Weekend Reviews

I think Kaydi put it best when she said that Nuit Blanche, the Scotiabank sponsored free all-night contemporary art thing (their phraseology, not mine), is "just a city-wide, corporation-endorsed pub crawl."

I'd have to agree. I'm sorry, but a yarn shop teaching people to make yarn pom-poms for a massive "pom-pom exchange" is not art. And I don't do line-ups. End of story.

The Clothing Show was also a bust, apart from this silk-screened t-shirt featuring my house! (For real. That's the eaves of my new place in the upper right hand corner above the streetcar.) It was basically a bunch of designers who figured it was a good opportunity to get rid of last season's stock. Annoying. It's a good thing I used my student press pass to get in for free. (I pay $6000 in tuition fees a year for this press pass. I might as well put it to good use.)

In other news, Carla (our loyal and hard-working EIC) informed us today that she has created an "RRJ* Breakdown Meter." I didn't get to grill her for details about what warrants a code red on the meter, because immediately after this annoucement, everyone started trying to one-up each other on how many times in a period of one day they had cried at school so far this year. (I think Rebecca took the prize because she has already cried 3 times in one day.)

It's only October 1st.

I, on the otherhand, am basing my RRJ/McClung's Breakdown Meter on my health. Pinkeye is only like a code yellow. I'm scared to find out what code red is.

Because I know you guys can't get enough of the pink eye photos. (Check out how swollen my right eye was--you can tell because it's waaaaay smaller than my left eye in this photo. Hilarious. But only in retrospect.)

Due to the pink eye, I also had to wear my glasses out for the first time in 5 and 1/2 years of bar-going activities. It's a good thing that the sexy secretary look never goes out of style.

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*RRJ=Ryerson Review of Journalism. We live, breathe and eat this magazine. Well, maybe not eat. In fact, most of us are currently in the development stages of our eating disorders; some are subsisting solely off muffins and pizza buns from Dominion, while others are on a strict coffee-only diet.