. She says that because of the high quality of the product used on the streets, she would have no hesitation “scraping it up” and bringing it into her home if there was another shortage.

Wexler echoes this sentiment, but for different reasons, citing that “it’s a gift from the aliens, and it would be rude not to.”

In addition, given that public restrooms are often closed in these tumultuous times, toilet paper on the roads provides an excellent solution in an emergency bathroom situation.

That being said, toilet paper might, in fact, be the saving grace of Montreal’s bumpy roads. Either way, its presence on the streets is a soft caress reminding us that though we might not be able to see our friends, at least it’s always got our backs… or better yet, behinds.

 

Feature graphic by Taylor Reddam

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