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Timber Timbre makes spines tingle

From under a brooding, vermilion-red show light, the sound of a weathered mind filled up the delicate wood grains of St. Matthew’s Church. Timber Timbre, more intimately known as Taylor Kirk, projected his unique blend of haunting and laboured folk onto the fair weather watchers of the Halifax Pop Explosion. Aided by the haunting violin of Mika Posen and the subtle yet captivating lap steel of Simon Tottier, Kirk crafted frail soundscapes with the stinging bite of a wounded and weary soul. Between the jarring, almost overwhelmingly emotional Tom Waits meets Bob Dylan meets Devandra Banhart musing and jagged bursts of swamp-blues Fender Telecaster, the crowd’s roaring applause cascaded through the hall only to become dead silent at the hint of another song. Well-behaved and respectful, the crowd hung on every moment of Kirk’s performance. Waiting anxiously as songs wound down, they wondered whether to clap or remain sitting in awe.

Though throwing a few classics and fan favorites to the audience, Kirk relied heavily on the sounds of his recent self-titled album. Armed with sparse instrumentation, the church was filled to the brim with eerie, atmospheric blues and folk driven by a piercing and homely bass drum played by Kirk himself. In songs like Demon Host, the sense that you were experiencing this ethereally haunting music in a church became increasingly apparent and quickly sent shivers down your spine. Playing to the ambiance and his surroundings, midway through the set the Ontario native, aided by a looping pedal, created a cacophony of fluttering bird calls and whistles to back his already sonically rich performance. Though he was devilishly silent, almost withdrawn, the audience was appreciative and captivated by the immense conviction that Timber Timbre exuded.

Quietly shuffling offstage, Kirk chivalrously made way for headliner Jenn Grant. While certainly lightening the mood and engaging the audience with some charming stories and quirky banter (not to mention her lighthearted repertoire of bouncy pop-folk), Grant failed to deliver with the same urgency and emotion that Kirk seemed to leak like a sieve. One might wonder if the venue had gotten its wires crossed on the performance order, for although the crowd were all ears to songs like “Blue Mountains” and her much adored hit “Dreamer,” it seemed the fiery conviction had been snuffed out. Grant’s performance – while beautiful in its own right – seemed reduced to a subdued lull after the seething sounds of Timber Timbre.

See Herman Dune and Julie Doiron play St. Matthew’s Church

Grade: A

Leave your house early. On the way; wonder if Julie Doiron is nervous. Sit in a church pew in the second row. Commend your good timing. Watch people arrive. Notice they are all beautiful. Have your shoulder touched by someone you are happy to see.

When the house lights turn down, be calmly excited. Watch Doiron set her purse down beside an amp. See the slim silver needles sticking out of it. Wonder what she is knitting. Have her tell you she is, in fact, nervous. Listen.

“It’s been a really long couple of days,” she says. “Well it’s been a long life, really.”

Laugh with her. Listen to her new song. Get choked up. Don’t let anyone notice. See her hand with no pick in it. See her hurried fingers expertly pluck the strings. Listen to her play “Spill Yer Lungs.” Decide the beginning of that song is your favourite guitar riff. Later, listen to her sing in French. Wish you understood while the amps make your ribs shake.

See Fred Squire play drums. When it gets quiet, see Squire flick the cymbals with his fingers. Notice at the end of songs Doiron and Squire lean back then slowly forward, ending their set on the same beat, together. Lunge with them.

Have the house lights tenderly warn you the next band is starting. Watch David Herman Dune appear on stage alone. Think he sounds like John Darnielle. Have your friend say he’s reminded of Jonathan Richman’s deadpan humour. Agree. See Dune walk and dance on his tiptoes. Picture a praying mantis. Admire the way he plays guitar as if it were just another of his long limbs.

Get to know David Herman Dune before Neman Herman Dune approaches the drum kit. Welcome his arrival. Listen to David sing a song about being drunk, but not on wine. Hear your roommate Julia say, “I think he’s drunk right now.”

Tell her, “I think he’s just French.”

Listen to them play this really long intro to “My Home is Nowhere Without You.” Feel how the recording really doesn’t to it justice. See Neman concentrate, appear almost feverish; his gaze fixed past your head, mouth open. See him rest his chin in his hand in between songs, nodding slowly. Wonder what he says yes to.

Feel their set come to an end, see the trees outside scrape the stained glass windows of the church. For the last song, sing along when David tells you to; you’ve signed on. Clap with everyone until David and Neman return to the stage. Have them play a three-song encore. Feel appreciation. As you leave, realize you don’t know how to play music, but you do know how to love it.

Pack us up, we’re sold

Grade: A

Giggles and high-pitched voices pierced the air at Coburg Café on Sunday.

“Dan Mangan was so, so good,” a girl told her three wide-eyed friends. “So good.”

Two days after his first-ever Halifax show, Mangan’s music was still the talk of the town. Last Friday, about 150 people packed The Company House. They gabbed through opening acts Norma MacDonald and Edie Orso, but when Mangan stepped from behind the velvet curtain the chatter ceased. It was as if he anticipated the Company House crowd when he wrote the lyric “I can hear the eyebrows raise when I start singing.”

Mangan took the stage with two fellow B.C. musicians, Laura Smith and Michael-Owen Liston, who took time out of their solo spotlights to join the tour. Smith flitted from trumpet to keyboard to vocals and back. Liston played banjo with a bow.

Between soulful, gritty melodies from his latest release, Nice, Nice, Very Nice, Mangan told classic tour tales of how a train almost hit the band’s trailer, and how he caught swine flu in Ottawa.

“Might wanna sanitize this mic,” he said once – often turning from the crowd to cough.

Mangan has a tendency to push himself too hard. In this case, little sleep and lots of interviews plagued his tour enough that he cancelled his first Halifax show at Dalhousie’s T-room. So it was no wonder Friday’s show was packed.

“I’m a really ambitious person,” he said. “I always take on more than I can. I always work best under fire, too.”

Vancouver homeboy looks like a teddy bear, but there’s a growl to his voice. His tunes seem simple, but his lyrics are deep. Mangan writes unapologetically about what he knows: himself. He’s “a sneaky kind of selfish,” according to one lyric, and Canadians coast to coast are eating it up.

Who can blame them? No one wants to listen to a modest singer-songwriter these days. Ho hum. Seductive is the musician who sings humbly while simultaneously bearing his soul.

A close friend of Mangan’s who attended the Halifax show, said the singer has a nearly undetectable ability to squeeze every last note out of a song as it ends, guiding the crowd, then starting the next tune without losing them for a second. He compared it to squeezing every last drop out of a wet towel. Patrons sipped up every note.

Before he began his final song, Mangan offered two tambourines, a tom-tom and a set of sleigh bells to audience members so they could clamour along to “Robots.” What followed was the single best live song of this year’s Pop Explosion – a sing-along celebration of Mangan’s fast rise to national recognition.
“Robots need love too,” the audience sang, as if gathered around a campfire. “They want to be loved by you, they want to be loved by you.”

As the song finished, the crowd was still hungry enough to spontaneously burst into an a capella verse of this final tune. Here, on the opposite coast from the trio’s home, was the first place on the entire tour the band had experienced an a capella encore call.

“We didn’t plan anything,” Mangan apologized. “Do you guys want a six-minute sad song?”

As the set ended, Haligonians’ hearts were as fuzzy and warm as if they’d just squeezed a stuffed animal. Maybe that’s why women’s voices go up an octave when they recommend Mangan to friends during coffee dates. I doubt it’s the caffeine. Though Mangan certainly mimics the rush of “coffee refills far as I can see.”

Girl Talk caps off Pop Explosion with historical performance

Standing in line at Girl Talk’s Oct. 24 performance at St. Antonio’s Dance Hall, it was hard not to listen to the anxious crowd in attendance spilling along the side of the venue. “I don’t think any fights will happen here tonight,” said one attendee. “Girl Talk makes pretty intelligent music and he has intelligent fans.”

It’s kind of hard to support this argument when you have groups of girls jumping up and down screaming “I love having sex, but I’d rather get some head.” But it wasn’t the last time Girl Talk’s genius would be discussed this night.

Starting the set off early was Rich Aucoin with a chunk of his live band. Although having fewer instrumentalists on stage in comparison to his Deerhoof opening slot last year, Aucoin certainly had one of his best opening performances of his career thus far. The half-filled venue was jumping up and down and going crazy for Aucoin’s upbeat mixture of Sufjan Stevens meets a pep rally.

Once the crowd filled out a bit more and the balconies became packed, the lights were dimmed, followed by a deafening scream from the crowd. Girl Talk came through the curtains hopping up and down while addressing the crowd. As quickly as the mic was put down, fans charged the stage in an attempt to get close to one of their favourite musicians. Security helped a large array of girls clad in American Apparel and thrift store rejects onto the narrow stage to begin the dance party.

Girl Talk soon lost half of his clothes ripped off by girls clamouring around his laptop as he mixed Jackson Five, Jay Z, segments from “Footloose” and Daft Punk into semi-coherent mash ups. The crowd surged back and forth, trampling on the smaller girls in the crowd more than once.

Girl Talk head banged his way through the majority of his final songs, ending with a screaming ode to Kelly Clarkson’s “Since U Been Gone” and a slowed down version of Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer” that had the whole crowd switching between verses by Elton John and Notorious BIG.

As soon as the concert had begun, it was over. The dehydrated crowd filtered to the front in search of water. Some in attendance resorted to throwing ice at each other and getting cups of water from the bottom of beer coolers. Mascara bled from girls eyes and some of the jocks in the crowd couldn’t stop high fiving each other and proclaiming Greg Gillis as their savior.

A small crowd of 10 to 20 people were centered near the front of the venue where a sweaty and shirtless Gillis stood, answering questions and taking pictures with fans.

“I love you so much!” exclaimed one girl. This was followed by a humble “Thanks,” and a smile from Gillis.

Crunching on some Dinosaur Bones and Crystal Antlers

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Grade: A

I showed up at the Halifax Pop Explosion’s Tuesday night Paragon show at 10 p.m. a little disappointed that I missed the first band, A History Of, but a little glad that I had eaten a late dinner of homemade Pho. Word to the Wise: It takes almost five hours to make a pot of Pho. No joke.

I arrived just as Toronto indie rockers Dinosaur Bones started their set. Looking like they had just rolled out of bed and into their tightest jeans, Dinosaur Bones’ sound is a knife that first spreads smooth, dreamy pop-butter on to your bread, and then proceeds to stab you repeatedly with gritty, confident rock and roll. They experienced a couple of technical difficulties, but lead singer Ben Fox charmed away any annoyance the crowd might have felt. After an amp went out, the mop-topped crooner broke into a finger pickin’ rendition of “I’ll See You in My Dreams,” a little ditty from the ‘20s that just happens to be one of my favourites and one of the most endearing songs you’ll ever hear. After recovering from this minor malfunction, the band broke into “N.Y.E.”, a dynamic track that was the highlight of their set. Its melody and sincere energy moved the crowd into a serious bout of toe pointing, echoed by the smiling band onstage. It also moved the unjustifiable Sauza Tequila girls into a bout of short-shorted pillar grinding. I’m not sure what a ninth grade boy’s fantasy gym-class was doing at an indie rock show, but it was amazing to see so many confused, be-mustached faces.

Those faces remained confused while Montreal’s Red Mass played. The hallucinogenic space-rock foursome hit the stage looking like Kiss as Wiccan Vampires with blood for make up. At least, three of them did. Someone apparently forgot to tell the bassist that everyone was wearing costumes. The band fused elements of punk, electro and surf, producing something that sounded like Dick Dale on a rockabilly murder rampage. The set had unquestionable energy, but the crowd barely responded. The result was a five-minute noise-fest at the end of the set that felt unnecessary, and sounded like the Transformers transforming inside of a vortex. I dug it.

The show closed with a set by California buzz band Crystal Antlers. I didn’t know they were a buzz band. After the show a friend leaned into me and said, “I wasn’t expecting much from such a buzz band, but they really delivered!” This led me to the depressing revelation that, by the time I know about something, it is no longer “cool.” But, my friend was right about how promptly and forcefully they delivered. Despite their insanely trendy band name, Crystal Antlers are not an insanely trendy band. When I sat down to write this review, I had a hard time thinking up genre words to use. Is ‘awesome bass’ a genre? No?Here’s an alternative: garage-fused-psychedelic-lo-fi-abstract-prog-rock. Yeah, I went there.

Driven by lead singer and bassist Johnny Bell, Crystal Antlers’ music is nothing like the “Cruisin’ the beach in my dune buggy” drivel you might expect from a band out of Long Beach, California. It is dynamic, engaging, and constantly mutating. A song that starts out as a mind-bending call back to a mushroom trip, ends as an all out thrash fest of beastly proportions. Obviously, I think the band was great. At any rate, they were far better than the crowd that came to see them. I’ve never seen such a lack of movement at a rock show. Crystal Antlers kicked out the jams for realsies, but still found themselves playing for a motionless mass of floor gazers. I felt so bad that I actually apologized to the guitarist after the show. I still can’t decide what that meant. Either the crowd was super into the show, but didn’t know how to show it, or I’m an idiot, because I thought the band was incredible. A call was made for an encore though, which the band obliged, and they broke into “Parting Song for the Torn Sky,” a bass driven, noise monster that roared for your very soul.

“I want to eat that soul!” the song screamed, and you almost obliged it. The band finished to an uproar of deranged, lunatic applause that was well earned. I think the crowd would have swallowed another heaping helping of that psychedelic sludge if it weren’t for the Pop Explosion’s strict scheduling policy.

‘Twas a dark and stormy night

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Devendra Varma laughed 25 years ago when David McNeil – the young professor assigned to take over Varma’s Gothic novel and romantic poetry classes during Varma’s upcoming sabbatical – asked to see his syllabus.

“When the wind blows and the leaves whirl around the clock tower, I teach Ode to the West Wind. When the snow comes I teach Mount Blanc or Frankenstein. I deal in the spiritual world, Dr. McNeil. There are no syllabi,” the Gothic literature expert told him.

Varma, who was a professor at Dalhousie between 1963 and 1991, passed away in 1994. He was 71. Today, his legacy is honoured at Dal by the annual Varma Prize and accompanying Varma Readings.

Three cash prizes of $500, $150 and $100 are awarded to winners of a creative writing contest in Gothic literature. The winning entries as well as honourable mentions are read by the authors at the event.

“It gets students engaged,” says McNeil, from his book-filled office in the upper reaches of the McCain.

“It also keeps Professor Varma’s image alive, his reputation alive. From my point of view, that’s wonderful.”

Professor Varma’s image, as McNeil describes it in a tribute he gave for Varma last year, is that of a man with deep spirituality, intense passion for his work and great appreciation for the romance and mystery of the world. He lived in a round house because – to quote McNeil – there were “no corners for the vampires to hide in.”

He is even featured in the Encyclopedia of Occultism and Parapsychology as well as compiling modern editions of over 200 Gothic novels. He also made several trips to Transylvania in pure gothic fashion.

“He was quite a flamboyant person,” says McNeil. “He had a real theatrical presence in the classroom and his students really responded.” McNeil speaks admiringly, and almost reverently, about the late professor. You can see his fond memories in his smile, and hear them in his warm tone of voice.

“The prize is supported by William Blakeney,” he says, one of Devendra’s students. “He was so entertained, educated, and moved by Devendra that he established this prize.”

The criteria for the prizes are simple: you have to be an English student, write a piece of literature no longer than 250 words, and make sure your piece is gothic in nature.

“Gothic literature to me is very psychological,” says Bruce Greenfield, who is chairing the English department’s prizes committee this year. “It explores people’s fears, and their illicit desires.”

Greenfield doesn’t feel the recent fascination with Gothic literature and television show is something that is unique or more pronounced within our modern culture; on the contrary, “it’s been very popular for three centuries at least.”

Because of this popularity, the Varma Prize is one of the more sought-after writing awards in Dal’s English Department, receiving upwards of 50 entries per year.

The award, says Greenfield, serves not only to recognize students’ achievement but also as “a reminder that the arts originate with creative individuals.”

“An English department studies creative writing,” Greenfield adds. “I think it’s possible in an English department to forget that the poems and stories and plays that we study were written by actual people who were once the age of our students.”

McNeil recalls in his tribute a cold November day when he encountered Varma on campus.
A group of crows were making a ruckus in one of those tall trees near the Hicks Building,” he writes.

“(Varma) looked up and then glanced over at me and said, ‘And I suppose you think those crows are just crows.’”

Some of us might think the stories submitted for the prize in Varma’s memory are just stories, or the wine that’s served at the readings is just wine. But rumour has it (and David McNeil has it) William Blakeney’s been sending in special vampire wine over the past couple of years. On the day before Halloween, maybe a little taste of the supernatural is just what you need.

The Varma Readings take place Friday, Oct. 30, at The Grawood from 4:30 to 6:30 p.m. Costumes are welcome and refreshments will be served.

Trick or Eat

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Think you’re too old for trick or treating? Think again.

Enter Trick or Eat, a cross-Canada campaign by Meal Exchange. Meal Exchange is a student-founded, non-profit association dedicated to helping 2.4 million Canadians who go hungry daily. It began in 1993 at Wilfrid Laurier University and has since expanded to include over 50 universities.

Despite its breadth, the organization’s focus is still very much on addressing local hunger issues in individual communities. In Nova Scotia alone, at least 38,000 people per month receive some kind of food assistance as counted by Feed Nova Scotia, the provincial food distribution centre.

Erica Szegedi, co-ordinator of the Meal Exchange program at Dalhousie for this semester, emphasizes the importance of local, community-based organizations like this one.

“There are always going to be people who need help in your own neighbourhood,” says Szegedi. “You don’t have to go far to help somebody.”

Meal Exchange’s largest event each year is the Trick or Eat initiative. Groups of costumed students take to the streets on Halloween in cities all across Canada and ask for donations of non-perishable food items instead of candy. The organizing committee here at Dal was hard at work as early as September, planning route maps and making flyers to distribute to houses in the south end.

Students sign up online in groups and are given a pre-determined area to cover. Local grocery stores lend shopping carts for the evening to collect food. The area stretches between Robie Street and Oxford Street, and as far north as Quinpool Road.

Don’t worry – you won’t have to cancel your wild night of partying. Canvassing takes place early and only lasts about an hour and a half. Once the food is all collected and taken to a base on campus, organizers count and sort the items before they are picked up by Feed Nova Scotia.

Last year about 20 groups signed up at Dal and organizers are hoping for more this year. The overall goal is to raise $400,000 worth of food and $30,000 in online donations across the country.

If dressing up and hitting the streets isn’t your thing, you can help by making a donation online at the same address, or by assembling a bag of food items to donate. The most urgently needed items include diapers, peanut butter, canned or powdered milk, canned vegetables and cereal.

In the end, it doesn’t matter which option you choose; you’re helping to make a difference to people in need in our own city.

“Helping people this way, you can really see how you’ve bettered their lives and strengthened your own community,” says Szegedi. “It’s very rewarding.”

So gather your friends, plan your costume and head to www.trickoreat.ca to register your group online.

Fashionably Dead

Just down from Pizza Corner on Blowers Street there’s a little store known as Fashionably Dead. The small yet attention grabbing shop is filled with dark, Beetlejuice-like apparel, patent leather bags, menacing jewellery and boots that could literally kill someone. It is tucked away behind the surf shop and the tattoo parlour.

It is a relatively new store on the block and caters to those who find their style influence from the more morbid aspects of our world such as skulls and cobwebs. After three years of being an online retailer, Fashionably Dead came across the perfect space for them to open up a physical store location.

Store owner Kate Rankin is perched behind the front counter.

“October is definitely a very busy month for us because of Halloween – it’s crazy.”

Rankin fits the prototype of one who subscribes to “dark fashion.” She wears all black with matching long black dreadlocks and has several piercings and tattoos. However, she is so approachable and kind that it makes me wonder how she was drawn in to a culture that fuels itself on the dark and the scary.

“Back a long time ago I was kind of into Pagan and Wiccan culture and that probably influenced me somewhat to be into darker fashions, but for the most part, I just love spooky things.”

The average customer for Fashionably Dead could be, as Rankin says, “from any walk of life.”

“We get the 40-year-olds in here looking for dresses and we get teenage kids in here. Regular customers are 20 to 30 year olds who are really into horror.”

Of course during October, Rankin says the store gets a ton of new customers looking for Halloween outfits or costumes.

“Halloween is a chance for people who do not normally dress in dark fashion to feel comfortable,” she says. “Regular customers just see Halloween as a more accepting shopping season where they can get everything they love everywhere. Like bats and stuff.”

Halloween at Dalhousie usually results in first-year girls showing off their freshman 15 in sexed-up costumes and a whole lot of drunk. For kids, Halloween is an opportunity to get free candy like it’s their job. Goths see Halloween as a chance to celebrate their subculture of creepiness.

To shed light on this, I asked Kate what she was going to be for Halloween.

“Are you familiar with Victorian Post-Mortem photography?” She answered. I was not. “Well basically people used to have their family portrait taken with a deceased family member’s cadaver as a way to commemorate their life, so I figured I’d go as one of those Post-Mortem Cadavers.”

Halloween: the holiday when racism is OK

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I dread Halloween like the plague. Each year, while my friends all get super into creating clever costumes, I just spend all of October panicking.

It’s not that I’m not stoked on costumes and dressing up – I like clever costumes just as much as the next person. I’m just petrified of inevitably realizing that the people I hang out with are racist.

Halloween seems to be that holiday when society embraces racist, classist and sexist jokes with giant, open arms.

You – wearing the hillbilly costume or the “white trash” pregnant teen – do you hate poor people? Or you – in the “Indian” costume or dressed up as Pocahantas – how do you feel about residential schools?

Each year, I am amazed at the level that costume bigotry goes. After 9-11, I’m sure everyone attended at least one party where a white person donned a beard and a headscarf and claimed they were Osama bin Laden.

Muslims across the country were facing extreme levels of racism and islamophobia, but dressing up as Osama is still funny right?

I’ve seen a myriad of costumes donned by people in bad taste, and bad faith, but each year I’m still shocked when Halloween comes around and someone has thought of something even more offensive than the year before.

This year’s award for most offensive costume probably goes to the “illegal alien” costume that had to be pulled from the shelves after immigrant rights groups complained. The costume, complete with alien mask, orange jumpsuit with “illegal alien” printed across the chest, and fake citizenship papers, plays on the term “alien” often used to describe people without legal status in a country. The costume was pulled last week from the shelves in American department stores Target and Walgreens. Ebay is also banning the costume for promoting hate.

Wearing an illegal alien costume doesn’t seem so bad when you’re privileged enough to have status, but for those people living without status in Canada, their reality is a horror they don’t get to take off at the end of the night.

Undocumented workers are often people whose refugee claims have been denied, a reality for more and more Canadians. Over the past 20 years, the number of refugee claims accepted has dropped by half, according to immigrants rights organization No One is Illegal (Toronto).

Immigration policy is becoming increasingly harsh in Canada, with new visa requirements introduced specifically for people coming from Mexico and the Czech Republic, and an increase in temporary worker programs.

Undocumented and migrant workers often have little recourse against exploitation such as below minimum wages, unsafe working conditions and unlawful termination. In some cases, workers often have their documentation held by their employer and face physical and emotional abuse.

This past spring, the Canada Border Services Agency conducted several raids in Southern Ontario, picking up hundreds of undocumented workers on their way to work, in their homes, and even when they went to pick up their children from school.

Undocumented workers and their families are found throughout our communities. There are likely people without status at the Halloween bash you’re planning to attend. I don’t think they’d appreciate the alien pun you know.

I’m all for having fun and playing pretend for a day, but I think donning poncho and sombrero Mexican costumes, or crystal ball and bangles gypsy costumes, when the government just made new laws against Mexican and Roma immigrants is just poor taste.

Anemia is a bloody nightmare

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Growing up, my mother was very protective and very strict. She had rules about everything; from what outfits I was allowed to wear, to what movies I could watch, to what my diet was.

During my younger years, I resented her health-conscious attitude. I would enviously watch my friends devouring their lunches of burgers, sodas and fries, while I chomped away on my “cucumber on rye sandwiches” and “apple chips.” Our typical family dinners usually ended in arguments over what exactly qualified as a serving of vegetables.

When grade 12 came to an end, I had the opportunity to move across the country, a chance at freedom and a new life far, far away from my mother – so I took it. Two months into this whole new life, I was nearly hospitalized for a blood transfusion. I had become severely anemic to the point I was operating 30 per cent lower than the average human being.

Anemia is a lack of red blood cells, or hemoglobin, meaning your body is not getting enough oxygen.

Anemia is usually due to a lack of iron or folic acid. Nowadays, iron deficiency anemia is extremely common, especially for women. About two out of 10 women in Canada are anemic because of iron deficiency. Some common symptoms are fatigue, shortness of breath, dizziness, paleness, hair loss and difficulty concentrating.

After this episode, I had to avoid movement as much as possible and take heavy iron doses to recover.

All of this happened in a matter of two months. Two months of being on my own, of being able to choose what I wanted to eat, of being able to drink, of being free from a curfew.

Freedom is not doing whatever tickles your fancy, going about it carelessly and ruthlessly; true freedom is doing what you’ve got to do, while putting your own personal spin on things.

If you see university as an opportunity to do everything, to eat everything and to drink everything you could not at home, you will only be doing yourself harm.

Associated with the privileges of living on your own, there are responsibilities and obligations. You have to take care of yourself. If you don’t know how to take care of yourself, you have to learn how.

In residence, I found it difficult to eat enough iron and protein due to some questionable-looking meats. If you are not already taking one, adding a daily multivitamin to your diet is a quick way to add nutrients.

But always remember that vitamins don’t substitute for food.

Also, look to add in yummy iron rich foods. Livers, mussels and clams are the highest sources. If that’s too much to ask, beef, poultry and seafood are also good sources. Other iron rich foods, though not as easily absorbed, include spinach, broccoli, asparagus, beans, peas, molasses, seeds, nuts, dried fruits, eggs, enriched cereals, barley and oats.

Increasing your iron and protein intake can be as easy as eating an egg with breakfast, throwing some nuts into your cereal, or adding beans or peas to salads, pastas and rice. Eat your iron rich foods with vitamin C – it will enhance the absorption.

Have you heard the saying, “You are only as good as your health?” It is true. Good health enables you to think better, to feel better, and it generally makes life easier.

A university lifestyle of beer, pizza, caffeine, binging and skipping meals is not healthy. We’re all starving students, barely scraping by, but your health should not be seen as a financial burden, it is a necessity.

Your health is something you have to constantly be working on and aware of.

Developing poor health does not occur drastically. I didn’t even realize I was sick, but it took two months to lose my health and almost three years to regain it.

If you do think you have any symptoms of anemia or want to learn more about anemia, visit Dal Health or your regular doctor.