An Open Letter from an Unrepentant Foodie

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July 11, 2016

Anyone who knows me personally knows that one of my greatest passions in life is good food. Legend has it, in fact, that like some sort of modern-adaptation gender-swapped Demeter, I emerged from the womb with a cornucopia in one hand and a pumpkin spice latte in the other. Bearing that in mind, watching fine meals go to waste is, understandably, a sore point.

I’ve fasted for Ramadan since the seventh grade, and grown up with my parents’ stories of working to escape poverty in a new country. I’ve undergone serious emotional upheavals due to Pretty Little Liars’ sharp decline in quality with little besides cinnamon swirl coffee cakes and green tea frappuccinos to comfort me. Those experiences have shaped me into a particularly vicious defender of the rights of all that is delicious.

The social etiquette engineered by a patriarchy that seeks to drive every single one of us to regret eating that extra cherry pie has silenced my blazing desire for justice on myriad occasions. I’ve seen close friends of mine drop Tim Hortons goods and chuck them away despite no actual food-floor contact having been made. On a field trip to the Chamber of Commerce to watch yet another politician wax lyrical about what they want us to believe are the “real issues,” I noted numerous unrepentant one-percenters abandoning plates of New York cheesecake because the colour contrasted with their perfectly sculpted buns and made for a suboptimal Instagram #foodporn post.

Look, I won’t bring the starving residents of developing countries into this. In fact, I have far too much respect for their daily struggles to so much as speak of them in the same sentence as the sycophants of extremist cuisine capitalism whom I criticize. But I ask those of you who can afford to spend $50+ at The Keg and trash half your dessert to at minimum consider the feelings of the petit bourgeois who settle for Superstore’s trusty tubs of heavenly hash ice cream.

That iced capp you just clumsily fumbled? Not one bit of it kissed dirt, you cotton-headed ninny-muggin. If it was good enough for you when you bought it, it’s still good enough for you now! Your “ending is better than mending” attitude is the reason we’re probably all doomed to an artless dystopia of social castes and hallucinogen addictions.

If you mean to forsake everything that you drop out of some bizarre scruples, then by God, start with that course you decided to take in a later semester (I promise you round two is probably not going to be any better), or that stale top 40 mixtape of which you’re probably so proud. And you know what? I bet Drake, Sia, and Selena Gomez all finish every last bite of their dishes and tip well to boot.

Alternatively, find some goddamn coordination if it helps you sleep peacefully. I understand the three-second rule doesn’t work for every scenario, but at least try to develop the grace, balance, and elegance necessary to cherish the spoils of your labour. Tell yourself that you deserve better than wasted, uneaten Twinkies.

With sincere love, and hope and confidence in my heart that you’ll change for the better,
A morally infuriated social crustice warrior,

Zach Siddiqui

Other stupid holidays white people are bound to advocate for

By

EIC

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July 11, 2016

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You may notice that we white people seem to ask for a whole load of stupid holidays. What most people don’t know, however, is that we whites have a plethora of frivolous holidays that we have yet to drop your way. Here’s a list of some other ones we’re getting ready to advocate for.

Reverse Racism Remembrance Day

Can you remember all those times someone has referred to you as a cracker or honky? Well, I can remember all three! We would like to make November 12 a day to remember all those racist insults non-white people have ever thrown our way, with a moment of silence followed by a solemn performance of the “Chicken Dance.” Take that, reverse racism!

Basic Bitch/Bro Appreciation Day

Whip out your Uggs and sip your pumpkin spice lattes, people — it’s time for the most basic day in history! February 6 is a time to celebrate your inner basic bitch or bro. This is an excellent time to head on over to Starbucks and chant “OMG I CAN’T EVEN!” as you sample a cornucopia of caffeine-infused beverages.

Bring Your Minority Friend to Work Day

Tired of everyone assuming you only have white friends? We feel your pain. On March 12, show up those generalizing assholes by bringing that one minority friend you have to work. Whether it’s your black friend who struggles to maintain a smile while you say the N-word during a Drake song, or that Asian friend who you make fun of for not being able to use chopsticks properly. You know you aren’t a racist, and fuck anyone who says otherwise!

Vent Your White Guilt Day

Many white people in this world totally aren’t racist at all, and just really mean well — and on May 27, by God, are we going to remind you all for the millionth time. So everyone, don’t be threatened if some white guy walks up to you to apologize for slavery, even though you’re actually Persian. We need to remind you that we feel really bad about a lot of shit, even if we don’t remember exactly who we did what shit to. Look, the point is we feel really bad guys! Can’t we just all get along?

Deliberating On Who is White Day

This is the most important day for white people, because it’s the day we decide who is in the ‘club.’ Originally reserved for WASPs only, eventually we finally got around to bringing Irish, Italian, and Spanish people into the fold. So on June 25, get ready for us to figure out who’s in and who’s out. In the ‘40s Jewish people weren’t in vogue, but now they’re white as hell! And in the present day, anyone who’s Muslim is seen as some brown person who’s potentially a terrorist. So come on in and celebrate the lottery of who is least likely to get profiled in Western countries based on race! Woohoo!

You know you’re a gender studies student when…

By

EIC

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July 11, 2016

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As a student in the tiny department of gender, sexuality, and women’s studies (GSWS), I get to be in the most engaging, thought-provoking, and entertaining classes every semester. Here are four tell-tale signs that you may be a GSWS student.

You become a feminist unicorn. Sniffing out discrimination, maiming misogyny with unicorn horns, and stomping out sexism with our hooves is what we do best, to achieve equality for all genders. We also wear sparkles, because we are fucking unicorns.

You become critical of everything. Remember that popular song by The Weeknd? Have fun pretending that those misogynistic lyrics don’t exist. Do you still love it anyway? Yes, of course — but that critical lens, once open, shall never close again!

You’ve been targeted by an anti-feminist Twitter troll. Ah, behold the typical ramblings of anti-feminists. With their keen talent for vulgar language and missing a point, get ready for comments such as, “Oooh. . . the big bad patriarchy boogeyman is out to get you??” Insert eye-roll here.

You love being completely aware of the gender norms that people follow. Well, somebody told me that I can’t do something because of my gender again. Please excuse me while I go all Judith Butler on you and send those norms down to hell.

I don’t love myself, deal with it

By

EIC

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July 11, 2016

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Hello. My name’s Courtney Miller and I don’t love myself.

It’s a simple statement that shouldn’t be a big deal. Nothing says that I’m required to give myself my own undying devotion — nothing except for the prolific mantra in our Western culture that states I do in fact need to love myself, and that if I can’t or I’m not trying to do so, there must be something wrong with me.

We even take it a step further by demanding that someone must love themselves before they can be in a loving relationship with someone else, or before anyone else will be able to love them. It’s an incredibly problematic sentiment, especially when we blur the definition of self-love to encompass self-value as well.

“If you don’t love yourself, how can you expect anyone else to love you?” is a question I’ve not only been asked myself, but one that has spread through our collective consciousness. These messages of self-love proliferate throughout our media, literature, and entertainment, and their toxicity has got to go. I don’t enjoy immersing myself in this culture of self-assigned self-worth.

I’m here to tell you that it’s all bullshit. If you love yourself, that’s fantastic. But there is nothing wrong with someone who doesn’t, and we should be more cognizant of the fact that not everyone even can. It should not be something we require of others.

I do not need to love myself in order to love others

When we push the idea of self-love on those who don’t feel capable of that experience, we’re only adding to their problems. No one should feel like an outcast because they don’t, won’t, or can’t participate in the same self-adoration rituals.

I probably will never love myself. I’ve accepted that, and others should, too. But just because I cannot love myself, or value myself, does not mean that I am incapable of engaging in love or having value. There is no reason why I cannot enjoy a happy, fulfilling life despite not loving myself. Nor do I need to love myself in order to love others.

I am the closest I have ever been to loving myself, and it’s not because I’ve meditated or done yoga, or read one of those self-help books about eating, praying, and loving, or had plenty of ‘me time.’ I already know and understand myself. That’s how I know that I don’t love myself.

Rather, I am the closest I have ever been because I’ve found somebody I love more than anyone else, and that connection gives me fulfillment.

She doesn’t need me to love myself, because she’s accepted that my lack of self-love is part of who I am. Despite not conforming to societal expectations, I have a wonderful relationship. “It’s okay if you don’t love yourself,” she said to me one day. “I love you enough for the both of us.”

We need more of this. People should be supporting others, not ostracizing them because they don’t feel comfortable engaging in self-adoration.

So please, don’t passive-aggressively send me links to BuzzFeed articles about how to love myself, don’t suggest self-help books to me, and don’t tell me I just need to find myself. Trust that I know myself well enough to be able to find my own inner peace, even if it doesn’t look like yours. Love isn’t one size fits all, so stop trying to make it that way.

It’s exhausting to be surrounded by people giving relationship advice that entirely consists of mantras like “You need to love yourself before you can love someone else.” We shouldn’t tell people who to love, and that means we shouldn’t tell them how to love, either.

Not only do you not have to love yourself to love someone romantically — you don’t even have to love someone else at all. How you feel is how you feel, so screw people who tell you that you’re doing it wrong. Feelings are never incorrect. No one can dictate to someone else how they should feel.

If you want to learn how to love yourself, go for it. I wish you all the success in the world. But don’t try to shoehorn self-love into your life if it doesn’t feel right. Don’t do it if it’ll only frustrate and upset you. You are how you are, and you are lovely as-is.

Peak Comics: Peers

By

EIC

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July 11, 2016

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Stop catcalling me!

By

EIC

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July 11, 2016

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[dropcap]C[/dropcap]atcalling is not okay. By that, I mean whistling and shouting unnecessary sexualized comments at people. It also illustrates serious problems in the way people interact with one another, and it’s time to clarify some things.

Catcalling is harassment, and for many women it happens regularly. That leads people, particularly men, to think that we should be fine with it, or just shrug it off.

I know a lot of people justify catcalling with “Well, maybe you were asking for it.” This is simply untrue, and I know that first-hand.

I was at SFU Surrey campus one Tuesday morning. For those of you who don’t know, the campus is inside a mall, and as I walked down the stairs to the food court to pick up a snack, a group of men entered the mall a good distance behind me. They abruptly became very loud and rowdy, and so I walked a little faster, as I had no interest in what they were saying.

Then they started yelling: “You in the jeans, why you walking so fast? Girl, where are you going?” At this point I realized they were talking to me. I looked back, and because they were pleased to get a reaction out of me, they became even louder, spewing more vulgar comments. No one else in the mall said or did anything.

Because they were pleased to get a reaction out of me, they became even louder, spewing more vulgar comments.

Let’s begin with the fact that catcalling makes most women feel highly uncomfortable, especially when those catcalls comefrom a group. It makes many of us feel the need to walk in the other direction, to cross the road, or to just avoid the harasser at all costs. The fact that someone is making vulgar comments to a person they don’t know leaves women in fear of what could possibly happen if they chose to keep walking down a certain path.

A lot of people will just advise you to ignore them. Well, that’s far easier said than done, as this kind of harassment can be very hard to ignore. If someone is yelling at you from across the street with “Hey girl, nice legs! Well, you could at least say ‘thank you’,” how do you expect me to ignore that? I’ve been singled out in front of everyone, and now I’m being expected to accept a ‘compliment’ that I didn’t want in the first place? What is wrong with you?

I don’t need to be told that I look good in my outfit. I know I look good, and that’s why I put it on. I’m not saying that women don’t like to be complimented, but it must be done in the right way. Why can’t you just politely walk up to me and say that I look nice, or just keep it to yourself? I am in no need of your approval.

Why am I forced to think twice before wearing something that may cause unwanted attention? It just makes me and other women feel highly self-conscious. It’s dehumanizing and verbally abusive.

Dear catcallers, please hold your tongue, because I don’t care what you think.

When you buy lecture notes online, you only cheat yourself

By

EIC

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July 11, 2016

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[dropcap]T[/dropcap]ruth be told, I get a little protective of my notes when scouring eyes peer over shoulders and onto my personal class materials during lecture. Maybe I’m too uptight and I should ease off my exam mode during regular class time, but I am a firm believer of the phrase “You get out what you put in.”

And this is especially true in the case of taking proper and personal notes during class to help achieve a kick-ass grade at the end of the semester.

A recent article in Australia’s The Age investigated the buying and selling of class notes online, following the success of a University of Melbourne student named Alastair Weng. Weng, who is incredibly talented and organized, also sells his notes to other students online. According to him, this allow him to “[help] students understand some weird concepts” while also bringing in a little bit of income on the side.

To me, buying notes to study just seems like a cop-out, and makes a student who has purchased these notes seem lazy. I get it: life gets in the way, time runs out, and suddenly it’s 3 a.m. and you still have no idea what weeks eight to 11 were about. Essentially, you are cheating the system and paying someone else to do the work that you are supposed to do.

As a self-proclaimed keener, I do make the effort to go to every class and take my own notes, not only because I’m paying $177.39 per credit hour, but also because it is the right thing to do. Instead of wasting time (and money) to seek out notes from others, why not just buckle down, go to class, take some notes, and study them?

With no context of what went on during the lecture that day, it might be hard to put the words on the paper together.

It’s clear that this trend is not unique to Australia. Note-selling has become a hot market in the United Kingdom, the United States, and even here in Canada. There are many websites available to help students sell their lecture notes to desperate students at affordable prices.

A quick search turned up that SFU students are also supplying their own notes on various sites. One website in particular allows students to access a vast wealth of notes from about 90 different SFU programs, with specific notes for courses in those programs.

Having this easy way out perpetuates the idea that we don’t have to work hard because there will always be something to fall back on. But what guarantee is there that the notes someone else took will work for you? With no context of what went on during the lecture that day, it might be hard to put the words on the paper together.

Further still, what if (God forbid) the professor changes their lecture material? That would throw those notes and whatever money you spent on them, down the drain. And even if the notes do work out, how well will you really learn the material when someone else has already done the work for you?

The benefits seem to be far greater for those writing up the notes than those using them to pass. Don’t waste your money by buying notes while also spending money taking classes — sit down, roll up your sleeves, and write some damn good notes that would make your mother proud.

Boohoo, Woohoo

By

Peak Web

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July 11, 2016

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Boohoo: OtterBoxes

Or, more specifically, the stalled potential of the popular cell phone case called OtterBox. Don’t misunderstand: my lavender case is a beloved and key player in the fight to keep my iPhone from befalling the same fate as its poor, traumatized predecessors. But I feel we’ve stopped short of a level of quality to match the exorbitant amounts of cash we invest in our cases.

Why stop at protection in a variety of colours? Why can’t I have an OtterBox modelled after the faces of famous Canadian politicians? What about ones modelled after famous pieces of Renaissance art? When someone cute asks for my number, I want the power to hide my butterflies behind a static Mona Lisa smile.

If you love your consumers, OtterBox — and I hope you do, considering we keep your cushy Colorado-based operations running while eschewing the starving artists producing aesthetically superior knock-offs — then I’d like to request that you please answer to the public’s needs.

Woohoo: Boxes of Otters

It’s 2016, which means yet another year of celebrating cute animal videos and otherwise commodifying living things for our comfort and amusement. It should be no surprise that this is the latest in security measures.

Don’t want your screen cracking? Shelter it in a clump of soft, cuddly mammals. Scared of water damage? Considering the otters will already be fighting over precious aquatic real estate while cooped up in that box, your device likely won’t even be in the running for a turn in the morning shower. Worried that friends will glimpse sensitive texts from your ex about all that stuff you left at their apartment? Your team of waterborne ninjas will guard your secrets as zealously as the SFSS conceals the contents of in camera meetings.

Treat them with love, and when the rest of your squad is too busy to slide into your DMs, you’ll have better friends to keep you company.

My worship of superheroes is no laughing matter

By

EIC

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July 11, 2016

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[dropcap]W[/dropcap]ith 600 miles from Calgary to Vancouver, I had more than enough time to reflect on the havoc running away from home had created. Watching the sunset from the back of my taxi to a crackling playlist of bhangra music, I sat quietly and wondered if home would be there when I arrived, and if I was even worthy of returning.

On the pages of a recently purchased graphic novel, the Dark Knight faced a fate not unlike my own. Lost in time, Bruce Wayne had thrust himself into an impossible situation for which success was seemingly unobtainable; much like myself, he too needed to find a way home but did not know the way.

Waiting for my plane to arrive, I read Batman: The Return of Bruce Wayne to find escape in my time of greatest sorrow. But instead, I found something greater in the hero’s long trek back to Gotham: a path to redemption and forgiveness.

By the time I turned the final page, I had arrived in Vancouver. Both Batman and I had finished our journey in unison. We had been pushed to our brinks, but we had both grown stronger as a result of our venture, both finding a way home in the process.

Today, my Batman graphic novel sits upon a shelf with hundreds more like it. It’s commonly misconstrued as a miniscule sliver in an ever-growing collection of superhero merchandise, when it and other works have become so much more to me.

The world of superheroes is not just a fandom for me; it is a religion.

Whether it’s the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man struggling to juggle his myriad responsibilities, the Green Lantern Corps pushed to their mental and physical limits, or simply the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen teetering on the edge of good and evil, there’s always been something for me to unpack in the world of capes and domino masks that helps me in my daily life. And every bit of it has been an integral part of making me the man I am today.

These tales, as tall and extravagant as they are, have offered me more poignant anecdotes and complex situations than I could’ve ever anticipated. Their persistence today has a worldwide effect not only on myself, but also on others who seek both guidance and redemption in their struggles.

Superheroes don’t just depict humanity’s strength, but also our potential. Superheroes challenge us to be the best we can be. They dare us to soar higher and to persevere even in the face of defeat. They inspire us to be the most heroic versions of ourselves.

And without them, I know I would be truly lost.

There are days when I wake up in the morning feeling paralyzed by the weight of my past failures to such a degree, I could swear that a kryptonite crystal was pressed against my chest. On those days, surrender feels too strong to resist. It feels inevitable.

But because of superheroes, I endure. Because of them, I fight through the pain and take one more step, even if it is agony. I learn to keep moving forward amidst fear, and always believe in the power of justice, hope, and love.

All you have to do is look just under the surface to find something you or anyone else can identify with. Although they may be just pencil and ink on splintered panels of paper, superheroes are always coming to my rescue and teaching me to believe in the most important element of the life-changing miracle machine: myself.

Canadian Blood Services once again proves its needless discrimination

By

EIC

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July 11, 2016

0

[dropcap]I[/dropcap] have been donating blood since 2013, and it deeply saddens me to hear that Canadian Blood Services (CBS) will be adopting a complicated new protocol on August 15 with regards to blood donations from trans* people.

Dr. Mindy Goldman from CBS told the CBC that the new protocol “recognize[s] that [trans* people are] a group of Canadians interested in participating in blood donation.” The dark truth, though, is that the new policy is just another way to discriminate against trans* women who’ve undergone gender confirmation surgery by preventing them from donating blood for one year after the procedure.

We’ve been through this kind of thing before, namely with CBS’s former ban on donations from gay men who had had sex within five years. The good news is that CBS has finally smartened up somewhat by lessening the wait period for these men to one year. Still, the donation protocol is nowhere near as practical as it should be.

Having been a registered donor for most of my eligible life, I’m familiar with the tests, warnings, and security questions asked during every donor screening. I completely understand the importance of being careful about donating blood. Dr. Goldman called trans* women a particularly high-risk group, given that an estimated 27.7 percent of Canadian trans* women live with HIV, as the CBC reported.

The policy is being implemented because 30-50 of the over 400,000 registered donors identify as trans*. That’s 0.00125 percent at most, and sure, there may be some more individuals who don’t identify as trans* yet — but that number is still extremely small. Show me the need for a policy impacting a group of people that constitutes a tiny percent of the registered donor population, and I can show you needless and discriminatory rule-making.

The discrimination is aimed at trans* women because of the policy’s focus on gender confirmation surgery. Dr. Adrian Edgar, a trans*, queer, and reproductive health expert, told the CBC there’s no proof that gender confirmation surgery directly affects the safety of trans* people’s blood.

As CBS’s website explains, the organization tests all blood collected for diseases. Since the tests are imperfect, additional precautions are necessary because of “window periods,” which occur after infection but before the current testing can detect the virus.

However, the focus of the policy is on surgery, not sexual relations. It doesn’t seem like the policy is necessary, and the CBS even alludes to this idea on its eligibility requirements webpage, which states that undergoing any type of surgery generally doesn’t impact a person’s ability to donate, just the medical condition that sparked the surgery.

They further clarify that one only needs to be fully recovered and feeling well before donating. If the donor received blood transfusions during the procedure, then they have to wait 12 months before donating (as goes for any blood transfusion services).

In plain language, this suggests that the surgery isn’t the issue, but rather the reason for the surgery is. In other words, the gender confirming surgery isn’t the issue; the trans* identity is. If you don’t think that’s discrimination, then maybe you need to re-evaluate your perspectives on equality.

The new policy reinforces two common feelings within the trans* community: that of not being valued, and of not being seen as part of society. It supports the erasure of trans* identities while hiding behind a fake podium of support and recognition. Shame on you, CBS.