After less than two weeks of rotating strikes Canada post employees arrived to work on Tuesday to find the doors locked. They had been staging short term walkouts at various postal service checkpoints throughout Canada. When the strikes moved to Toronto and Montreal Canada Post management got proactive and shut down postal service nationwide.

When I first heard that the city might alter recycling regulation so that beer and wine bottles would be designated city property once they were in your Blue Bin, I started leaving my bottles on the curb instead. My reasons are twofold: industrious bottle collectors deserve a break from rooting through bins, and the city can’t tell me what to do with my damn bottles. I made that 10 cent deposit, not them.

Picture this: civilization as we know it has crumbled. The few survivors are boarding a vessel that will carry them to the new world - where they will rebuild - and only one seat remains. All of academia must vie for it using their most deadly weapon: reasoned discourse.

Picture this: civilization as we know it has crumbled. The few survivors are boarding a vessel that will carry them to the new world - where they will rebuild - and only one seat remains. All of academia must vie for it using their most deadly weapon: reasoned discourse.

Picture this: civilization as we know it has crumbled. The few survivors are boarding a vessel that will carry them to the new world - where they will rebuild - and only one seat remains. All of academia must vie for it using their most deadly weapon: reasoned discourse. This week's candidate is prolific poet and compelling professor, Albert Frank (A.F.) Moritz.

If you find yourself staring down the long tunnel of the next four (or should I say Ford?) years, wondering if the new cityscape will be r ight for you, we are here to help (a little). Short of a crystal ball, tarot cards, or a fifth sense (can’t sm ell), we cannot tell you Toronto’s future. So here’s a primer on some of the promises Rob Ford has made to you and we’ll leave it to you to keep track of their fulfillment.

Picture this: civilization as we know it has crumbled. The few survivors are boarding a vessel that will carry them to the new world - where they will rebuild - and only one seat remains. All of academia must vie for it using their most deadly weapon: reasoned discourse.

By now it has happened too many times to count. I’m at some sort of party, barbeque, family dinner, or birthday potluck, answering the question that all students face. When I tell them I’m studying philosophy, they tilt their heads, furrow their brows and ask me (a little too politely): “what are you going to do with that?” I shift uncomfortably, trying to hide my indignant expression. I want to tell them that while they may know what they’re doing they probably don’t know why they are doing it. I care about this kind of thing and my debt speaks to my dedication!