Woohoo: Gay club

I recently had the fortune to check out a gay club in Vancouver, called the Junction. Going in, I assumed that it’d be like any other Vancouver club, besides a slightly different clientele. However, as I received a stamp on the arm from the topless man at the coat check, it dawned on me that this place was unique.

It wasn’t just the nearly seven-foot-tall drag queens, or the half-naked men on the dance floor sucking face with a passion I wanted to take notes on; it was the utter joy on people’s faces. It was seeing everyone be who they were without compromise. Young, old, straight, gay — the binaries disappeared and partying hard was all that mattered. Security personnel seemed almost ornamental: the space’s safety never felt compromised.

Gay clubs are a beautiful microcosm of love and passion that other nightclubs could stand to emulate more. Not to mention, the one place where you’re guaranteed not to get dry humped without consent.

Boohoo: Nightclub

Looking to spend your hard-earned pay cheque on watered down booze and a night you’ll probably forget? Grab some comfortable kicks and a shirt you don’t mind staining with sweat: it’s time you hit the club.

You’re only one arm-and-a-leg cab ride away, if you can get past the velvet rope and the self-hating bouncer. It’s smooth sailing after that, and all that’s left to do is fork over an overpriced cover charge and coat check fee to get into a club that couldn’t reach maximum occupancy if it tried. But, hey, you’ve thrown $100 down the drain without even trying — you might as well go all the way. Start bumping and grinding to a mix that your 10-year-old cousin on Froot Loops could have mastered better.

To conclude your night of dancing (or a poor excuse of drunken shuffling, whatever), try procuring transportation back home. Have fun forgetting that it’s the taxis with the lights on that are available.

Remember that Christmas holiday Justin Trudeau took with his family in the Caribbean? Cute photos, nice weather, tabloid coverage, et al.? If the answer is “no,” that’s OK, because it’s not actually as big a story as you might think — unless you’re a Conservative MP, that is.

See, the recent gossip is that some of the Trudeaus’ travel companions had their names redacted from the flight manifest. As it turns out, the Trudeaus were joined by nanny Marian Pueyo, as well as Sophie Grégoire Trudeau’s parents, Jean Grégoire and Estelle Blais.

Controversy surrounding the new prime ministerial clan has already blossomed over the discovery that the public’s taxes are paying for things like nannies for Justin and Sophie’s children, and the extra security plus specialized flights required for their vacations. The redaction, followed by such a seemingly innocuous revelation, has set many political figures on edge. Some, such as MP Blaine Calkins in an interview with CBC, have gone so far as to say that it “smacks of a coverup.”

I understand the frustration. A lack of transparency is bad enough; an unnecessary lack is even more so. But this fuss is about minutia that Trudeau’s opponents are taking advantage of: championing “honesty” not because of any serious breach, but because they want an excuse to criticize the prime minister. It’s time to put down the “controversy” surrounding this undying adventure.

It’s not like Trudeau personally dived into the records and illegally destroyed information; the redactions were a decision made by national security, and I assume he has every reason to trust them to do their jobs correctly. That their judgment slipped in this case is hardly a bad reflection on him.

As for Trudeau overspending on his holidays? He doesn’t have much choice. Canada’s prime minister isn’t allowed to take ordinary commercial flights when he travels, because of the security risks. Sure, maybe losing out on exotic vacation destinations is a first world problem, but punishing his family for his job still seems unreasonable.

Besides, Trudeau actually did personally pay out quite a bit for that trip. While taxpayer dollars cover some expenses, the PM and pals still pay the equivalent to economy-class fare. Relax, guys — he’s not using you to gallivant across the land for free.

As for non-family member Pueyo? Of course the government paid her travel costs: she’s their employee, and it’s totally legal for them to do that for a residential staff member. Frankly, why would anyone see a job that requires you to pay enough money for a Caribbean visit as anything but counterproductive? Who would willingly take a job like that?

None of this is new procedure, either: Harper was doing it too. His New York weekend with his family in 2011 for baseball and Broadway expended $45,000 in taxpayer money.

I’m not saying that these are invalid concerns; there’s definitely merit to arguing against this, and critically analyzing your country’s leadership is important. But if you’re fighting for better allocation of your money and better transparency, stop blaming the guy who’s been in office for under a year. Political issues like this typically don’t trace back to just one person, and the problems people have come from long-standing policies and institutions.

That’s what we should focus our energies on challenging — not the three people you didn’t know were flying with Trudeau’s family.

I was born on February 25. My mother tells me I was smiling. If that’s the case, it was probably only because I was too young and naïve to realize the odoriferous truth: I was a Pisces.

For those who evaded the misfortune of being born under this subpar cosmic arrangement, I’ll break it down. We’re dead last on the zodiac cycle, probably because nobody cares about us. Our symbol resembles a gigantic “H,” which shows that the twin fish clearly can’t spell, so there goes any career opportunity I might have had in the arts.

The most confusing factor of being a Pisces is this. You know how everyone allegedly hates Geminis for being two-faced? We’re like that too, but at least Geminis have pretty faces; we’re stuck with ugly fish faces.

I like to believe that I’m not really as aromatically repulsive as real fish, but this dual existence is probably the one way in which I feel a genuine rapport with my sign. See, I’m a person of contradictions. Now, I embrace that; growing up, doing so wasn’t quite as natural a process.

I grew up in a vaguely conservative, but still fairly progressive, Afghan household with a loving family and well-defined Eastern values. The environment elsewhere was most definitely not that. I felt consistently out of touch with the people with whom I shared classrooms. I didn’t recognize their artists or find their jokes funny; I didn’t know how to deal with them and remain true to myself.

But the older I got, the more I realized my knowledge of even my mother culture was lacking. Nuances of etiquette escaped me at every family function; switching languages caused words to jumble together into a tapestry of miscommunication.

There was no place where I felt anything besides inadequacy. Progress in one area seemed to lead to regression in another; the happier I was outside my home, the less happy I was within, and vice versa. Knowing that I was far from the only person to experience such a situation, I couldn’t understand what rendered me so incapable of resolving it.

There wasn’t any earth-shattering event which reinvented my perspective; the pressure rose and a dam just broke. Nobody controls what they’re born with — not birthdays, not bodies, not blood. But we can make it all work for us, because it’s usually a sweeter deal than we think.

I saw my identity as the site of some fairytale struggle between the different aspects of my heritage, my personality, my likes and dislikes. But perhaps this wasn’t a war in which one side had to be victorious. Thesis and antithesis could synthesize; two fish could synchronized-swim their way to happiness.

Don’t worry so much about how people perceive your hurricanes of emotion. Learn about your roots instead of expecting the information to magically appear. I’ve been blessed with wonderful friends and family, and I finally feel like I’m on the road to being part of both the Canadian community I was born in and the Afghan heritage I’m linked to.

I might complain about literally every aspect of my life, but ultimately, I’ve accepted the different facets of myself. Including the part with a bizarre vendetta against tuna and marine life.