I walked into the Student Advice Center. I had already phoned in, and asked to schedule a meeting with a ‘person that knows about housing.’ I was ushered to go in to the office in the corner.
A man with greying hair who looked good-natured greeted me; the kind of guy that you would like to run into if you were lost in a dark forest.
“So, what can we do for ya?” he asked, as he leaned onto his chair comfortably.
“Well,” I started hesitantly, “the house I was renting caught fire, and I was wondering about the legal process. Such as, how much would housing insurance cover.”
Without changing his expression – I was pretty sure he had heard some pretty weird stuff working there – he continued to explain that that the issues involving law wasn’t really his speciality, and that I should talk to other people in the center.
Not wanting to leave empty-handed, I asked what I was curious about. I asked what kind of queries he got the most often then.
“Well,” he said, as he slumped on the reclining chair, “you know, you get your usual shady landlords trying to rip-off students that don’t know any better. I then have to go check the houses and stuff.”
“And then, what happens?”








For some Bollywood actors, I don’t mind watching their films twice: Shahid Kapoor is one of them. To write this review, I watched Chance Pe Dance on DVD again to refresh my memory. The film was as entertaining as I’d first watched it a month ago.

I went for a NOH8 photoshoot today with my bandmates. It was organized by Daryl Dyck, a Vancouver photographer. The band has been a proud supporter of the local gay community for years, so it wasn't a vanity project - it was something we felt we needed to do.

Because of the Christmas holiday, fewer doctors and hospital staff were on duty. John was taken to the emergency room, where a neurosurgeon awaited him with a smile. It was the first time I had ever been to an emergency room in the States. The room looked a lot smaller than I had expected, and not every doctor looked like Dr. Greene or Dr. Carter on ER. Everybody looked “normal,” maybe too normal. We were led into a private room where the neurosurgeon and a nurse were busy preparing for the procedure. John was surrounded by all sorts of machines that were making rhythmic noises. The neurosurgeon began to inform us of what he had found on the MRI.





