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Photo of student debt via Flickr user Alan Levine

Yesterday morning I got an email from a young aspiring journalist who wanted to know if a master's degree was worth it. His plight was pretty familiar: Go deeper into debt in a gamble to give your career a push, or keep on the same path, working a job while trying to cobble together a real-world education equivalent to an advanced degree.

I gave him the usual spiel I trot out when I get emails like that: Go back to school, take a chance! Then, as soon as I'd finished patting myself on the back for taking time out of my day to dole out life advice to a stranger, I was hiding in the back of the office, whispering to a representative from FedLoan Servicing through my cell. My payments had just inexplicably increased from $70 to $1,100 a month, and I was only able to talk them down to $186—an amount I still can't really afford considering the insane cost of living in New York City, where you basically have to pay for every breath you take.

I usually try to forget that I'm almost $100,000 in debt as a result of my education (which is difficult when you have to dodge calls from creditors), but in truth, I don't have any regrets. If I hadn't gone to school, I'd still be an Office Depot employee living at her parents' house in Central Florida. Sure, I'd be financially solvent, but at what cost? Access to higher education might be criminally expensive in America, but if you're a kid from redneck country with blue-collar parents and no trust fund, these loans can offer a path to a new city and a life outside of what you were born into.

Related: President Obama, VICE, and US Students Talk Student Debt Issues in Roundtable Discussion

I'm far from the first person to make that mental calculation. Over the weekend, the New York Times published an op-ed that essentially advised people to default on their student loans. In it, Lee Siegel, a writer and cultural critic with three degrees from Columbia, argues that having poor credit isn't really a big deal, and imagines a rosy future where everyone followed his example:

If people groaning under the weight of student loans simply said, "Enough," then all the pieties about debt that have become absorbed into all the pieties about higher education might be brought into alignment with reality. Instead of guaranteeing loans, the government would have to guarantee a college education.

This essay got hit with a fair amount of backlash, probably most notably from a Slate piece that called it "deeply irresponsible" and suggested the Times apologize for telling readers to "pickpocket the government." Writer Jordan Weissmann went on: "Astoundingly, Siegel never mentions, nor demonstrates that he understands, the fact that in most cases of default the government can simply start garnishing up to 15 percent of borrowers' disposable wages directly from their paychecks."

Not knowing what to think after that, I did what my young journalist friend did and sent off a missive to someone I thought might have an answer about what I should (or shouldn't) do with my life.

Heather Jarvis is a self-proclaimed student loan expert. According to her website, she graduated from Duke Law School with $125,000 in loans and has been an advocate for borrowers ever since. "I think it's oversimplified when people take the position of 'people gotta pay what they owe,'" she told me. "It's much, much more complicated than that. When we find ourselves in situations where there isn't enough money to pay what's due, and it's important to be informed about the way the law works and the options that are available." Here's what advice she gave me about owing the government the price of a house, and what she would tell a kid thinking about signing on the dotted line for the first time.

VICE: So, let's cut to the chase. I'm almost $100,000 in debt. Why even bother trying to pay that back?
Heather Jarvis: The federal government has extraordinary collection powers. They can garnish wages without a court order, they can seize tax refunds, even intercept a portion of government benefits including Social Security. They can and do—literally do—pursue debtors to their graves. I think anyone who knows about debt knows that the government is the most persistent and effective collector. I think as an individual who's considering their options, defaulting on student loans is a dramatic decision that will have significant negative consequences.

I'm still not sold. What would happen if I just never made a payment again?
It takes nine months for a federal student loan to go into default. You have to not make a payment for 270 days. And after the loans are in default, they are typically sent for collection to the private third-party collection agents. It escalates at that point. There are significant penalties and fees—as much as 18 percent of the balance, which is a lot of money. Then the process continues. The federal government doesn't often sue, because they don't have to. But they will if they think it will get them access to other assets.

What if I literally can't afford my payment because I live in a city that literally eats money, but I don't believe having my paycheck seized will help the situation?
People should first pay for their housing, and their food, and their transportation and their utilities. They should then start looking to prioritize their debts, so you would wanna stop paying your credit card bills before you stopped paying your federal student loans. You would wanna stop paying your private student loans before you stopped paying your federal student loans.

One of the harsh realities for us as borrowers is that although federal student loans have more flexibility than a lot of kinds of debt do, they don't take cost of living into account or people who have extraordinary expenses like high medical bills. All they care about is your adjusted gross income. I guess I would say that your option to pay 15 percent of 10 percent of your discretionary income is much better than what people used to have to deal with.

The student loan scheme is extremely complicated and convoluted and tricky to navigate, even for sophisticated and educated borrowers.

You're telling me I have it better off than people used to have it? That's dark.
Income-based repayment became available in 2009 right after the bottom fell out of the economy. Before that, there was no way you could pay less than the interest that was accruing on your loans every month. Now if someone makes like 40 grand a year, they can pay something like $300 a month, and that is manageable for most people who don't have special circumstances like living in Manhattan—which I guess the policy position is that if you owe that much money, you can't afford to live in Manhattan, period.

What if I have some sort of big windfall at some point, but it's not quite $100,000? Like I win the scratch-off jackpot or get an inheritance from a long-lost aunt. Should I put a big chunk toward the principal, or just keep making the bare minimum payment forever?
If you make payments based on your income for 25 years and there's still a balance remaining, the balance is canceled. There is an end in sight.

What?!
See, this is the thing. One of the things that's super frustrating is that the student loan scheme is extremely complicated and convoluted and tricky to navigate, even for sophisticated and educated borrowers. It is absolutely bizarre in its complication, and it gets more complicated every day. So the best circumstances for someone in a situation like your own is to make payments based on your income for 25 years, expect some cancellation, and then also to be forewarned and prepared that under current law that canceled amount is taxable under income to you.

Related: Watch our documentary on a British debt collector

I feel like this should be common knowledge. Why haven't I read this?
It's too complicated to make for a decent story or decent reading, because it's really detailed in a way that can be really cumbersome. It's just not well understood. I think people tend to frame the questions and the debate in really stark terms. It's more cut and dry from a policy perspective that way, but that's not really the deal.

So was that New York Times op-ed writer a jerk?
There was some conversation within Occupy Wall Street about organizing people to default in mass, which really would be a way of protesting and being activists and sticking your neck out. You don't default on your loans to escape on responsibility or make things better for yourself—in fact, you make things worse for yourself and it's like an act of martyrdom for the cause to draw attention to the high cost of education, which really is the problem.

But he wasn't really making a moralistic argument as much as he was saying, "Having bad credit isn't a big deal." That seems like terrible advice based on what you're telling me.
It depends on your goals and what you value and what risks you're willing to take. When it comes to federal student loans, they will get their money and never leave you alone. And if you live off the grid or whatever that might be OK with you. But if you're someone who wants to have a more mainstream life financially in terms of being able to do things like qualify for mortgages, you might someday care about that. And I guess what I'm saying is debt to the federal government is not the same as debt to a big bank—which does have limits on their ability to collect. And in the end, it is only money. They're not gonna put you in jail or take your children away, thank God. You can pay or not pay, but I think people should be really informed before they make any such decisions.

What you suggest to an 18-year-old kid thinking of taking out a loan—don't do it? Go to community college instead?
I would definitely say people should think carefully about how much they can afford and should give strong consideration to the less expensive educational options that meet their needs and goals. I think it's very difficult though to put that on the backs of people who making these difficult decisions often when they're young.

All the research does continue to show that you're better off having an education than not. If you complete a program and have a degree, you're better off financially. You're more likely to work, you're more likely to be paid well, in spite of the student loan debt. Obviously the debt diminishes the financial gain, but it does not erase it by far. Most of us would be much worse off without the education and the student loans than we would be with the education and the student loans. Now, of course, if we could have the education without the student loans, we'd be even better off. But that's not an option. If you don't come from a family of wealth, you need to access education somehow if you're going to have any shot at having the best kind of jobs and life. Most people are not Mark Zuckerberg who could do it without education.

But the most expensive education is not necessarily better than less expensive alternatives, and people tend to forget that the student loans permit us to pursue and education that we really can't afford. I think the idea that young people are supposed to be able to weigh that kind of significance—it's foolish to think that they could.

UPDATE 6/10: An earlier version of this article erroneously implied that Freddie Mac was involved in providing student loans. This error has been corrected.

Follow Allie Conti on Twitter.

I am no stranger to a prison cell or the hopelessness and desperation that can overcome a person residing in one. Luckily, I never had any strong suicidal inclinations during my incarceration in the federal system, but I would be lying if I said the thought never crossed my mind. When there is little or no light at the end of the tunnel, all hope can be lost.

So is it a surprise that prisoners and even ex-prisoners like Kalief Browder, the Bronx teenager who spent three years in a New York City jail—most of that in solitary confinement—without a trial, are resorting to suicide?

As our nation's prison population has grown, so has the number of inmates who have done significant solitary confinement time. Being in prison is a dark situation generally, of course, but being locked down in what is alternately termed a special housing unit or "the hole" can be truly and utterly disheartening. It can exacerbate lingering or dormant mental conditions, character defects or personality disorders. It can leave the prisoner feeling as if they are on the edge of a cliff, walking a tightrope and ready to fall into the ravine with one false step.

"I was only in solitary confinement for a matter of days, but I fervently wanted to die," K.L. Blakinger, who served time in a women's prison in New York, tells VICE. "Had I been in there longer, I surely would have figured out a way. I had a previous suicide attempt in 2007, before my incarceration. I jumped off a bridge. Anyone with that sort of mental health history probably should not be placed in solitary confinement. I spent time contemplating whether I could stand on the sink and fall onto the desk at such an angle that I would crack my head open and die."

Studies and statistics back up this sort of anecdotal evidence. From a 2014 ACLU paper:

A February 2014 study in the American Journal of Public Health found that detainees in solitary confinement in New York City jails were nearly seven times more likely to harm themselves than those in general population, and that the effect was particularly pronounced for youth and people with severe mental illness. In California prisons in 2004, 73% of all suicides occurred in isolation units—though these units accounted for less than 10% of the state's total prison population. In the Indiana Department of Corrections, the rate of suicides in segregation was almost three times that of other housing units.

The total and complete feeling of powerlessness can overwhelm an individual in solitary. Being locked down 24/7 in a ten-by-six cell with a slot in the door to receive your food and no access to the outside world or even other people can be devastating. The guards don't care if you are coping with the situation or not. Their job is to count you and feed you. In my experience in the feds, once a week a person from the psychology staff comes around and asks if you are OK. That's the only mental health concern that a person in the hole gets.

Related: The VICE Guide to Mental Health

I always thought solitary was a joke. I spent numerous months in the hole due to my writing activities. I would be on my bunk sleeping, writing or reading a book, and some staff member from the psychology department would knock on the door and ask me if I was OK. I felt like screaming back at them, "What do you mean am I OK? I'm fucking locked up in a little room for weeks on end! Would you be OK?"

I never did, though, instead just sucking it up and carrying on. But what about those that don't have the strength or wherewithal to do that?

"I think that to a lot of people, solitary confinement doesn't sound as horrific as it is," Blakinger says. "I think it is difficult to truly understand the mental stresses of solitary until you've actually been there. Some people think that solitary confinement is basically just spending some alone time. It's not. It's like being buried alive."

In prison you can get thrown into the hole for any reason. When you're on a prison compound, you have a semblance of a life. You develop a routine, you stay busy and occupied working out, reading books, taking college or adult continuing education classes, playing cards or chess, watching TV, going to the library, working your assigned job, or even just walking around the yard with your homeboy. But when you're thrown in the hole for any minor transgression, your whole world is interrupted.

Time stops.

Being in the hole, you have to readjust. It's like serious slow-down time. You have to find a way to structure your days so that the time still passes and you aren't sitting in the cell going stir crazy, because it will drive you off the deep end if you don't take measures to combat the desolation. I used to work my days around eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner; going to recreation (for one hour, five days a week when it was provided); getting mail, books, and newspapers to read; and spending time writing and exercising (burpees, pushups, and sit-ups in my cell). That's how I got through the extensive hole time that I did.

But not all inmates can cope.

"After decades of research and civil rights litigation, we know that the vast majority of self-harm and suicides in prison, jails, and juvenile detention centers occur in solitary confinement units across the country," Amy Fettig, the head of the ACLU's Stop Solitary campaign and a senior staff attorney with the National Prison Project, tells VICE. "Suicide is strongly associated with solitary confinement—especially for children and individuals with mental illnesses. Researchers have found that the conditions of extreme social and environmental deprivation in solitary confinement units cause a variety of negative physiological and psychological reactions, such as hallucinations, sleeplessness, severe and chronic depression, self-mutilation, rage, anxiety, paranoia, and lower levels of brain function, including a decline in EEG activity after only seven days—even in individuals who formerly had no mental illness."

I used to liken getting out of the hole and returning to the regular prison mainline to being released from jail. When the guards tell you to pack it up and roll up your stuff, you get excited just to be back on the yard. It's like a weight is lifted off your shoulder: Finally, I can get away from this stifling and restrictive environment before it drives me crazy. I remember sitting in the hole and being so angry that there was nothing I could do, because even if I banged on the doors, no one cared. Even if I screamed at the top of my lungs, no one cared. Even if I argued how unfair it was for me to be in there, no one cared. That was just the reality of it.

And I was supposedly in my right mind, meaning I didn't suffer from any mental illnesses.

"Despite the SHU Exclusion Law—which theoretically keeps inmates with major mental health issues out of solitary confinement—New York State still routinely places inmates with suicidal tendencies, bipolar disorder, and other mental health problems in solitary confinement." Blakinger says. "Just because not every inmate in solitary kills themselves—and just because we do not have more Kalief Browders—does not somehow mean that this is OK, or that people are not suffering."

Placing prisoners in the hole almost certainly increases their risk of committing suicide, even if they suffer from no mental illnesses. Of course, the impact on those with a preexisting condition is just that much worse.

"The federal courts have found that placing individuals with serious mental illnesses in solitary confinement violates the Eight Amendment's prohibition on cruel and unusual punishment. Despite this, tens of thousands remain in solitary confinement in they country where they are harmed. And too often, they kill themselves," Fettig says.

Even for those who survive, solitary confinement does damage. I don't believe I suffer from any lingering issues, but I've only been out of prison for ten months. I have to keep myself in check at all times and stay very busy, or I'm prone to fall into fits of rage. Nothing too dramatic or out of control, but I have a lot of pent-up anger at my unjust prison sentence—for selling LSD in the early 90s—and the hole time I was forced to endure due to my writing efforts. It's something for me to keep an eye on in the years to come.

"Solitary confinement takes damaged people—many with mental health issues—and damages them more." Blakinger says. "As a result, it ends up being a threat to public safety. If we punish people in a way that has a strong potential for making them less stable and more dangerous, we are undermine the public safety goals that correctional facilities theoretically have. If we want to, as a nation, continue to engage in this level of punitive treatment, we need to admit that it is vengeance and not rehabilitation, correction, or public safety that is truly the goal here."

Until we reform our criminal justice and correctional practices, prisoners and former prisoners will continue to commit suicide as they do their time—or when they try to re-assimilate back into society. Even in Sweden, a country not exactly known for its harsh prison system, ex-cons have been found to be at increased risk of suicide after being released. Serving the time you are sentenced to is supposed to be the punishment, but all too often there are lingering effects from the sentence imposed.

In a lot of cases, damaged people are going in, and they are coming out far worse. That shows how truly broken our criminal justice system is.

If you are struggling with depression or suicide, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.

Follow Seth Ferranti on Twitter.

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Photo via Flickr user timlewisnm

I remember the first time I actively, unambiguously tongued the anus of a man. It was June 1994 in the Yankee Doodle Motel in Shelburne, Vermont. My boyfriend, a muscly manly man, hot from the shower and dewy with steam, flopped on the bed. The skin over his ass was plump and invitingly pink-white; I had to put my mouth on it. My tongue, flat as a trowel, cleaved to his asshole. In the parlance of the time, I "rimmed" him, and he liked it.

Rim is a word that feels right for the pleasure at hand, or at mouth, as it were. Anus, after all, is Latin for "ring," a word Romans gleaned from proto-Indo-European sources. Balloon knot, bunghole, starfish, back door—we like to use metaphor when we talk about our assholes; anus was merely the first. Rim falls into that pattern, conjuring a tongue flitting over the lip of a goblet.

In the past few years, butt stuff in specific and ass licking in general have been gaining traction. Nicki Minaj's " Anaconda" has the rapper bragging that "He toss my salad like his name Romaine," and anilingus has been seeping into the larger world of hip-hop, where it has elicited a range of reactions. Last year, Maureen O'Connor wrote in New York that "Butt stuff is such a thing." Butt motor-boating was featured in the season 4 opener of HBO's Girls to much hype; and it's even hitting mainstream magazines in his and hers how-to listicles, ready to consume on your elliptical.

Want to learn about other things you can do with your mouth? Check out our food site, Munchies.

These days the term of art is tossed salad. This is a metaphor that, however charming, I find inexplicable. It lacks the weight of logic I can sense in anilingus terms as disparate as Australian (you are going down under, after all), rosie (after "rosebud"), lickety-split (self-explanatory), and tell a French joke (ditto). I can even understand visit the Wookiee, given both my history of dating the odd hirsute man and my predilection for Chewbacca. Salad tossing, by contrast, just feels weird. To lick an ass is so visceral, so intimate, and so unabashedly erotic that to liken it to the methodical preparation of cool greens doesn't sit right—but then we English speakers have had a very difficult time talking about naming this act.

You could almost say that we have a hard time wrapping our English tongue around ass licking, and poop is one reason why. Amy Schumer brilliantly exploded our willfully myopic view of eroticizing asses in her satirical video, "Milk, Milk, Lemonade." Accompanied by latex-covered rump shaking, the twerking beauty of Amber Rose, and the mesmerizing beat of talented booty tooshing, Amy's lyrics smack you upside the head: "Turd cutter / Loaf pincher / Dookie maker / Fudge machine." This song isn't about to let you forget—as salad tossing might—that the ass "is where your poo comes out."

Watch: We talked to sex writer Maureen O'Connor about how this generation dates and hooks up.

Even anilingus, the oldest and most august-sounding English word for ass-easting, is only as old as Coca-Cola. We inherited cunnilingus and fellatio from the Romans, but there was no word for the act of recreationally licking another human's anus before 1886, when Richard von Krafft-Ebing coined anilingus in his book Psychopathia Sexualis.

Of course, this doesn't mean people didn't do it, nor does it mean they didn't talk about it. It only means they didn't print it. I'm willing to guess that as long as humans have had tongues and assholes, we have been touching the former to the latter in the pursuit of pleasure. Oscar Wilde and his lover, Lord Alfred Douglas, coined "the love that dare not speak its name," and while it might have long referred to homosexuality, it might be a more apt description for ass licking.

English slang has had words for fellatio and cunnilingus—larking applied to both, according to the website of slang lexicographer Jonathon Green—since the mid 18th century. However, euphemisms for eating ass came late to the orgy, only showing up in 1941 with eat jam, eat poundcake, and clean up the kitchen, all gay slang. During this same period, Green uncovered almost 90 terms for fellatio and cunnilingus, but only 21 for anilingus (other sources suggest a number in the mid 50s, but that's still slim pickings). Most of the slang for anilingus came into being around the 70s, followed by a second wave in the 2000s. A rose by any other name may smell as sweet, but a roseleafing (which Green says appeared in September 1999) waited in the wings for generations before entering the annals of human history.

Read: The Last Old-School Orgy in New York

The French, unlike the English, have written about anilingus ardently, enthusiastically, and unashamedly for centuries. The most popular term was " faire feuille de rose," or "to do rose leaf," and it shows up everywhere. It's in plays, it's in poems, it's in novels; it's likely the name of an 18th-century French breakfast cereal. Where does it not show up? England. And this is exceedingly strange because in the 18th and 19th centuries, if you could read English, it's very likely that you also read French, and even if you didn't read French, bawdy French works were everywhere in translation.

Still, references to ass eating are few and far between in English literature—neither the premier British pornographic work Fanny Hill: Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure (John Cleland, 1748) nor the infamous Restoration poems by John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester, mention it. You can find sly references in Geoffrey Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, and that's about it—at least until Teleny, a deeply pornographic work possibly written by Oscar Wilde, brought "feuille de rose" out to play in 1896. It's almost as if the English were willfully blind when it came to tonguing the brown eye. The English Channel is only 20.6 miles wide at the Strait of Dover, and yet it's a bridge too far. If France is the anus, the English Channel is the taint, and a sturdy one indeed.

Let us return, then, to salad tossing. It came to us, as many excellent things have, from San Francisco gay culture. Jesse Sheidlower, a lexicographer and author of The F-Word, a book about the word fuck, told me in an email that salad tossing has murky origins but its first known use in print appears in an early 1970s gay-slang glossary. I imagine a bunch of glittery, bearded Cockette-style gay dudes standing around a drum circle, birthing a term to encapsulate the act's pleasure while retaining its delicacy. To toss a salad is not an end in itself; it's a preliminary step before a meal, just as anilingus is so often the precursor to the main sexual event.

So why did this linguistic hole where anilingus should have been inserted persist for so long? Were I to hazard a guess, I'd say first that we as a people folded the act into cunnilingus; second, that we can't quite cruise past the hygiene factor; and third, when the licker is female and the lickee is male, it codes the recipient gay. "Butt lickers" are at best toadying sycophants; at worst, they're homosexuals—and evolving marriage laws aside, we are nothing if not a repressed, homophobic people.

We might look at the recent media attention and hope for widening acceptance of anilingus, but I wouldn't hold your breath. Anilingus may no longer be taboo—it clearly has entered our cultural discourse—but I'd guess that we English speakers are a few decades and many baby wipes away from taking a roseleaf from France's book.

Chelsea G. Summers writes for Adult Magazine and many other publications. Follow her on Twitter.

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Joe Cole as Reece in 'Green Room' (2015). Photo by Scott Patrick Green. Courtesy of Broad Green Pictures

Back in 2013, no one was really paying attention to Jeremy Saulnier. At the time, Saulnier had been doing commercial work and perfecting his cinematography chops with under-appreciated indies like Putty Hill and Septien. With only one feature under his belt—2007's Slamdance-winning Murder Party—it seemed like a long shot that his newest, Blue Ruin, would be one of the biggest breakout hits of the Cannes Film Festival.

However, the film struck a chord with genre fans, and studios took notice, showering him with scripts and offers to do more mature works. Instead, Saulnier took it as an opportunity, he told me, "to make the movie for my 19-year-old self and all the friends I grew up with, to regress emotionally and progress technically." And that's just what Saulnier has done with his latest film, Green Room. Like Blue Ruin, Green Roompremiered in the Directors' Fortnight section, which is held parallel to the Cannes Film Festival.

Clip from 'Green Room' (2015)

With Green Room, we get is another burner of a genre pic about a young punk band, The Ain't Rights, who find themselves in a secluded, backwoods, neo-Nazi, dog-fighting, drug-running hellhole of a DIY music venue run by a bearded and cold-blooded Patrick Stewart. Through a series of unfortunate events, the band—played by an unlikely cast of traditionally indie comedy and romantic leads, including Anton Yelchin and Alia Shawkat—becomes trapped in the eponymous room, trying to force their way out.

I sat down with director Jeremy Saulnier in Cannes to discuss the film, the damage of the helmet-wearing era, and which bands' discographies he would want with him in a siege situation.

VICE: How did Green Room come about?
Jeremy Saulnier: It's been kicking around my brain for a long time. I grew up in the punk rock scene in Washington, DC, more the hardcore scene of the 90s. It was also a period of time where I was making all of these crazy home movies, zombie flicks, and whatnot with my friends from Alexander, Virginia. When I went to NYU film school for college, that culture and aesthetic stayed with me until now.

It's like cheap Mad Max—spikes, boots, surplus gear, mohawks, and madness.

Now it's over?
[Laughs] I don't know. I don't listen to hardcore or abrasive music really anymore. It really is, as referenced in the movie, about being there—the physicality of it. It's like cheap Mad Max —spikes, boots, surplus gear, mohawks, and madness. No post-apocalypse though. I always thought a movie about that would be fun, and what better place to set a siege movie than a green room of a concert venue?

That's what scares me though. A batshit-crazy movie hidden under the surface of a calm dude like you—that's messed up. Are you boiling under your cool demeanor?
I was also into hip-hop and had been in the B-boy scene in New York, breaking on the floor. [I was into] whatever was physical. I was the leader of these punk rock bands in high school because I was really built at the time. I had no talent, but I could yell loud. I really liked to dance and move and be in that world. When I talk about it, it's certainly not the same. I am still socially awkward, though.

I grew up with punk, too. But I, in my dreams, would envision doing crazy shit—taking my anger out. Is that where this is coming from?
I'm more like a jock that hates sports. I wasn't unhappy, though. I actually grew up in the suburban, middle-class utopia of the 80s and 90s, where Halloween was just hoards of kids being crazy in the street unattended by their parents—things that just don't go down now. We were making movies in the streets with very realistic plastic guns and blood packs oozing into the curbside, but it was pre-Columbine. People just assumed we were doing crazy kid stuff, they'd maybe yell, "Are you OK?" and we'd say, "Yeah." We played with machine guns out of the roofs of cars and no one blinked. Nowadays, there would be a SWAT team in a second.

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Patrick Stewart as Darcy in 'Green Room' (2015). Photo by Scott Patrick Green. Courtesy of Broad Green Pictures

Do you miss that freedom?
Oh yeah, for my kids—everyone's kids. It's people crossing the line, it's proliferation of gun violence, and also the news-media cycle, where all we hear about is tragedy, violence, and murder... and ISIS. I have to keep true to my roots, though, and have a firm boundary between reality and cinema. I still like hyper-violent, hardcore genre movies. In real life, I'm very peaceful and don't like any violence, so it's an easy boundary to maintain.

On Munchies: Espresso Is the Drug of Choice for Straight-Edge Punks in San Diego

So what were you trying to prove by having this poor, poor punk band get the shit kicked out of them?
It was an exercise in tension-building—to make an old-fashioned siege movie in a relatively new environment and have it be much more intuitive and not fall prey to standard things that I think are just not exciting. Inept protagonists are kind of my thing right now, exploring a real, human character in an action-movie scenario. I wrote it intuitively and wanted it to be true to human nature. I put them in this really intense clusterfuck, and we watch it unfold.

[body_image width='1500' height='1000' path='images/content-images/2015/06/10/' crop='images/content-images-crops/2015/06/10/' filename='jeremy-saulniers-green-room-is-the-punk-rock-action-flick-you-always-wanted-body-image-1433946519.jpg' id='64975']Imogen Poots as Amber in 'Green Room' (2015). Photo by Scott Patrick Green. Courtesy of Broad Green Pictures

That's what's refreshing about your movies. If you shout, "Don't go in there!" it's because you genuinely fear for them, not because it makes no sense.
Sometimes I'd only allow myself to do only one draft of a scene so it wouldn't be overly thought-out and mathematical plot-wise. I wanted to deprive myself of trying to be smart and sharp. I call it the blunt-force movie. The plot would deviate because the characters do what they would actually do and maybe one of them would make a really dumb decision, but it was in the moment and seemed natural at the time.

There's a very formal structure to this film visually and thematically. Where we start and where we end is very calculated, but the mess in between was fun to not over think.

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Alia Shawkat as Sam and Anton Yelchin as Pat in 'Green Room' (2015). Photo by Scott Patrick Green. Courtesy of Broad Green Pictures

Did that come with improvisation?
No, it was too crazy a movie to improvise, but it felt improvised when I wrote it.

Why skinheads and neo-Nazis? Did you have to do research? Embed yourself?
In the 90s, in the hardcore scene, there were always skinheads lurking. There were often fights and they were the violent, scary contingent at shows. I'd always feared them and been fascinated by them at how that ideology could carry over. A lot of it was the attractiveness of the punk rock music and how a lot of the people who professed that ideology used music to recruit kids who are in some way broken emotionally or on their own and find it in this community. That's a key theme in the movie, and there is a moment where this out of town band plays to a hostile crowd and through the music there's this sort of synergy, where it's just about the music and everything else drops away.

Except when they play a song like "Nazi Punks Fuck Off " by Dead Kennedys.
Nazis are kind of easy for movie bad guys, so the goal was to set it in that world, but also humanize every character.

When the actors read your script, I assume their reactions where, "What the fuck?!"
Oh yeah, they just loved it. It's their kind of movie.

Want to check out this German biker gang full of ex-Nazis?

You say their kind of movie, but you cast unconventionally. Anton Yelchin, Imogen Poots, and Alia Shawkat are all known for more romantic or indie comedy films.
Exactly. They're dying because they get typecast, but for them to be in a batshit-crazy action movie was a dream. They were chomping at the bit to be in it. Imogen had an absolute blast. She really related to her character Amber, and they're still actually playing the roles they normally do. But now they're just in the wrong movie.

[body_image width='1500' height='1000' path='images/content-images/2015/06/10/' crop='images/content-images-crops/2015/06/10/' filename='jeremy-saulniers-green-room-is-the-punk-rock-action-flick-you-always-wanted-body-image-1433946758.jpg' id='64977']Director Jeremy Saulnier on the set of 'Green Room' (2015). Photo by Nathan Christ. Courtesy of Broad Green Pictures

How does it feel premiering at Cannes two times in a row? Did you watch the movie with the audience at your premiere?
It's like a vacation. And yes, at Cannes, it's customary you do for the evening performance. However, I ran out of the theater a little prematurely [ laughs]. I kind of blew it as far as protocol because I was just so embarrassed to stand up and have people clap for me.

At this type of movie, it has to be an exhilarating experience when you hear the audience screaming and squirming in their chairs.
There's certainly a payoff with this kind of film.

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Alia Shawkat as Sam, Anton Yelchin as Pat, and Callum Turner as Tiger in 'Green Room' (2015). Photo by Scott Patrick Green. Courtesy of Broad Green Pictures

Do you take pleasure in freaking people out?
As long as there's an emotional component to it, I do. If you set out just to shock people, it won't work very long. But if you design the film to keep ratcheting up tension and keep people off guard, once you deny them the conventions of a lot of movies, they really feel like they have no idea where it's going to go. The thrill is being unpredictable, and it allows them to sort of experience the events through the characters' eyes, to be in that room with them and have no clue what is happening next and be scared of whatever is on the other side of that door. I felt that to elicit a physical emotional response in the audience is very hard to do, so that was the goal with this film. It was to make people's hearts beat faster and make their breath a little shorter. It's what I look for in a movie when I really need a break from reality. I love to be scared, but it's hard to be scared by a movie. You can't shock people anymore—you have to go the emotional route.

And what's your favorite desert-island band?
It is Black Sabbath. Ozzy and Dio. One band, one brand.

But if I lock you in a green room and try to kill all of your friends?
Depends on the day. It could be the Talking Heads, maybe the Cure. Those are my top three.

Green Room premiered at Cannes Film Festival this May. It is currently seeking US distribution.

Jeffrey Bowers is a tall mustached guy from Ohio who's seen too many weird movies. He currently lives in Brooklyn, working as a film curator. He's the senior curator for Vimeo's On Demand platform. He has also programmed at Tribeca Film Festival, Rooftop Films, and the Hamptons International Film Festival.Find him on Twitter.

We love Run the Jewels, and not just because our art editor designed their album covers. Run the Jewels 2 was the most punk album of 2014, hip-hop record or not, and Killer Mike was one of the strongest, clearest voices to speak up in the aftermath of Ferguson. RTJ were in London last week to play the Field Day Festival, and during their trip they hopped in the back of a London taxi to record a Black Cab Session. The video just dropped, and it shows Killer Mike, El-P, and vocalist Boots packed into the back of a cab with a cameraman, performing their track "Early" and waving at passersby. Give it a watch.

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Check out these cows. Photo via Flickr user free photos

Growing up Kenyan, I regularly ran into cultural traditions so deeply rooted in history and largely rural lifestyles that they didn't square with my very Canadian life. Half-joking and yet entirely serious, my parents have always insisted on a dowry of cows. We are of the Kisii tribe, which is one of Kenya's 42 tribes; across the tribes, the dowry is a fact of life. There are differences, however, in what form the dowry will take. For the Kamba tribe, some combination of cows, goats, honey, and gifts—usually money—forms the dowry. For others, donkeys, chickens, blankets, and other gifts can be added in.

My parents have never been explicit about what the proper traditional Kisii dowry is, so I set out to find the exact amount. Luckily, in 1950, a researcher named Philip Mayer published "Gusii Bridewealth Law and Custom," which is impressive in its exhaustiveness and even more so in its respectfulness. Mayer provides a useful equation with some basic requirements: "a number of cows and heifers, one bull, and a number of goats (including at least one he-goat). If both parties agree, the goats may be substituted for an extra heifer, which has a fixed value in terms of goats according to the prevailing rate of exchange."

In all honesty, for Kenyan-Canadians (and many in Kenya), the cows and attendant livestock are only ever symbolic. First, it's really impractical to keep any amount of cows in Canada. Even the ever-useful goat can cause problems: at a 2009 wedding in Prince Albert, Saskatchewan, the groom's Kenyan family wanted to slaughter a goat to celebrate the wedding, which was pretty traumatic for the bride who had not been warned and cried bridal tears of anguish. The goat did not live. Second, cash is much easier to carry. Beatrice, a Kenyan-born doctor who married Richard, a Canadian man in 2003, says the modern dowry has changed. "Nowadays it's all cash, cash, cash. It's all about money," she said. "People quickly realized that the cows are not worth a lot of money or bring a lot of milk so they want cash. If not cash, they want expensive clothing, good food and stuff like that. So when a daughter is getting married that's the time to milk the system, milk the tradition."

Beatrice is a Russian-trained doctor fluent in English, Swahili, Kisii, and Russian. If language skills alone are factored into cow calculations, then Kenyan women like Beatrice are an expensive catch. "Richard wanted to do it the Kenyan way so he Googled dowry payments in Kenya. So he got a variety of prices and payments. He took what was average and that's what he paid. So when my parents came to visit and all that, he said, it's not a gesture of buying your daughter or anything, it's just a tradition that I want to maintain," Beatrice explains. Having already married Beatrice, Richard insisted on honoring her culture's traditions.

For other couples, the clash of cultures is unworkable. For Josephine. a nurse in the GTA, and her daughter, Nengo, a student, the contradiction was insurmountable. In her fiancée's tradition, the woman's family paid a dowry so she ruled out any form of dowry. It was a jarring moment for Josephine, who had already imagined a modern version: "I was hoping to make it a little more modernized cause we're here and make it more of a game.... In reality, we weren't going to ask for much."

Half the fun is in the asking. I often feel bad for the poor non-Kenyan man who has to tackle this tradition. There are so many technical details involved that Kenyans living in North America simply let go of the strictures of tradition. Ndimu is a Kenyan foster mom living in Brampton and when her daughter, Kavivi, was marrying an African-American man from Detroit, Ndimu ended up doing some of the work of the dowry.

"I think I ended up paying dowry. I wanted my friends to have fun and I knew these Detroit-ians would not do it so I used my friends to reverse it. I didn't give the things, but I entertained," Ndimu said.

For the women I spoke to, the dowry tradition has evolved in a variety of ways. Beatrice says she will not want a dowry for her daughter, "The thing I've learned from North America is the key is you want your kids to grow up and become very independent. Whereas back in Africa, we have that spirit of depending on each other, which can be a very big burden." Ndimu thinks the dowry process brings families together, saying, "we have a saying that goes when you eat together, there are things you can't. You can't fight, you can't disagree." For her, the dowry is a way that in-laws can discover one another.

I am always thinking about my cows. Actually, I am frequently reminded about my cows. Life's milestones have been marked by cow talk. "Congratulations on the new job. You know, we will get more cows now." "Happy graduation!! Now we can add cows." A smart person would have married me right when I turned 18; at that point, the family would probably have accepted a three-legged cow. I am sorry to say that now I might run above market prices. I am fresh bluefin tuna, and I will cost you.

That said, I am and have been conflicted about having my choices validated by a livestock exchange—even a symbolic one—which seems somehow counter to my feminism. However well-intentioned the tradition, and however it is modernized by Kenyan-Canadian families, it comes from a culture that attaches a value to women. I can't make it OK because it extends across a patriarchal and frequently misogynist culture. I can't make it OK because once upon a time (and maybe even today) the wives of dead men were inherited by their husband's brothers and family. I can't make it OK to consider—even for fun—that any woman is owned by anyone else. I can't make it OK because the same complaint I had a kid still holds true: women are priceless.

And yet, in demanding to have Kenya—and Africa, for that matter—seen in rich and nuanced ways, how can I dismiss and render invisible this particular exercise?

This is how cultures get lost. It is a special kind of erasure when one does it to one's own people: a betrayal of the self. There are parts of being Kenyan and African that, try as I might, I can't betray. I love my culture and I think everyone should. Everyone should see a round of Kenyan aunties lead a singing charge around a bride at a wedding. Everyone should try nyama, choma, and mandazi. Everyone should wonder why Kisiis is obsessed with bananas. Also, how can I turn down the opportunity to guarantee a steak for myself and my family, but most importantly, myself? There are few progressive values that I wouldn't sell out for prime rib. Most people would understand that, especially Kenyans.

Follow Vicky Mochama on Twitter.

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Photo by the author

This article originally appeared on VICE UK.

In the current Spanish economy, you'd have thought the revenue generated by tourism might be welcomed. However, national financial growth starts to mean a little less when all the residential buildings around you are being turned into "youth hostels" for drunken holidaymakers intent on bringing "Magaluf-style" antics to your once tranquil streets.

Thanks to the rise of Airbnb-style leasing, this is a gripe currently being protested vehemently by a number of Barcelona's residents. On any given day across the city, local communities are demonstrating, petitioning against new hotels, or denouncing antisocial behavior as part of a growing movement to curb the effects of the city's exponential tourism boom.

At the center of this burgeoning conflict is the traditional fisherman's quarter, Barceloneta, a tight grid of narrow streets hailed by those who live there as a "village within a city," and arguably the neighborhood most affected by Barcelona's 20-plus years of sustained growth as a tourism destination. Proximity to the beach, a rich maritime cultural history, and seafood restaurants cooking up the catch of the day have all helped lure millions of tourists—and their prized disposable income—to the working-class neighborhood each year. But with this success has come unprecedented conflict between locals and tourists, as an increasing numbers of Barcelonans are rejecting a model of tourism they say threatens the entire city.

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A protest against tourists in Barcelona. Photo via Por la Abolición de los Pisos Turísticos Facebook

In Barceloneta, tensions have been high since last August, when local frustration with tourists boiled over into a series of impassioned street protests against antisocial behavior. In the midst of the peak holiday season, neighbors of all ages demanded an end to the "drunken tourism" they said was making life unbearable in the neighborhood. "Many people have moved out of the area," says Sergio Arnás, spokesman for the La Barceloneta Diu Prou ("Barceloneta Says Enough!") group and one of the organizers of last year's protests. "They saw the problems we've been experiencing for years as unsolvable."

As the protests continued and spread to other neighborhoods, the mayor's office rushed to introduce community police patrols, and tensions dropped as the mercury fell and the peak season drew to a close. But half a year later, as the city gears up for the summer rush once more, frustration is growing and more protests are imminent, say residents.

Arnás—and the half dozen other fellow campaigners who accompany him to our interview in a busy Barceloneta café—point to a laundry list of problems with the city's tourism model. Chief among them, though, are the private short-term rental properties available to rent online through intermediary websites such as Airbnb. But while visitors to the city value the savings and freedom of rental flats, local residents say the boom in the sector has brought with it intolerable disturbances as an increasing number of properties are being rented out in their entirety, without a host, to rowdy young tourists.

"The fundamental problem is that you have people who are on holiday and on that timetable sharing a building with people who have to get up and work each morning," says Nando Prieto, a campaigner who explains he was motivated to take action after several flats in his building began to be rented out to groups of holidaymakers. "It's like living in a youth hostel."

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Photo by the author

Prieto says that noise and the sense of insecurity brought by living next door to a constant, changing stream of visitors who stay for a few days at a time are the most common complaints among residents. But reports of more serious disturbances are also common. Outrage at three Italian tourists who ran naked through the neighborhood and attempted to enter a supermarket sparked the protests last year.

"[Tourists] have urinated onto my balcony, they have set fire to laundry, someone defecated in the building's hallway," Prieto says.

For Arnás, the problem lies with the type of tourism. Barcelona, in its rush to draw ever more tourists, has opened the doors to drunken, budget tourism, which brings little economic benefit but great social harm, he says.

Related: Bummed out nobody wants you in Barcelona? Here, try Mongolia instead, where you can go yak wrangling, yak cheese-tasting, or have a go on yak rodeo at the annual Yak Festival

As we talk, a middle-aged local man comes over to show us a photo he has just taken of a tourist dressed as a banana, passed out drunk on the floor outside a nearby cafe. It's 7:30 PM. Arnás is not surprised. He says it's representative of the "low cost" tourism of Salou or Magaluf that is increasingly coming to Barcelona. "It is not a question of the class of tourists," he says. "It's a question of respect."

Residents are exhausted, they tell me. "Last year, things blew up and it would have got really out of hand if we hadn't put the brakes on the protest," says Prieto. "It would have ended with a tourist being thrown off a balcony. This year, I don't think we will be able to stop it if nothing changes."

The debate surrounding tourist flats is not just causing tension between tourists and locals, though; many Barcelona residents see the Airbnb-led model of leasing as a much-needed economic boon for Spain's economy, which is recovering, but could still benefit from all the added revenue this type of tourism brings in.

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Photo by the author.

The Association of Barcelona Hosts (AMFBCN) represents residents who lease their homes in part or whole (on a temporary basis) to tourists through sites such as Airbnb. AMFBCN President Joan Pere told me hosts have a personal stake in trying to prevent antisocial behavior and that great care is taken in ensuring only "trustworthy" and "respectful" visitors are accepted. He said rental flats spread the benefits of tourism to less-visited neighborhoods and provide an important means of income for hosts.

"We represent people for whom the income earned from leasing a room to tourists is indispensable to paying their bills, but that's not the only motivation," Pere says. "Property hosts are people who know the city well, and we enjoy sharing this experience."

A 2014 study published by Airbnb supports Pere's claims, reporting that more than half of the company's Barcelona hosts said leasing out a room helped them make ends meet. The same study said Airbnb activity contributed €430 million [$486 million] in the preceding year to the city's economy and created more than 4,000 jobs.

READ ON MUNCHIES: Catalan Cuisine Is Not the Same as Spanish Food

However, Barceloneta Says Enough and other community groups across the city say that residents are being forced out by rising property prices as entrepreneurs move into the lucrative buy-to-let market. While attempts to clamp down on flat rentals have traditionally found strong support from the powerful hotel lobby, the distinction between the two markets is increasingly blurred as big business invests in private short-term properties.

Barcelona is alternately the third or fourth destination with the most Airbnb listings in Europe. According to the company, there are currently 15,000 listings available on the site. Asked about what can be done to tackle irresponsible hosts within that number, Andreu Castellano, communications director for Airbnb Spain, said the company informs all hosts of their obligations by law and encourages responsible behavior. He said that more than 70 percent of users have only one listing, but that the company acts as a platform of exchange and does not regulate hosts.

Platform for Tourist Rentals (PPTV), an industry-funded campaign group that formed in the wake of last summer's protests, has published a series of videos refuting claims of a link between antisocial behavior and tourist flats.

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Las Ramblas, Barcelona. Photo by the author.

PPTV leader Elisabeth Casañas describes the attempts of neighborhood associations such as Barcelona Says Enough to monitor tourist flats as "illegal," "abusive," and responsible for stigmatizing foreign visitors. "They are provoking a social rupture among neighbors who have previously never had problems, but are now at odds with one another," she says.

In their efforts to control the proliferation of tourist properties, residents have taken it upon themselves to photograph tourists entering possible illegal rental flats, Casañas tells me. "They visit flats belonging to foreigners who have lived here for months or years, targeting anyone who looks like a guiri [foreigner] over a period of weeks to make sure they are living there long-term. I've personally been the object of photographs and hostile looks for walking down the street with a suitcase in my own city."

However, for Oriol Casabella, leader of the Barceloneta Neighbourhood Association, antisocial behavior and abuses in the tourist flat market are just several symptoms of a much wider problem: the unsustainable number of tourists who visit the city each year.

"The balance between tourists and locals has gone out of the window," he said. "When the summer cruise ships arrive, upwards of 3,000 people disembark at once on [central promenade] Las Ramblas and head to [emblematic market] La Boqueria. The result is shops changing as they look to cater to tourists instead of locals."

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Photo by the author.

Barcelona has a population of approximately 1.6 million. More than 7.6 million foreign tourists are expected to visit the city this year, a dramatic increase on the 1.7 million tourist visits recorded in 1990. In comparison, London—consistently among the world's most visited cities—will host more than twice the number of tourists, with 18.8 million holidaymakers expected in 2015. However, its population is approximately 8.6 million, more than five times that of Barcelona.

Jordi Clos, president of the city's hotel association, last year called for the city to go further still and aim to attract as many as 10 million tourists annually. However, residents across the city say local life is already at risk and that Barcelona is being converted into a "theme park" for tourists.

Eduardo Chibas is the director of Bye Bye Barcelona, a 2014 documentary charting the disillusionment of residents with the city's meteoric rise as a tourist destination. "I've lived in Barcelona for 12 years, and like any other resident I've seen the tremendous increase in tourism in the city," he told me. "I've seen zones that I like, such as Barceloneta, be turned slowly into tourist zones, becoming places where I no longer feel comfortable."

Instead of Barcelona, how about visiting the Basque Country? Munchies made a video guide of all the delicious food you can eat there, which you can watch right here.

The key battlegrounds between residents and the tourism industry include the emblematic architectural works of Antonio Gaudi. Residents close to the Sagrada Familia basilica (3.2 million visitors annually, the most-visited monument in the country) complain that tourists block pavements and impede traffic, while in 2013 authorities infuriated locals by effectively introducing an entrance fee to visit Park Güell in an attempt to limit visitors to the public park.

"The fundamental problem is there are simply too many tourists coming here, and it seems as if there is no attempt to stabilize or reduce their number," said Chibas. He says the city needs to heed the examples of other tourist destinations if it is to resist the spread of the "tourist monoculture" that dominates areas such as Las Ramblas.

"The obvious example is Venice. Residents have been leaving for years because life in the city is unbearable. Venice is no longer a city, it's a living museum," he says. "I think Barcelona still has time to avoid that fate."

Follow Sam on Twitter.

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Some regular ladies just drinking a bit of wine. Photo via Flickr

This article originally appeared on VICE Netherlands.

I'm not an alcoholic, and even if I for some morbid reason wanted to become one, I couldn't. The main reason I never wind up waking up on a train, all confused and covered in vomit, is pretty simple, actually. I'm of East Asian heritage, and when I drink, my face turns bright red. It's quite hard to predict at which exact point during my boozing this happens, but it always happens. Sometimes it only takes a single sip of Pimm's for my face to change color; other times I can do half a bottle of tequila before any visible symptoms appear. It's hard to say. Besides a pair of furiously red cheeks, alcohol gives me heart palpitations and makes me feel as if my skin is hot. Some people look really ugly when they cry—I'm an ugly drinker.

Eighty percent of all East Asians have overactive alcohol dehydrogenase enzymes in their stomach and liver. These enzymes convert alcohol into poisonous ethanol a hundred times faster than usual. Thanks to these overzealous enzymes, your body skips right past the pleasant effects of alcohol and immediately moves onto the headaches and nausea that are usually reserved for a hangover.

There's also quite a big chance that you suffer from another hereditary defect: About half of all East Asians, including myself, have broken acetaldehyde dehydrogenase enzymes. This enzyme normally concentrates the toxic ethanol in your body into harmless acetate. But a shortage of acetaldehyde dehydrogenase means that the ethanol builds up and your veins widen, resulting in a glowing red tomato face, often referred to as "Asian flush" or "Asian glow." It doesn't just look awkward—the ethanol build-up also greatly increases your risk of stomach cancer.

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For an Asian like me, all these genetic fuck-ups raise a whole bunch of social stigmas when it comes to getting hammered. Whenever I'm somewhere where there are few, or no other, Asians ) there's always that one person who notices that I'm blushing and playfully squeezes at my shoulder while yelling "Time to lay off the sauce, mate."

According to the internet, there are a few solutions for these issues (except for the stomach cancer, which basically anyone can get from drinking too much). The obvious ones being abstinence (yawn), pacing yourself (no chance), not drinking liquor (fuck that), and not drinking on an empty stomach.

Another thing you can try is taking this special ulcer medication 45 minutes before you start drinking. Basically, it prevents your veins from widening. But if I was to do that, then I'd be mixing alcohol with pills—something that literally every single doctor ever has warned you against.

There's also one genius who suggested wearing green makeup in order to balance out the redness. But then I'd have to plaster myself with some weird green goo every time I wanted to drink a pint and that's just not going to happen. One of the better suggestions I've seen is just to edit all the photos that have been taken of me on a night out. I can just make them sepia, I guess. That or apply one of those sad black-and-white Instagram filters on every single picture on my phone.

A lot of business-savvy entrepreneurs have to tried to cash in on this problem with a variety of concoctions meant to prevent Asian glow. One of them is an American named Jen Du, who recently reached her crowdfunding campaign goal and is currently working on Before Elixir. She sent me a few samples, so I decided to give it a try.

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The author before and after a mojito. Photo courtesy of the author

Day 1

• 1 mojito

• 4 bottles of beer

• An unknown number of Jägermeister Spice shots

I decided to start my first day of product-testing in a Mexican restaurant. What better way to kick things off than a mound of grease? As per the instructions, I poured all 237 milliliters of my Before Elixir into a glass and necked the whole thing 30 before minutes before I was set to start boozing. It was both sweet and bitter but not all that bad.

After half a mojito, I didn't feel the familiar warming of skin and heart palpitations, but my head did start to turn red. Luckily my facial glow didn't get any worse as the evening went on and for some reason I managed to wake up without a hangover the next morning. That could have something to do with the mountain of nachos I had also ingested though.

Day 2

•3 La Chouffes

•2 Heinekens

•2 shots of brandy

On the second day of my drinking experiment, the elixir tasted completely different. The sweet raspberry flavor was completely gone. I checked the website and it turned out that the elixir contained both raspberries and pomegranate, but also mangosteen, milk thistle, and a whole load of vitamins. When I raised the bottle to my lips to tried to drink the thing, I could smell pencil erasers, week-old pickled eggs, and some weird whiff of apocalyptic sulphur fumes. This array of smells didn't disappear until I downed the whole thing.

That time, I decided to take the elixir a full hour before I got to drinking. Apparently, that was too early for my body, and the fact that I hadn't eaten anything didn't help. So the rest of the night was full of all the usual Asian flush symptoms, and the bike ride home was just as hard as on any other night after the pub. I woke up to a sink full of vomit.

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A box full of Before Elixir. Photo courtesy of the author

Day 3

• 7 bottles of beer

• 2.5 racks of spare ribs

• 2 gin and tonics

The potion's creator, Jen, encourages people to mix the anti-glow fluid with other liquids. She recommends rum, vodka, and gin. I like to mix it with coke—mainly so it doesn't stink like a wet dog.

After a few office beers, I ended up tipsy with half of my body covered in red splotchy patches. At least I didn't feel my heart pounding off my chest. Eating two pounds of spare ribs in between drinks didn't help either. I just thanked god that it was the weekend and I could sleep in.

Day 4

• 1 glass of red wine

• 1/2 bottle of house wine

At this stage, I've lost faith in this liquid entirely but decide to give it one last go. According to Jen, Before Elixir doesn't work with wine, because wine contains sulphates and allergens that will make anyone's face flush. Tonight seems like a good opportunity to put that theory to the test.

As it turns out, Jen is right. My drinking partner thought I was overreacting, but about fifteen minutes after my first glass of merlot, the skin around my eyes slowly started to turn red. She laughed loudly as this massive throbbing vein suddenly appeared by my temple. I felt a bit like the Hulk, just in a different color scheme.

Conclusion

Before Elixir does seem to prevent a few symptoms like heart palpitations and burning skin, but alcohol still turns my face bright red. I guess I'll have to give the green makeup a shot. That or just stop moaning. Although the crying itself isn't really a problem—I may be an ugly drinker, but I'm a beautiful crier.

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Photos by Sean Fennessy.

After holidaying in Australia's Gold Coast as a child, Sean Fennessy found himself drawn back as an adult. The copious amounts of skin and a grimy glamor have provided photographers with a steady stream of subjects for decades, but it wasn't until he was 7,000 miles away that his project around the GC began to take form. While traveling in Dubai for work he realized he was shooting the same symbols of breezy, disjointed excess: bloated tourists, towering high-rises, and a city cut off from its surroundings.

The comparison was the starting point for his series Gold. But rather than criticize the cities for their excess, Sean took an observational approach and applied the clean, graphic aesthetic he is known for. The resulting series allows viewers to assess these artificial oases for themselves.

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VICE: How did Gold begin?
Sean Fennessy: It began with the series on the Gold Coast. I was always interested in the idea of this manmade place. I grew up in Tassie, and as a kid the idea of going to Surfers Paradise and the Gold Coast was pretty magical.

I wanted to revisit it as an adult just to see if any of that atmosphere was still there. I did have this strange sense of déjà vu. But the excitement I had as a kid had well and truly disappeared and it was replaced by this sense of, What is this place, and, Why are people still coming here?

When did Dubai become part of the series?
I was traveling for a separate magazine story and I had the opportunity to stop in Dubai. It's not somewhere I necessarily wanted to visit for pleasure—I don't think many people would. But in the same way I find the Gold Coast fascinating, Dubai has a strange fascination. Like the Gold Coast, it does have an imposing skyline. The Burj Khalifa is quite spectacular purely because of its size.

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They're both intense cities, why present them with this sense of quietness?
I didn't want to ram my impressions down people's throats, or influence what they see. I wanted to document it straight up and just say, well you might find this interesting or you might not.

Is there a danger of culture being wiped away in these new developments?
I guess, especially in a place like Dubai. That part of the world has such a strong cultural history, but here they are trying to build this completely homogenous international city with no real kind of reference to their past or history, which is sad I suppose.

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How is it being homogenized?
The expats have no interest in participating in local culture, even though it is difficult. You're not supposed to drink alcohol and you're not supposed to wear a bikini, but they're all more than happy to do that where they can. There's a shot I took in Dubai of the beach—it's actually a beautiful beach and it makes sense to hang out when the weather is that hot—but here there are all these overweight expats parading around. It's the exact opposite of what the locals would do.

You mentioned your childhood vision of the Gold Coast, did this project make you re-look at the GC identity?
With the Gold Coast you know they're trying to present this idea of "typical Australian lifestyle." But I think that's disappearing more and more and it's just becoming basically like a theme park, like an Australian theme park.

Scroll down for more of Sean's images.

Interview by Hannah Scholte. Follow her on Twitter.

Video via DAILY VICE

Minister of Immigration is easily one of the least rewarding jobs for a Canadian politician.

On the list of problem files for the minister, there is a seemingly never-ending backlog of outstanding immigration and refugee claims that means would-be Canadians are waiting years upon years for their chance at a Canuck passport. Then there's the never-ending demand for space for refugees from war-torn countries. And now, Canada is seeing some of it youths trying to flee to Syria to join the so-called Islamic State.

So VICE sat down with the current occupant of the job, Chris Alexander, to check in to see how his experience in the office has been going.

We met with the minister at Ottawa's best hangover-cuisine greasy spoon, Mello's Diner, to down some strong coffee, talk shop, and run through a few of the challenges facing the person manning the door to Canada.

Alexander, shuffled into the gig during the summer of 2013, can claim some partial victories on those fronts.

At the end of last year, Ottawa announced that it was on track to eliminate the backlog for immigration claims, meaning most soon-to-be Canadians will wait months, not years. Overhauls of the refugee system have meant more at-risk groups, especially those in the LGBTQ community, have a better shot at becoming citizens. And police have gotten much better at nabbing wanna-be terrorists before they can board a plane to Syria.

But not everything is rosy.

The Harper government has faced harsh criticism for toughening up Canada's refugee system. One of the most controversial examples was a decision to limit access to refugee protection for those coming from supposedly "safe countries" (like Mexico.)

Alexander said the government needed to crack down on fraudulent refugee claims, blaming the previous Liberal governments for letting in thousands of asylum seekers from well-off democracies who don't really need protection, in order to let in those who really need help. He said those claims were previously "overwhelming our system."

As of 2013, Canada was taking in about 25 percent fewer refugees than it was a decade ago.

Seemingly lending credence to the idea that Canada's immigration and refugee system has lost some checks and balances, VICE reported in April that Canada was deporting people back to Libya right into 2015, even after ISIS was filmed holding mass executions there, and while rebels were launching major offensives throughout the country. Canada has also recently resumed deporting residents back to Haiti and Zimbabwe.

Alexander says the process through which the government adds and removes countries from a secretive list of places where it shouldn't be shipping people off to is "arms length" from him.

"I think we have a very fair system. You're right, it's a fast-moving world out there, some countries that look stable can deteriorate quickly and that's when our evaluation has to change quickly," he said.

When it comes to stopping Canadians from running off to join ISIS, the government has faced criticism from both sides—both those who are saying Ottawa isn't doing enough, and those who say it's going too far.

Alexander says that between initiatives to allow more information-sharing between intelligence agencies and new powers that lets the minister to strip dual citizens of their Canadian citizenship, the Harper government is trying to prevent Canada from becoming known as a net exporter of terrorists. Critics say both efforts are unconstitutional. Alexander rejects that.

"We're only going to be able to revoke citizenship when it's a case of dual national. We're not gonna make people stateless," he said. "Very few Canadians are convicted for terrorism, espionage, treason. These measures are never going to apply to, we hope, anything other than a very small number."

But one of the minister's biggest controversies came while defending a 2011 policy that forbids face-coverings during citizenship ceremonies—a.k.a. the niqab ban— that was being challenged by a Pakistani woman hoping to get her Canadian citizenship. She won, but the government felt so strongly about their policy that they applied to put the federal court's decision on hold while they appeal. The government will be introducing legislation in the coming days enshrining that policy into law, as a way to bypass the courts.

During the debate on the matter, Alexander mistakenly referred to the face-covering garment as a " hijab," and proceeded to insist that wearing the garb is "not the way we do things here." The whole snafu, and the Canadian government's apparent need to tell women what-and-what-not to wear, was billed as being a mix of Islamophobic and sexist. Alexander disagrees.

He says the whole thing is about strengthening Canadian citizenship.

"People take pride in that. They don't want their co-citizens to be terrorists," he said. "They don't want people to become citizens who haven't respected the rules."

We asked the minister whether this is really a matter of public policy, or just dog-whistle politics.

VICE: You're facing controversy over the government's decision a couple years ago to force women who wear the niqab to either remove it when taking the oath of citizenship, or simply refuse them citizenship all together. That's been criticized as, as Islamophobic and discriminatory. How can you defend a policy that, that basically tells women what and what not to wear at a citizenship ceremony?
Chris Alexander: Well, on the contrary, we have never done anything to tell people what to wear, or tell people how to live. I mean, I'm the immigration minister. We are proud of our diversity. Our diversity works; it is our strength. We want people to embrace Canadian values, live under the law. It was uncontroversial up until a court decision last year, that people should be seen and heard taking the oath of citizenship. Why? Because that oath isn't just a formality, it isn't just a frill. It is a formal requirement under the law of becoming a Canadian citizen. If you don't take the oath, you don't become a citizen. And some people who don't take it, or have problems with parts of it, haven't become citizens.

So, the woman who's challenging this policy, she wears the niqab. She says that she was happy to take the oath holding a microphone so everyone could hear her. Said she was happy to do it with her veil off, so long as it was in a private ceremony with just women present. She said she was happy to accommodate the government, but the rules are now such that she can't do that. Why won't the government move an inch for the sake of giving this woman citizenship?
Because, when you become a citizen, you don't get to dictate the rules. The rules apply equally to everyone. They involve knowledge of Canada and a test, they involve knowledge of our official languages—French or English or both. They involve a residency requirement and they involve taking the oath, and you have to be seen and heard taking the oath. You don't get to come to Canada and decide the rules don't apply to you.

Well, she was happy to do all those things, and the rules used to be that people could take it in private if they decided to.
Until this court decision last year—which we think was very mistaken and that's why we're appealing it—there was no controversy about this, and and the overwhelming majority of people were happy to be seen and heard taking the oath. The overwhelming majority of Canadians want that rule to continue to apply. We've done a lot in the past year to strengthen the value of Canadian citizenship. People take pride in that. They don't want their co-citizens to be terrorists. They don't want people to become citizens who haven't respected the rules.

This interview has been edited for style, length, and clarity.

Follow Justin Ling on Twitter.