Short Tall Story Holiday Deprogramming | spent the holidays in Toronto, the place | was born and where | lived for twenty six years. One, | guess, cannot go home; while | lived there | had never noticed the fast pace at which Torontonians now appeared to live. Living in Vancouver for the past year and a half has mellowed me. I've become vegetarian in Vancouver, whereas in Toronto | would consume half a poultry farm and a side of cowina week. I’ve now forsaken material goods, whereas in Toronto my charge cards were always hot from overuse. | now drink herbal teas, whereas in Toronto | was a Java junkie. On the West Coast | have begun to move more peacefully and serenely, whereas in Toronto | moved faster than a windup toy on bennies. | have , allin all, become a far better person living in Vancouver. In other words, unbearably boring. Until my holiday visit back home. As soon as the plane landed | noticed the hectic pace. | stood back as people scrambled to collect their luggage, gazing at them in a calm, pitying way as | rubbed my crystal for guidance. But then it happened. My bag rolled into view, and like a madman | pushed everyone, including a baby in a carriage, out of my way. Instinctively | shoved through the crowd with nary an “Excuse me”. Instead of being disgusted with myself, | smiled. | was proud. | had come home. Having not eaten meat for a year and a half, | was dogmatic about the virtues of being vegetarian. My family huddled in horror as | ranted and raved on. | would sit at the dinner table and nibble on my usual greens and greens while the family slowly ate their dead animals. | sat with my eyelids slightly lowered, feeling pompous and disgusted and superior. Then it happened. | was walking downtown when | happened to pass a Kentucky Fried Chicken outlet. Now these establishments exist here in Vancouver, but it’s just not the same - you need to smell that chicken grease in Toronto. Suddenly | was rushing into the place and ordering a family picnic bucket and eating the whole thing in a matter of minutes. My full Vancouver cult-deprogramming was well on its way. As | walked home to my parent’s house even pigeons, cats and babies looked delicious. | next went into a cafe and ordered a triple espresso. The coffee pulsated through my veins and | was ready to join the shopping crowds. My credit card, which | had refrained from using in Vancouver, was held at the ready, never to go back into my wallet. | pushed and shoved onto the subway with my parcels. Everyone just stared at me, for | had the biggest smile. | was alive again and | had come home. At least until the inevitable return to Vancou- ver. Jerry Stochansky ea Rhos Planet of the Arts Dad — RATNER Ie, emote ee meer ite eae eesti etna eT Column as | See’em If the Ministry of Higher Education is considered the College's constituency, where do we students fit in? Is our purpose to placate the Ministry too? | think not. | think our purpose here is to work towards being artists. I'll even stick my neck out and say that this is an important, honourable, and valuable thing for us to do. As a student | have two constituencies. Myself, and society. Why society should value art is a big question. There is no question though that it does. Humans have made art since past any memory. The earliest memories are art. Our world, on any level that you care to look at it, is shot through with art. Art is a thing of and in the mind. It's value is not physical - (say like a turnip). But though not physical, the value of art is very high. High enough that pictures sell for millions, artists spend years struggling for mastery, and society will pay 90% of the cost of Art Colleges. I need Art Colleges. Society needs Art Colleges. The Ministry of Higher Education serves society by providing the schools it needs; among them, Art Colleges. The Ministry is not the Administration's constituency. It is the Administration's boss. The Administration's job is to execute the Ministry's need for an Art College. | have the idea that the administration doesn't see it this way. | imagine that their view is that artis a boondoggle and that it fears that the Ministry will wake up to the fact and jerk the rug out from under us all. Thus their plans to decorate the calendar with "practical" design courses. The assumption is that art is impractical. | find that the adminstration's view of practicality is an obstacle to my education as an artist. They speak of getting the money for major expansions, but not of how to overcome the deficit they already have for existing programs. The future looks like one containing bright new buildings, crammed full, with restricted access, erosion of the fine-art program, and higher fees. I'd prefer that the administration serve my interests as an art student by exploring ways to practically enhance art and art education. They should leave the creation of a design school to someone else. Martin Hunt «co ah Astro- | nau aad om he AVES to Kk P The moon: fac ante a S\N a enero Vol. 3 Number 4 A Play for the Dying The death scene was played many times over; a very long monologue with pauses for air. It was well attended. The faithful fans got their money's worth and still they begged for more. There was much fanfare and applause followed by lengthy critiques. It was a long- running play and yet the actors managed to revitalize the story. Each previous scene was reworked to keep it current; to hold the audience in the present with just a touch of nostalgia. Lest we forget. And the fans were eager to share in the drama and to purge themselves of their own existence. Yes, to forget. Tonight was a command performance. The protagonist - brilliant, so well rehearsed even he didn't know he was acting. The spotlight shone for him and the supporting cast faded into the shadows, having long since lost their enthusiasm. A volunteer from the audience was requested before the final curtain fell. And the one who knew that imaginary lines do not exist crossed the threshold that night, so that the show could go on. A.Starco Ty ARK : OS Fa Sean “T hompso nbd} These are , Som the moon. Thinks bye! | the moon rock Wakes the council next time! I'l take thie | [and check with back to the moon. the Toy Safety \ G fe 4. \)) i — || Ws ‘ aS L Ke Short Tall Story Holiday Deprogramming | spent the holidays in Toronto, the place | was born and where lived for twenty six years. Ono, | guess, cannot go home; while | lived there I had never noticed the fast pace at which Torontonians now ‘appeared to lve. Living in Vancouver for the past year and a half has mellowed me. Ive become ‘vegetarian in Vancouver, wheraas in Toronto | would ‘consume half a poultry farm and a side of cow in a week. I've now forsaken material goods, whereas in Toronto my charge cards wore always hot from overuse. | now drink herbal teas, whereas in Toronto was a Java junkie, On the West Coast | have begun to move more peacefully and serenely, whereas in “Toronto | moved faster than a windup toy on bennios. | have , all in all, Become afar better person living in Vancouver. In other words, unbearably boring. Until ry holiday visit back home. ‘As soon as the plane landed I noticed the hectic pace. | stood back as people scrambled to collect their iuggage, gazing at them in a calm, ptying way ‘as rubbed my crystal for guidance. But then i happened. My bag rolled into view, and like a madman | pushed everyone, including a baby in a ‘eariage, out of my way. Instintvely I shoved ‘through the crowd with nary an “Excuse me”. Instead cof boing disgusted with mysolt, | smiled. Iwas proud. Trad come hom Having not eaten meat for a year and a half ‘was dogmatic about the virtues of being vegetarian. My family huddled in horror as I ranted and raved on. | would sit atthe dinner table and nibble on my usual ‘greens and greens while the family slowly ate their dead animals. | sat with my eyolids slightly lowered, feeling pompous and disgusted and superior. Then it happened. Iwas walking downtown when | happened to pass a Kentucky Fried Chicken outlet. Now these establishments exist here in Vancouver, but its just ‘not the same - you need to smel that chicken {grease in Toronto. Suddenly | was rushing into tho place and ordering a family picnic bucket and eating the whole thing in a mattor of minutes. My full Vancouver cul-deprogramming was woll on ts way. ‘As | walked home to my parent's house even pigeons, ‘cats and babies looked delicious. | next went into a cafe and ordered a triple espresso. The coffee pulsated through my veins and | was ready to join the shopping crowds. My credit ‘cad, which | had refrained from using in Vancouver, was held at the ready, never to go back into my wallet. | pushed and shoved onto the subway with my parcels. Everyone just stared at me, for had the biggest smile. Iwas alive again and | had come home. At least until the inevitable return to Vancou- Jerry Stochansky Planet of the Arts Column as | See’em Ii the Ministry of Higher Education is considered the College's constituency, where do we students fit in? Is ‘our purpose to placata the Ministry 100? think not. I think our purpose here is to work towards being artists. I'l even stick my neck out and say that this is an important, honourable, and valuablo thing for us to do. ’AS a student | have two constituencies. Myself, ‘and society. Why society should value at is a big question. There is no question though that it does. Humans have made art since past any memory. Tho ceatliest memories are art. Our world, on any lovel that YoU care to look a tis shot through with at. ‘Artis a thing of and in the mind. i's value is not physical - (say like a turnip). But though not physical, the value of artis vory high. High enough that pictures al for milions, artists spend years struggling for ‘mastery, and sociaty will pay 80% ofthe cost of Art need Art Colleges. Society needs Art Colleges. ‘The Ministry of Higher Education serves socioty by Ant ‘constituency. It is the Administration's boss. The ‘Administration's job is to execute the Ministry's ‘an Art College. ' have the idea that the administration doesnt soe it this way. limagine that their view is that artis a ‘boondoggle and that it fears that the Ministry will wake Upto the fact and jork the rug out from under us all. Thus their plans to decorate the calendanwith “practical” osign courses. The assumpiion i that ats impractical. ind that the adminstration's view of practicalty is an obstacle to my education as an artist. They speak of Getting the money for major expansions, but not of how {0 overcome the deficit they already have for existing programs. The future looks like one containing bright ‘new buildings, crammed ful, wth restricted access, ‘rosion ofthe fine-art program, and higher fees. fd prefer that the administration serve my interests as an art student by exploring ways to practically enhance art ‘and art education. They should leave the creation of a design school to someone el. Martin Hunt Vol. 3 Number 4 A Play for the Dying was played many times over; a ith pauses for air. hwas wel running play and yet the story. Each previous scone was reworked to keep it Current; to hold the audience in the present with just a touch of nostalgia. Lost we forget. ‘And the fans were eager to share in the drama and to purge themselves oftheir own existence. Yes, to forget. Tonight was a command performance. The protagonist - briliant, so well rehearsed even he didnt know he was acting. The spatight shone for him and the supporting cast faded into the shadows, having long since lost their enthusiasm, ‘A olunteer from the audience was requested bofore the final curtain fll. And the one who knew that imaginary lines do not exist crossed the threshold that right, so that the show could go on. A.Starco andes Dad Sean Thompsont is an astro-|]he goes to oe the moon: ee» + 4 uae * \These are [From the moon) The meen rock Wakes the dedd | [Back to Steep! Lonntgtt SQ & Ti take the pack t the moon \ (ant check with | the toy Safety council nest time!