O-Rye-entation

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A whole mess of fun
Students paraded down Yonge St. on their way to Centre Island

By Darrell Harvey, Graeme Smith and Jim Vassallo
Ryerson’s 39th annual parade and picnic unfolded with enough hooliganism to make a Scottish football fan proud.

Paraders covered head-to-toe in shaving cream charged down Yonge Street to Harbourfront Friday afternoon for the annula drinking binge and concert on the island.

Although RyeSAC warned against the use of shaving cream, water balloons and other projectiles, security marshalls couldn’t prevent a shaving cream war. They did manage to confiscate two large garbage bags full of shaving cream cans.

“The frosh were pretty amazed that Toronto shuts down Yonge St. for the university,” said Karen Bahula, a senior living at Pitman Hall who took her floor to the event.

Beanie-clad GCM students, diaper-wearing O’Keefe House residents and journalism students in togas helped add color to the revelling.

Jim Smith, an employee at the Royal Bank on Front St., watched the parade go by and voiced appreciation for the Ryerson student body. “Tell ‘em to go topless next year,” he said.

Most antics were contained and security had few problems. Metro Marine officer Bob Harrison said the event was “funny to watch.”

Backstage? I’ll pass
By Aaron Kylie

My mission was this: get backstage at Ryerson’s annual parade and picnic and talk to the guys from treble charger before they took the stage.

As a fat, balding, comedian did his lame comedy warm-up routine to the indifferent crowd, I tried to wrangle my way behind the scenes to complete the mission.

Backstage, where one would expect all the action to be, the mood is apathetic and the security is totally lax. With perhaps one exception.

“We don’t want people back here when the bands are on or everyone will want to be back here,” says Leatrice Spevak, Ryerson campus groups administrator.

Despite this, I managed to get to meet the band even without the fluorescent orange “All Access Pass” band members and RyeSAC dignitaries sported.

Backstage, I took in the scene. Strewn amongst the picnic tables gathered in front of a Fleetwood motor home were dozens of bottles of Molson , three employ sandwich platters, and an empty bottle of scotch whiskey. As the Flame Jobs finalized last minute details, drummer Morris and bass player Rosie of treble charger finish up an interview by taking a few swigs of Molson and couple more drags on a butt. Rosie, with his flaming red hair, explained how the jet leaving its white trail through the blue sky is what their music is all about. Bullshit!

Blond guitarist Greig and Morris head up to the front to catch some of Flame Jobs’ performance. Studious-looking Bill and Rosie remain and they tell me they don’t exactly have any pre-show rituals. I look around the motor home, cluttered with empty bottles of beer, half-eaten sandwiches and the remains of a bottle of Jim Beam scotch whiskey. “Yeah,” I think, “except for making a mess.”

And so I left, totally disillusioned by the rock and roll backstage experience.

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