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SPORTS
Cougars looking to promised land
by Chris Jaster
(read)
Eyes on Sports
Go Bettman go!
by Steven Kiser
(read)
Fit as a fiddle
A dream we all share
by Julie Folk
(read)
Cougars control own destiny
by Chris Jaster
(read)
NEWS
NDP’ers speak amongst friends
by Jeanette Stewart
(read)
Arts plus co-op equals a useful degree
by Jeanette Stewart
(read)
Regina gets Bloc’d
by Chris Jaster
(read)
Loose a tonne and feel great
by Cassie Hawrysh
(read)
Trouble in paradise
by Stephane Bonneville
(read)
FEATURES
A reflection on England
by Morgan bradshaw
(read)
ARTS
Aught four: The year in film
by Dan MacRae, Steven Kiser, Cassie Ozog and Kent Farago
(read)
Artistic License
Humanities darkest hour
by Emily Elias
(read)
Spliced Politics in film: not rubbish
by Luke Fandrich
(read)
2004: Year of the biopic
by Ryan Good
(read)
COMMENTARY
Racism rears its ugly head
Editorial
(read)
Bad moon rising
Commentary
by Justin Ludwig
(read)
Confessions of a freshman
I pierced my face
by Amy O’Teri
(read)
At the Gates
Food, faith and friends
by Lee Harding
(read)
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I pierced my face
by Amy O’Teri
the Carillon
This week, Amy gets some face metal.
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I’m not sure what possessed me to do it. I mean, I like my face, I really do. But for some reason I was struck with the urge to put a hole through my lip last Thursday, and I’ve been paying for it ever since. It hurt like a bitch, and consequently I’ve been bitching about it for an entire week.
First off, I think the urge to get some face metal has been a subconscious desire I’ve suppressed for quite some time. The only problem was my concern over the reaction of my family. So naturally, the moment my grandmother left for South America I jumped at the opportunity to pay some guy 50 bucks to impale me with a metal spike. It wasn’t just any guy either. The tattoo parlor/piercing place was scary to begin with, but it got about 100 times scarier when I saw the guy that was going to punch a hole in me.
He was a big guy with tattoos all over his body. I was really scared. I meekly whimpered “will this hurt?” and he said “only for a minute.” I believed him. Yes, I’m an idiot. I mean, can you really trust a guy with tattoos on his skull? The man probably lives for pain. I sure don’t. In fact, I almost passed out in the car on the way home. My boyfriend had the windows wide open and I hyperventilated all the way down Albert street.
And now that I have the stupid thing, I’m not really sure what to do with it. My weekly date with my Grandma doesn’t look too fun anymore (not that it ever did.) I really need this six week buffer zone to think up excuses to not see her for the next year.
As for my immediate family, they don’t know either, nor am I going to tell them until they see me in February.
This is the part of the column where I tell you how unlike me it was to put a hole in my face. Basically what I’m saying is that I was pretty much a goody-goody kind of girl all through high school.
This new manifestation of darkness in their perfect daughter has not come without some resentment. My mom has repeatedly offered to give me money to colour my hair blonde again, and this new addition to my style will not go without notice. In fact, after I dyed my hair black my parents actually drove to Regina to assess the damage. Need I say more?
Best case scenario is that my mom cries and asks me to take it out. Worse case scenario: my dad comes after me with a pair of pliers. I’m not joking. I think all hick-town farmer dads got together and agreed to threaten their children with said punishment should any of them copy “those dang city kids” and put metal through body parts that shouldn’t really have metal in them.
As if the anticipation of my parent’s reaction isn’t bad enough, the worst part is that I kind of hate the thing right now. It hurts, it’s scabby and ugly and bleeds all the time. I’m not really sure what to do with it, but until I figure it out I will continue to bathe it in salt water, bitch to anyone who will listen, and smile my painful smile.
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