May day. May day, I found myself bloody, breaking in a new pair of shoes as I scrambled up Chemin Cote-Sainte Catherine's lovely, suburban hills in the wrong direction. I've never had a great internal compass. After some shady, metro map consulting, my tattered self ambled towards the Segal Centre's doorstep, eagerly anticipating this year's sixth annual Circus of Words.

(Attn: Spoilers)
Last Friday, I climbed up MainLine Theatre's dark staircase to witness The Mid-Life Crisis of Dionysus, an original theatre production rife with wine, women and song, written by Jeremy Hechtman and Patrick Goddard.

One of the most iconic images commonly associated with theatre is that of the comedy and tragedy masks; a giddy, almost maniacal agape maw contrasted by the anguished, down-turned mouth of its juxtaposed twin mask. However, as I spoke to director Terry Donald and actor Matthew Raudsepp of A View From The Bridge , I realized that, ironically, theatre often serves as an unmasking of sorts, by exploring, revealing and challenging what it is to be human.

When I look back to the years when I was doing my first degree, some of my best memories revolve around theater. Who hasn't done the odd "Theater Arts" class in high school or enlisted for the drama club because the cutest boy/girl in school was part of it? What I'm getting at is, when did we stop indulging in to the theatrical arts? Why should music shows or the silver screen take over our art-seeing plans? When I saw the flier for Other People's Problems a few weeks back, I made plans to attend the show with a good friend of mine. Last night was a perfectly fabulous Wednesday evening in Montreal. Read on to learn more about why you should also make plans to see this show in the next few days.

I have the luxury of having a dear friend in the city who recently acquired a car. For me, in autumn, this meant that one thing had to happen: a trip outside of the city to pick me some apples.

Baseball exists at the cross-section of many subcultures. A genuinely American pastime, its roots are a pastiche of legend, bullshit, lore, and innuendo; its origin story is shared by war veterans of the American South and King Vlaicu Voda, a 14th century Romanian monarch. Countless Hollywood films extol its virtues, the inimitable Philip Roth has mercilessly skewered Cold War paranoia through its dusty lens, and a cult of Chicago-based Pharisees have recently crowned baseball the "hipster sport de rigeur." As no-doubt baseball fan John McCain would say, "Friends, football can have Thanksgiving, the Boys of Summer get, um, the whole summer."