“Sometimes, Jim, I think you’ve never listened to a single thing I’ve ever said besides 'come on my tits.'”
In This Issue
Discussions of illness rely too much on metaphor. Why can’t we just say what we mean?
Two years ago, an Ontario man was killed by a Siberian tiger—one he kept in his own yard. Nobody knows how many other deadly pets might be prowling Canada’s suburbs.
In the summer of 1977, one makeshift, beer-soaked venue brought punk rock to Montreal. Then the mafia showed up.
La belle province has its own humour industry of massive superstars and classic shows. Too bad the jokes are totally lame.
Five years ago, Justin Ferbey helped his Yukon community become one of Canada’s few self-governing First Nations. That was the easy part.
Is social networking truly “Orwellian”?
There’s a massive park in the Occupied Territories, built on the ruins of destroyed villages—and it’s named after the Canadians who funded it.
The cartoonist on his new book, The Death-Ray, and getting in touch with his inner sixteen-year-old.
Do alternative weeklies have a future? Inside the recent upheaval at a Montreal media institution.
At Poetry Idol, contemporary verse is very much alive—at least when it’s onstage.
We all tell stories about other people. But is that impulse born of compassion or fear?
Fukushima after the nuclear disaster.
"Lust" and "Mating Ritual."
“You came to Montreal for what? Your own pleasure?” asks the nurse in strangled English.
Fall listens: Feist, St. Vincent, Drake, Extra Happy Ghost!!! and more.