LETTITOR.

 

Out through the
in-door with NASH74

“Don't be a tool, use them”

Doing what we do, week in and week out, it’s hard not to feel a little claustrophobic; especially
in the wee hours of these cold dark months. Adding to the standard trials and tribulations, our
offices are on the lowest level of the College in the farthest possible corner. It’s one of those “I didn’t
know that was there” kind of places that you’d be hard-pressed to find any other good reason to make the
trek down to. It’s kind of like a dungeo-... er, I digress: working in the relative isolation that we do—we’re
only able to meet as a collective once a week—it’s easy to begin to feel like you're click-clacking away on your
keyboard in a concrete-reinforced bubble.

You write; you edit; you cry; you scream, and repeat. Of course the process isn’t nearly as simple as that statement
implies (not by a long shot) it’s just what we do in the most rudimentary sense. We’re your student newspaper. So, you can
understand the relative shock we experienced last week when a group of us journos had the opportunity to attend the 74"

annual Canadian University Press (CUP) conference: we were dealt a healthy dose of reality—we’re not alone.
Hundreds of delegates from some 80 member papers from across Canada gathered in Victoria’s Harbour Towers to talk shop,

swap stories, attend panels, and (ideally) create connections with fellow literary whiz kids. From as far out East as our country
is wide, to our neighbour papers working mere minutes away—SFU, UBC, Langara, Kwantlen, and Capilano—post-secondary
institutions nationwide harbour talented writers, designers, and editors in impressive quantity. As diverse and different (culturally
or otherwise) our situations may be, there is one fact that is instantly evident in the work being produced: each paper reflects, to the
Mm re AAR OER ee TOMO MUR RAM CU ha AC eT eR eke COB co RCM Orme Lae Ks Co

listening to someone fresh off the plane from their Ontario news desk describe a situation you yourself have been wrestling with
internally for weeks a particularly happy and oddly comforting moment. That said, for reasons I will soon disclose, I can’t say that
canoodling was the highlight of this year’s conference.

From panels with top-calibre speakers, like The Globe and Mail’s design guru, Jason Chiu, to keynotes captained by the
likes of Alan Cross (The Ongoing History of New Music), the days were inspiring and informative; the nights were dizzy
and destructive (in a liberal, party-till-you-drop kinda way). If you walked into NASH74 feeling at all pessimistic, jaded, or
curmudgeonly, you walked out with at least a little more “act your age” spring in your step and fire in your belly.

Speaking of fire in your belly, if you happened to watch, read, or listen to the news at some point on Sunday or Monday,
you may have heard about the conference’s unlikely claim to fame: a norovirus outbreak. Picture if you will: shrieking,
well-dressed, possibly intoxicated young adults, packed like sardines on a school bus on the way to the closing gala.
Now spice that up with seemingly random occurrences of uncontrollable vomiting. A word picture just doesn’t do it
picistun

Now there’s no need to panic, rush to our offices, and barricade us inside with whatever loose furniture
you can get your hands on; the whole thing wound up being pretty controlled as far as epidemics go
(only 60 or so delegates contracted the virus). Regardless of the reason, and it’s been pretty firmly
CROMER a COME Cm m Odea roe lh mete ice ee ag
words: never eat the apple slaw. You'll know what I mean when the time comes.

oar hee

OTe hae hei
Editor in chief
The Other Press