This article originally appeared on VICE Germany

I met Sabine when she was sitting on the stairs next to my house. It took all my courage to ask her if I could take a picture. Before that evening I'd never thought to take pictures of anything involving prostitution. As a woman living around the red light district in Berlin, hardly any of the sex workers on the street looked me in the eye. But the barrier that had always been there between me and that world, blew open through my encounter with Sabine.

I wasn't interested in capturing portraits of sex workers; it was more about showing the character of the district. Hoping to learn more, I ended up stepping into OLGA, a counseling center in the district for sex workers from the area. The center has the atmosphere of a living room and offers all kinds of assistance for everyday life, such as beds, showers, and clean injecting equipment. There's a strict 'No Men' policy that allows sex workers to take a break from the stress of the street. I started volunteering at OLGA one day a week and at the same time worked on a photo project with the women frequenting the shelter, where they were given cameras to show their reality in a new way.

Besides the challenges that come with working the street every day, the women I met often have to deal with homelessness, drug addiction, gambling, a lack of social benefits, and being the sole provider for their family. Most of them are from Germany, Bulgaria, and Hungary, but a part of them are also of Sinti Roma backgrounds. Some of the sex workers are trans.

A street named Kurfürstenstrasse has been one of Berlin's hotspots for prostitution for about 130 years, but the sex work is becoming increasingly marginalized. Before, the women could freely work in places like the local parks or abandoned spaces but luxury apartments are being build in those spots, radically changing the character of the area. For many sex workers, working in brothels isn't an attractive option because it makes them less flexible—and the cost for a room can be high. There are two hot-sheet hotels in the area, with only a few rooms each. The girls say that one of them is filthy, but I was denied access to it twice. The other hotel is The Stockholm, which is the oldest establishment in Berlin. It's well run, but there aren't many punters who are willing to pay £11 extra for a room.

Getting to know these women, walking around the area with them, I got a deeper insight into their day-to-day struggles. It opened up my neighborhood for me, and changed the way I photographed it—it turned me off of needlessly loud pictures. Working on this series, I was looking to recreate the mood that lingers in the area without being explicit.

See more of Kathrin's work here. Scroll down for more photos:

Image by Michael Ochs Archives/ Stringer via Getty Images

Read: Music Writers on the Prince Songs That Defined Their Lives

As speculations swirl surrounding Prince's untimely death Thursday at 57, TMZ has reported that the pop star was hospitalized for a drug overdose just last week.

Six days before his death, reports surfaced that Prince's private jet had to make an emergency landing in Moline, Illinois, following a concert in Atlanta on April 15. He left just three hours after being admitted to the hospital, providing fans a collective sigh of relief.

Although reps from the musician's entourage initially said Prince had been battling the flu, TMZ is now reporting he may have been treated for a Percocet overdose. According to sources close to the late icon, Prince had allegedly ingested the drug before his Atlanta concert, taking so much that EMT respondents had to administer a "save shot"—possibly of Naloxone—to reverse the opiate's effects.

TMZ had also taken photos of Prince a week before his death visiting his local pharmacy. Sure, that could just mean he was out of paper towels or toothpaste, but the website speculates that he could have been refilling prescriptions for a corrective hip surgery he had six years ago in 2010.

Prince's autopsy is scheduled for Friday, which could shed more light on how the beloved icon died.

UPDATE 4/22/16: An earlier version of this article included a photoshopped image of Prince that many found to be in poor taste given the circumstances. We agree and have removed it.

Facebook Live is the social network's latest new toy, a doodad that allows users, be they brands or meatspace entities, to stream videos on their pages. Think of it like television, except on Facebook.

The fascinating thing is that no one really knows how to use Facebook Live, meaning that for the moment, the possibilities are endless. It's not hard to imagine it becoming a venue for performance artists—Andy Warhol 's Blowjob seems well-suited for FB Live, as does something like Chris Burden's Shoot. ("If ten thousand people like this, I'll shoot myself in the arm.") For now, though, FB Live is dominated by the sort of gee-whiz-look-at-this-are-we-having-fun-guys stuff that millennials (or whoever is on Facebook) seem to eat up. Its first major success was when BuzzFeed employees wrapped rubber bands around a watermelon until it exploded, thus " proving half a million people would watch some of a Mythbusters episode if it was on."

It naturally follows that advertisers would take to FB Live as well, but nothing can explain the Monopoly page 's game of Hungry Hungry Hippos between Mr. Potato Head, Mrs. Potato Head, and the Monopoly man himself (a.k.a. Rich Uncle Pennybags). It's part avant-garde video art, part commercial, and wholly disturbing

The video opens with a shaky close-up of the hippos. In the background, an ominous hum (a fan? a generator?). The camera peels back to reveal life-sized versions of childhood's beloved mascots in a bright pink room, waving as you would wave if you were held in a North Korean prison and told to wave. There is no door visible, only a window, and the blinds are down. Are these mascots hiding from the world, or being hidden from it?

The Potato Heads high-five, then spin in a circle and high-five again, and again. Mr. Potato Head appears to make the rock on bullhorns with his gloved index and pinky fingers. The contestants shake hands, and Pennybags does a jig, accidentally slamming into the closed blinds. No one talks, and the foreboding hum continues. Pennybags brushes the dirt off his shoulder.

The Hungry Hungry Hippos games starts, and it immediately becomes clear that a) it actually isn't that fun to watch people play HHH, and b) the game was not designed to be played while wearing novelty fake-cartoon gloves. Mr. Potato Head begins slamming his whole hand on the board like an animal, with no strategy, sending hippo food across the table and onto the floor. Mrs. Potato Head appears to shoot him a look that says, "Don't you dare pull this shit again." No one speaks. There is no background music. The cacophony of plastic slamming on plastic roars above the generator. For some reason the game stops, the potatoes do more dancing, and Pennybags gestures frantically toward the board. There are still plastic marbles to be eaten!

The game resumes. For 30 seconds, Mr. Potatohead slams his gloved hand against his hippo's head, sounding like a deranged metronome. The game ends even though there are still pieces of hippo food remaining, and Rich Uncle Pennybags seems to have won. He begins to "raise the roof," jumping up and down as the cameraman focuses on other things, like the floor.

Is this a clever new edgy brand of marketing? Is it edgy to make people sort of stressed out and afraid of your mascots? Did someone let those people inside the costumes out of that pink room? Are they playing game after game of Hungry Hungry Hippos? If so, do they get health insurance or whatever? Will Monopoly keep making videos like this, a la the Onion's Sex House? Will FB Live become a home for strange, oddly formal abstract films made by junior-level marketing employees with budgets of under $100? The answer to those questions is yes, yes, I hope so, I hope not, they should, I hope so, and please, let that be the world we live in.

Follow Hanson O'Haver on Twitter.

Photo via Facebook

I was 13 the first time I tried smoking pot. Earlier that day I had tried my first cigarette and my first (half) beer. The afternoon culminated with me trying my first hit of acid, so the weed had little impact on me. I would engage with weed a few more times over the next two years but failed to see what my friends were finding so exciting about it. At 15, I came to the realization that I didn't like alcohol or drugs period and declared myself straight edge. I would remain that way for the next 15 years.

Anxiety problems tend to manifest themselves in adults around the age of 30, but looking back on it now, I realize how much of my life has been shaped by it. From as far back as I can remember I was having panic reactions in certain situations, and was unable to identify what was going on. Around the age of 20, after someone I was close to went through a horrific tragedy, I broke down completely. I was told by my doctors that I had issues with anxiety and depression, and that in order to regain control of my life I would need to be on some sort of mood-stabilizing medication. After reconciling the need to be on a long-term drug regimen with the values I ascribed to being straight edge, I began taking the medication. I figured, this was a medically prescribed drug and that it wasn't like the other "bad" drugs that had no medicinal purpose. Over the course of the next ten years I would be prescribed about a half dozen or so different types of medications. The doses were varied, and they were tried in combination with one another in the hopes of finding a balance between relief from the anxiety symptoms and minimizing the amount of sides effects.

The side effects were brutal. I can remember reading an interview with the the lead singer of the band 16 just before I started taking the pills, where he talked about how he went off antidepressant and anxiety drugs because when he was on them he didn't want to masturbate. I thought: Wow, can that really happen to a person from just a little pill? What I didn't know at the time was that many people can experience sexual side effects like loss of libido while taking certain anxiety drugs—I would be one of these people. This is not to say that I lost complete interest in sex, just that, depending on the medication, it was a lot lower on the fun activity list than it was when I was not on the pills.

All photos courtesy the author

But that wasn't it for the side-effect party. At night, I couldn't fall asleep, and yet I was always tired during the day. I also quickly began to put on weight. I feel weird talking about this because all my life I have been heavy. As a young person, this of course was a source of ridicule from some of my more evil peers, so by the time I was an adult I was fairly confident in the way I looked—ESPECIALLY as my band got going. The fact that I was 300-plus pounds didn't bother me at all. I felt good and was happy with the way I looked.

At times, the side effects would get so frustrating to deal with that I would decide that I needed to drop down my dosage, only to find myself falling apart again a few weeks later. To make matters worse, this time in my life coincided with the period that Fucked Up found itself becoming more of a real band, and ultimately my job.

The vocation of lead singer in a band is not one that naturally lends itself to managing an anxiety disorder. The day of the show could, at times, feel like one prolonged panic attack. I can see now that my bloodletting stage antics that helped us gain a reputation for being a "crazy" live band in the early days were more born out of a self-harming panic reaction than any great sense of stagecraft. And since this was now my job, I also found myself touring a lot more, which only served to exasperate the anxiety attacks. On one occasion after dropping my dosage before a particularly long European tour (a TERRIBLE idea) I found myself in a Danish hospital getting an emergency supply of Ativan to cope with the returning panic attacks. The other side effect I noticed with the Ativan that seemed particularly frustrating was that the muscle relaxant it contained numbed my throat in such a way that I couldn't get my voice to sound the way I like. This resulted in a constant need to balance the issues I had with anxiety with the need to be able to perform my job. I had resigned myself to the idea that this was the only way to deal with an anxiety disorder—and thus I should just deal.

Weed vs. Anxiety

Things all changed for me the next time we went to Europe in the summer of 2010. Again, I had made the mistake of misgauging my need for Ativan and went with none. About a week or so into the tour, I could feel myself beginning to spiral, and following a hellacious post-show-sitting-in-the-hotel-shower meltdown in Koln, Germany, we hit Holland, and I decided to try and save myself from another European hospital visit and try pot.

I have no idea where I heard that pot could help with anxiety, but I would guess it was from the internet or from someone in Iron Age. Wherever I heard it, I considered it to be sage enough advice. Backstage at a festival the next day in Nijmegan, Netherlands, I tried smoking pot again. It seemed that, almost instantaneously, the anxiety subsided, and I relaxed. It was from that moment that I realized I had totally misjudged this plant and medical marijuana as a whole as some hippy bullshit. For the rest of that tour I smoked weed and found that my anxiety stopped being an issue.

When I got home from tour, I made an appointment to see my family doctor. She had been treating me for the previous eight years, so I just assumed she would be excited by my new discovery. But when I suggested that I was thinking of giving up the pharmaceuticals and switching to cannabis, she was less than enthusiastic about the idea. My argument was that I had been on the pills now for the better part of ten years, I had mixed feelings (at best) about the experience, and here was something that worked with none of the side effects—AND you can grow out of the ground! She still had concerns, and it would take three years and for me to lose almost 120 pounds to assuage them.

One of the common side effects of some of the anti-anxiety medications is weight gain, and some studies have linked cannabis use with weight loss in "overweight" people. Losing weight wasn't in my head at all when I started pot, so I didn't notice this unintended side effect at first, but I began feeling less compelled to drink as much soda and eat as much fast food. I only really started noticing that I was losing weight when people who came to see the band began remarking about it, and some even said if I lost too much they would stop coming to the shows. (Very early on, Fucked Up garnered the devotion of punk fans who also loved fat hairy men, so I guess one negative side effect of the weed is that it cost the band some of its fanbase!)

It was the other side effects of the medication that I had found more impactful on my life: I was able to sleep, at least more fitfully than I had before, plus—without getting into details—the sexual side effects were gone too, and I now have three kids. I was also more alert when I was awake. I felt happier and more in control. I was also able to get over my lifelong obsession with soda pop—one that had ballooned to a point where I was drinking about three to six litres a day of the stuff while on the pills.

Given that I was losing weight for the first time since she had started seeing me, this raised some concerns in my doctor. Following a full physical and various tests to ensure that there wasn't another reason for my polymorphic shape shift, I explained that the only thing that I had really adjusted in my lifestyle was the switching to cannabis in place of the meds. It was at this point that I could tell that she was starting to come around more to the idea of me using medical marijuana. She suggested that I look at what it would take to get medically approved as a marijuana user (it seems to be very common, amongst other medical users that have gone through the process with their doctor, that the onus of education about cannabis falls on the patient). And thus began my dance with the Canadian medical marijuana system.

Navigating Canada's Medical "Marihuana" System

The year was 2012, and at the time the program in place providing patients with medical marijuana was the government's Marihuana (how the Canadian government chooses to spell it, for whatever reason) Medical Access Regulations program (or the the acronym for the regulation, MMAR). The Canadian government first introduced a medical "marihuana" program on July 10, 2001. Under the program, patients who qualified were allowed to legally possess dried cannabis buds. There were two categories of people that Health Canada felt were worthy of medical cannabis. Category 1 patients were those with "symptom(s) treated within the context of end-of-life care" or those with symptoms resulting from cancer, MS, AIDS, spinal injury/disease, epilepsy and severe arthritis.

The second category, the one into which I fell, was much broader. Patients in Category 2 must have "a debilitating symptom that is associated with a medical condition or with the medical treatment of that condition other than those described in Category 1." This category was left to the doctor's discretion and was largely confined to the realm of anecdotal evidence as far as the medical community is concerned. If your doctor determined a need, they would then decide on a dosage of grams per day and fill out a monstrous series of forms.

If accepted into the program, the patient was offered one of three ways to obtain the weed: grow it themselves, designate someone else as their grower and be part of what is sometimes been referred to as a "compassion garden," or buy it from Health Canada directly (provided by a subcontracted supplier). While I waited for her to read the forms and do some research into cannabis, she agreed to set me up with a dispensary in the meantime.

A grey market dispensary was a very different thing in Toronto just two years ago. With the number of dispensaries is Toronto exploding to about three-dozen storefronts in the past six months, now it's simply a matter of heading into any 'hood and looking for a sandwich board with a pot leaf on it. Before this retail pot explosion, cannabis dispensaries were forced to operate somewhat clandestinely. The first medical dispensaries began opening up in Toronto and Vancouver in the mid-90s as a way to provide cannabis to people with a medical need. Four years ago, the number of dispensaries had grown, but they were not yet a common sight in Toronto. Many had undisclosed locations and minimal nondescript signage, if any at all, and patients were forced to rely on word of mouth from other clients—which is exactly what I had to do.

Finding out a friend was a member at one of the longer-running and well-respected dispensaries in Toronto, I asked them to get me an application to join. The membership procedure required me to fax them my application including a section on my diagnosis filled out and signed by my doctor AND required my doctor to provide them with a confirmation of diagnosis through a separate communication. Only then, and with the additional referral provided by my friend who was a member, I was given the location to have a face-to-face meeting. There, I was required to sign separate forms promising to abide by the rules of the club (no reselling, no buying for other people, no bringing friends with me, never revealing the club's location or loitering around it, etc., etc.). It was explained to me that this was done because the club was selling something illegal and thus not really offered protections from police. In the past, cannabis clubs had been robbed only to find themselves the subject of the investigation of the responding police. Though varying slightly from club to club, this style of membership served as sort of an industry standard for the dispensaries operating on the more legitimate side of the grey medicinal marijuana market across the country.

Once I was approved, the club was able to offer their members a diverse range of strains provided to them by the local growers that supplied them and, through the collective pooled anecdotal evidence provided by the membership, a knowledge of which strains seemed to provide the best relief for which ailment. Bud tenders dispensing the cannabis there became my pharmacists in their knowledge of the medicines they sold. I was able to purchase medical cannabis in a variety of delivery methods (edibles, topical, concentrates, and dry buds) at a more consistent basis, theoretically, than I would have with my "street pharmacists" (who, to be fair, also had amazing knowledge of the fare they sold).

I now had decent access to my medicine but was still hoping to have my doctor gain me access to the MMAR because, let's face it, weed is kind of expensive. If I was in the MMAR, I could give my growing right to a designated grower who would grow my medicine for me, drastically cutting the cost. Many of these home cultivators were able to produce their medication for around $2 a gram after covering expenses. Given that the price for cannabis is seemingly set in Toronto at around $8-$12 per gram, and many patients require multiple grams per day, that would be a substantial savings.

That was the similar logic used by Toronto-based marijuana activist (and full disclosure, a friend) Matt Mernagh. Mernagh has been using cannabis to treat seizures and chronic pain for over ten years and had been unsuccessful in his repeated attempts to find a doctor willing to help him enter the MMAR program. Following an arrest for growing his own cannabis in 2008, he and his lawyer Paul Lewin argued that there was, practically speaking, a "massive boycott" of Canadian doctors toward medical marijuana. Three years and a constitutional challenge later, Ontario Superior Court Judge Donald Taliano agreed that sick people like Matt were forced to resort to crime to get the medication because of the program's lack of effectiveness. He ordered that the government of Canada had to make changes to its medical marijuana program or he would overturn all of Canada's marijuana laws. The Canadian government managed to avert this from happening following an appeal court decision and by basically blowing up the Canadian medical marijuana system.

How the Lack of Government Research Impacts Medical Cannabis Users

It was around this point that my interest in cannabis intensified. Medical cannabis was still an area I was unable to find much information about. The Canadian cannabis system was changing rapidly in the wake of the Mernaugh decision. I immersed myself in the community in the hopes of learning all that i could and watched it unfold.

Former Health Minister Leona Aglukkaq announced the proposed changes to the MMAR in December of 2012. The old program was to be done away with and in its place was the eloquently named The Marihuana for Medical Purposes Regulations (MMPR). Effectively, the Canadian government was getting out of the weed game. No longer would doctors be referring patients into a government program in which they would be getting cannabis directly through Health Canada provided to them by a single supplier; now it would be the doctors prescribing the weed themselves to the patient who would then would get the cannabis from a licensed producer at the pharmacy, like any other prescription. This move completely ignored the complaints patients and doctors had had about the previous system and replaced it with a system that seemed to further exasperate the situation.

Pharmacists immediately protested this move and basically refused to sell it, echoing much of the Canadian medical community's concerns about medical marijuana as a concept and adding further concerns for the need for greater security in the wake of increased threat of robberies (a position they have since reconsidered). Health Canada remedied this by announcing that the cannabis would now be delivered to patients via the mail. This move almost perfectly coincided with the Conservative government's decision to get rid of door-to-door mail delivery in Canada, replacing it with public mega mailboxes, which, given the concerns expressed by pharmacists about robberies, was a bit of puzzling move. The complaints from the doctors and patients were not moved on as quickly.

With the MMPR, doctors would now have more onus on them as the sole prescriber of cannabis, but it didn't serve to address any of their concerns. Under the new system, patients would still be stuck trying to convince reluctant, under-informed doctors to pursue cannabis as a course of treatment. If the doctor did agree to prescribe weed, there were still the same questions about dosage. To remedy this, Health Canada provides doctors with a handy "Daily Amount" document. This also provides insight into Health Canada's understanding of cannabis. It offers ten brief, and at times redundant, points on how to proceed with prescribing something that "while pointing to some potential therapeutic benefits, the scientific evidence does not establish the safety and efficacy of." Directing doctors to keep it slow and low with dosing, it suggests several times that sticking within the 1-3 gram dosing range. It dismisses strain differentials as being anecdotal and lacking in "scientific or clinical evidence." It also points out that same lack in clinical studies about edibles or topicals, noting that none of these are provided under the MMPR. Still, doctors would only have the option of prescribing cannabis in a dried bud form for smoking or with the option of directing the patient to vaporize it.

This of course is ignoring the demands of patients. Many people using medicinal marijuana are unable or unwilling to smoke or vaporize their cannabis. Patients with conditions of the skin, like psoriasis, find that the application of weed-based topical provides relief. Other cannabis patients, with respiratory or other ailments that make inhalation not an option, have turned to edibles for years. Patients unable to ingest cannabis through inhalation or as an edible have even been able to find the benefits from cannabis when delivered as a suppository. All of these (though less with the suppositories) are available from any decent grey market dispensary.

Some 6,000 of the soon-to-be-former MMAR patients responded by filing a class action lawsuit on behalf of the newly formed Cannabis Rights Coalition or MMAR DPL/PPL Coalition Against Repeal. Lawyer John Conroy filed a suit on the basis that the proposed changes to the MMAR prohibiting Patient of Caregiver "production and limiting position to 'dried marihuana' and other restrictions violate the constitutional rights of patients."

Filed officially on behalf of Neil Allard, they were granted an injunction preventing the government from forcing the existing MMAR patients to switch over to the new system. But for the rest of us, it was the new system and the licensed producers.

Green Investments

The licensed producers (LPs) are the most interesting and perhaps enduring legacy of the introduction of MMPR. With the creation of these licensed mass grow-ops the government had trojan-horsed a legitimate private sector into Canada. The very nature of how the new system is set up almost required the involvement of corporations. These new LPs required investments in the millions in order to meet the government-strict criteria to be considered to be granted a licence, and the average basement grower simply couldn't throw up a couple more lights and hope for approval. To date, there are 30 licensed producers in Canada.

Once getting approved, the struggle for riches from cannabis was far from over. The LPs are limited to what can be used to produce the cannabis, the way they promote their products and what they do with the plants once it is grown. The cannabis and facilities are subject to rigorous screening, forcing some LPs to resort to drastic measures like irradiation in order to meet the government's standards. They are also limited in how they promote cannabis and themselves: unable to sponsor non-educational events or even post pictures of their weed on their own websites, and outside of promotional limitation, they are not allowed to produce any of the cannabis-derived goods (edibles, concentrates, topicals) that the market demands.

But the inability to effectively promote, offer many of the products demanded by their consumers, or even cultivate plants en masse without any other biological contaminants showing up (while not being allowed to use any pesticides or herbicides) weren't the only problems. Once again, doctors have seemingly demonstrated an unwillingness to sign people up to the program—perhaps the greater impediment keeping the Canadian medicinal marijuana market from coming anywhere close to the potential mid-six-figure number of patients many have estimated.

With the current numbers of patients registered in the MMPR sitting just above 30,000, licensed producers looking for returns on the multi-million dollar investments are forced to look at what the problems were. One of the biggest problems seems to be the knowledge vacuum around medical cannabis. The LPs have been put in the position of hiring people to engage in outreach to Canadian doctors through an industry group called Canadian Medical Cannabis Industry Association, made up of many of the approved LPs. They launched initiatives such as the "5 City Continuing Medical Education Program," an "educational initiative" hoping to enlighten the frontline prescribing doctors and nurse practitioners about the benefits of medicinal cannabis. One member of this organization, Tweed, has taken further steps in trying to making cannabis a part of the Canadian medical landscape by participating in mainstream medical conferences like the Canada Primary Care Update.

Another outgrowth of the MMPR was the advent of cannabis clinics. These clinics serve as a place for weed-weary doctors hesitant to sign the forms to send patients to see a doctor who chooses to specialize in cannabis. While certain doctors and their practices being more sympathetic to pot is nothing new, what is new is the new breed of clinic that is opening in the wake of the MMPR. Places like Canadian Cannabis Clinics, Bodystream, Cannabinoid Clinic and others have opened up all over the country. Patients are given an assessment by a doctor to determine if there is a need, and if so, the amount per day in grams that they require (based on what, I have yet to figure out). After this, the patient meets with a "consultant" who helps steer them to a LP and select their strains. Given that the LPs are currently not allowed to supply "promotional product" (trust me, I have tried), I have a hard time believing that the consultant has any greater knowledge of the LPs' wares then anyone reading the descriptions of the website. The patient then makes an order from the given LP's website and waits a few days for the medicine to show up.

This process has to be repeated every three months, and getting to see the doctor for a renewal can be tricky. I know this because I'm currently waiting for an appointment to get back into my clinic, and I'm at one of the better ones. Patients at different clinics have told me horror stories about overworked, understaffed clinics trying to cope with the massive public demand for medical cannabis, such as patients having to drive for hours only to find the doctor has quit, or not being able to see a doctor for months on end.

Rise of the Dark Grey Market

In capitalist tradition, where there is a hole in the legitimate market, an illegitimate market prospers. The dispensary model, with its product range, knowledgable pot-positive staff, and general conduciveness to buying cannabis (being able to see it and smell it before you buy it), continues to hold the appeal of many medicinal cannabis users. At the same time as the LPs have been emerging, the dispensary scene in first Vancouver and now Toronto has exploded.

In April 2014, I went with VICE to Vancouver to shoot the first Canadian Cannabis. Our intention was to document the MMAR legal challenge over the incoming MMPR and to look at the general direction of weed in Canada at the time. Once in Vancouver, what was even more shocking was the abundance of dispensaries. At the time there were about 30 storefront medical cannabis retail outlets in Vancouver. With an incredible selection of products and many even having on-site naturopaths to sign the required medical forms, it was no surprise that they were proving to be popular with marijuana users. They proved so popular that by the time we came back to film a third episode specifically about dispensaries 18 months later, there were almost 200. The dispensary Eden had five locations at the time and 15,000 members alone, and Weeds Glass and Gifts had some 20 locations spread throughout the province of BC. However, hitting what appears to be a saturation point and the city of Vancouver's decision earlier this year to regulate the existing dispensaries has seemingly slowed the spread.

The end of the Vancouver dispensary boom has seemingly signalled the dawn of one in Toronto. Like Vancouver, Toronto's history of compassion clubs dates back to the mid-90s with places like CALM opening to serve the needs of patients looking for cannabis treatment. For a multitude of reasons, most significantly being the threat posed by law enforcement, dispensaries in Toronto (like the dispensaries that would open in the rest of Canada) are forced to operate under the cover of secrecy. Consequently, Toronto is a little behind Vancouver in terms of dispensary growth.

But what a difference an election makes. In the post-Trudeau Toronto, bolstered in part by talk of marijuana legalization, dispensaries have moved out of the shadows. Six months after the election, some estimates have the number of dispensaries in Toronto at close to 80 with more opening almost every day it seems. Weeds alone already has at least five downtown locations in just about all the major shopping areas.

Given the city's population, this is the biggest marijuana market in Canada. While, for the most part, these places are abiding by the traditional dispensary model of requiring a doctor to permit the patient to use cannabis, they are also accepting cannabis packaging and cards from licensed producers. As the LP packaging has the patient's prescription information printed on the side, it's a natural stand-in for a paper prescription. Some of the new Toronto dispensaries are taking it a step further, however, and offering access to cannabis to anyone who can provide a prescription container of theirs for anything that could be treated instead with cannabis. These dispensaries say they are fulfilling a need of patients to have access to their chosen medicine.

From my perspective, this is the best it has ever been for medical cannabis. In five years, I've gone from panicking because the one person I knew who sold weed wasn't calling me back, to having dozens of places to purchase weed, legal or otherwise. But, while ideal for me, I know it can't last. The fear that dispensaries are cutting into the LPs' potential market is leading the two into conflict with one another. LPs, with multi-million dollar investments at stake, are naturally protective of the market that is by word of the law legitimately theirs. On the other side, dispensaries and many of the people behind them have been doing this work in cannabis for years. Access to medical cannabis was a hard-fought battle, and many cannabis advocates have had to pay for their belief with their freedom. Why should they be cut out of a system that they helped bring about? They argue that they are still necessitated by providing services and products that patients need that aren't being offered by the MMPR program.

One thing the LPs and dispensaries agree on is that there is still a problem with access to the medical cannabis demanded by patients. The mainstream Canadian medical industry is slowly embracing cannabis, but this isn't happening fast enough for patients who are fed up waiting for a system to get figured out. The increased presence of illegal dispensaries is indicative of demand for cannabis not being met by doctors' willingness to allow people access.

The courts in the end agreed with the Cannabis Rights Coalition, that the MMPR did not address the needs of patients. The Honourable Michael Phelan handed down a decision that declared the MMPR needed provision to allow patients to grown their own cannabis. With the new Liberal government's decision not to appeal announced on March 24, one of the issues facing medical cannabis users seems to have a solution coming.

The Future of Weed in Canada

From my perspective, a drug is a drug, and it all comes down to side effects and whether or not they are manageable for an individual. I had been using the various pharmaceuticals for years and opted to try something new, and it worked for me. It also forced me, out of necessity, to take a more proactive involvement in my own health. I couldn't turn to a skeptical medical system for advice about cannabis, I had to learn it myself from articles, books, or others that had been through the same process. Because of the Canadian Cannabis series I've shot with VICE, I have had an intensive immersion study of cannabis. Now, almost every day someone asks me about medical cannabis: How do they get into the program? Where can they find good edibles? What is CBD?

All but one of the past five Liberal prime ministers have made some noise about reforming or doing away with Canada's anti-cannabis laws, but under Justin Trudeau, legalization has never seemed more likely. It was announced fortuitously enough on this 4/20 that Canada has informed the UN that the Liberal government will introduce legislation to legalize cannabis in the spring of 2017.

With legalization, many of the problems with the medical cannabis system will be subsumed by new problems brought about by the mass recreational system. All anyone needs to do is look at the moves the LPs are making as far as the level and scale of production to see that they are gearing up for a recreational market. Questions of monopolies, supply chains, taxation, and revenues will unduly further diminish the voices of medical cannabis patients.

As a medicinal cannabis user, I want to see a medical cannabis system that puts patients and patients' needs at its core. The primary patient concerns of access and price are also what stands at the core of keeping this as a desirable market to the many people that stand profit from it as a legitimate sector. The legitimized commodification of this plant opens the door to the creation of a monopoly. Now that patients will have the option of producing their own plants again, it also forces the legitimized sector to be somewhat susceptible to free market forces while remaining regulated.

As a person with a sense of justice, I want to see a recreational or medicinal system that acknowledges the efforts made in cannabis by the people who have been criminalized by their association with cannabis. As a country, Canada is on the cusp of admitting that the prohibition of cannabis has failed and that it is harmless enough to now allow people to make billions off of the sales of it. Shouldn't the people that have been saying that all along be allowed to participate? Under the current parameters of the MMPR, the only people who were allowed to apply for licenses to produce cannabis were people without past legal entanglements with cannabis. The regulated cannabis market should be opened enough to allow the very people that have developed that very strains, plants, and culture that so many others stand to profit from.

Above all this we need to see the end of the arrests for cannabis. No matter what is about to happen with who will control it, we are about to see weed legalized, and thus, it should be decriminalized immediately. Above access, price and control of the industry, no more people should have to have their lives upheaved for the possession of a plant.

This week close to 15,000 got together in downtown Toronto on a weekday afternoon to smoke weed and disobey cannabis laws that they find unjust. For the past ten years, the annual 4/20 protest has grown. Started by a handful of people who wanted to have a public smoke-out similar to one held in Vancouver, the Toronto version, much like its west coast counterpart, has taken on a mini-festival-rally vibe in recent years. This one was by far the biggest yet, as people stood shoulder to shoulder in Yonge-Dundas Square passing joints, munching edibles, dabbing concentrates, and generally celebrating cannabis. There was a sense of completion to the festivities as the 15,000 people, medical and recreational user alike, all knew that by this time next year, cannabis is Canada is going to be drastically different.

Follow Damian Abraham on Twitter.

Fake OxyContin pills like those pictured above usually contain fentanyl. However, when pills like this were seized during a bust last year in Calgary, Health Canada found a different deadly substance within: W-18. Photo via RCMP

Health Canada is now rushing to regulate W-18, a drug that was first found being sold as counterfeit blue-green OxyContin pills last year in Calgary.

The man doesn't take a bad photo. THE CANADIAN PRESS/Sean Kilpatrick

A few years ago, French magazine Maquillage et Motocyclette, ranked Canadians as being among the ugliest people on earth.

Editor-in-chief Chantelle DuBois told the CBC at the time that our "very scrunched" faces and tendency to wear sweatpants all the time (sweatpants>sex imo) make us repugnant. She then added that Canadians are overly apologetic and insecure.

"Canada is like the boyfriend who keeps calling you every day, every day, every day... It makes you feel yucky."

Things are different these days. Though we are still embarrassingly desperate for approval, we now have the hottest politician in the world leading our country and everyone wants a piece of his tattooed, panda-loving bod.

This week alone, Prime Minister Justin Trudeau was named one of GQ Magazine's "Most Stylish Men Alive," easily clearing the outlet's crazy high threshold on account of his khaki wedding suit and a pair of Habs socks he publicly displayed on his feet. He also made Time's list of 100 most influential people, with SNL creator (and fellow Canadian) Lorne Michaels declaring him "bold, clear as a bell and progressive." Nobody likes a murky world leader/bell, after all. While in New York City to sign the Paris Agreement on climate change, Trudeau made time for a boxing session at Gleason's Gym in Brooklyn, which media outlets happily devoured. UK paper the Independent even used Trudeau as the lead image in a story about the sexiest accents on the planet—even though Canadians did not make the list and aren't referenced a single time in the story.

The cynic in me is a little nauseated by the whole saga. For once in my life, I even found myself nodding along in agreement to a Toronto Sun editorial that accused Trudeau of manipulating the media with his sexy boxing drills and journalists of happily obliging him, without being proper critics.

But then I took a step back and realized it might be a little early for us to be supercritical of Trudeau. He could be saying more about Canadians who are being prosecuted for weed "crimes" that might soon be legal. And some experts feel his federal budget could've done a lot more for young people—whose backs he's supposed to have, as minister of youth. Plus, he was apparently having a fancy dinner and attending a book launch when the House of Commons held an emergency debate over the Attawapiskat suicide crisis. But on the whole, it's only been six months since he came into office, so there's not a whole lot of substantial material to rip into.

Looking back to exactly a year ago today, Harper was making headlines for wearing a Team Canada jersey at a Winnipeg Jets game, virtually the only thing that made him distinguishable from the rest of the crowd. Harper, vaguely parting his lips in what we can only assume was his attempt at a smile and staring upward (presumably at a scoreboard), was the Gleason's boxing match of last year. Other things that passed for "colour stories" during Harper's day included his piano rendition of Sweet Child O' Mine and that time he went on a "joy ride" ATVing in Whitehorse and pissed off a bunch of locals who say the vehicles are destroying the wilderness.

It got me thinking that maybe being starved of a leader who emitted human emotions—or talked to the media at all—for such a long time is partially why the Trudeau honeymoon isn't yet over. That and the man is just objectively hot.

Hopefully though, we'll get it out of our systems now so when it's time for him to start making good (or renege) on his many election promises, we won't be blinded by a shirtless photo op.

Follow Manisha Krishnan on Twitter.

This gallery originally appeared on VICE Alps

In Switzerland, snowmen can predict the weather. Well, sometimes. Every year since the early 20th century on the third Monday in April, Zurich celebrates the Sechseläuten, its traditional parade of the guilds. The members of the guilds and their kids parade through the streets of the city, gazed upon by the eyes of thousands. Afterwards the winter is figuratively cast out in the form of a snowman effigy—known as the Böögg—filled with firecrackers.

When the Böögg's head explodes, both the elitist guilds and regular Zurich plebs celebrate the evening with a little barbecue. Usually people discuss the women, who mostly aren't allowed to walk through the city with their husbands or fathers, and how long it takes until the Böögg's head explodes—the sooner it blows, the better the summer weather, according to legend.

But this year the weather became topic number one. Instead of sunshine and t-shirts, clouds and raincoats dominated the scenery. Rather than a huge crowd congregating around the burnt Böögg, people stayed at home or in the nearby stores, seeking out dryness. The only thing that was the same were the members of the guilds, their female family members and fans on the paid seats along the way route and our camera, cheerily showing us the sadness of the parade usually hidden by sunshine.

All photos courtesy of Jon Bowermaster

For more Earth Day 2016 coverage, click here.

In his 2012 State of the Union Address, President Barack Obama called the United States "the Saudi Arabia of natural gas," pushing a proposal to provide tax breaks and subsidies to increase the use of hydraulic fracturing, or fracking. The plan, he said, could create an estimated 600,000 new jobs by the end of 2022, and give America "energy independence" from the rest of the world.

Though just two years had passed since the devastating 2010 explosion of a BP oil drilling site in the Gulf of Mexico—the same body of water where the president had just approved new drilling sites—Obama assured the country that "America develop this resource without putting the health and safety of our citizens at risk."

Not long after Obama delivered that speech, Americans witnessed the bust of what the president had heralded as the booming fracking industry: Nearly two thirds of US oil rigs shut down in 2014; at the same time, US investment in renewable energy had also declined.

The consequences of fracking stretch beyond the economy to the health and safety of the more than 15 million Americans who live within one mile of an oil or gas drilling site. Often, these families are the victims of what's been called "environmental racism," in which toxic or hazardous material are placed in the proximity of low-income neighborhoods.

Documented cases of drinking water contamination, heart conditions, cancer, and neurological disorders have spiked. In northern Pennsylvania alone, between 2007 to 2011 scientists found over 198,000 hospital records of patients living within proximity of a drilling well. A 2013 University of Colorado study found that over half of the ozone layer pollution in Colorado was directly affected by oil and gas drilling. Benzene, a chemical often found at drilling sites in the Rocky Mountain state, can lead to cancer and infertility, according to the Center for Disease Control.

In October 2015, California experienced "the worst man-made greenhouse-gas disaster" in American history when 150 million pounds of methane gas was released into the atmosphere at the site of Aliso Canyon Gas Storage Field, forcing over 2,000 families out of their homes. Methane gas, known to be 25 times more powerful than carbon monoxide, takes about 12 years to break down—and can be fatal if inhaled.

In a new film titled Dear President Obama: The Clean Revolution Is Now, journalist-turned-filmmaker Jon Bowermaster tells the stories of marginalized American families that have been negatively impacted by the fracking industry. VICE spoke with Bowermaster over the phone about his experience making the film, what he thinks Obama should accomplish before he leaves office and whether the US could function solely on clean, renewable energy by 2050.

VICE: So Mark Ruffalo narrates the film. How did you get him to be a part of the documentary?
Jon Bowermaster: We met maybe five years ago. He's been working on the issue of fracking since 2009. Then in 2012, we went to a concert-protest up in Albany, New York, in response to Governor Cuomo allowing fracking. We put together this weird collection of musicians, scientists, actors, actresses, and journalists and we staged a show at a big performance hall. Mark was a part of that event and that solidified our friendship. Right away we started talking and I've been working on coordinating the filming for almost three years. Mark kind of came in in the latter months to help me work on the script then did the narration.

That's amazing. It took you over three years to make this film. What was the producing process like?
This is like the twentieth documentary I've made. I started out as a print journalist. I've written a dozen books and been published in a ton of magazines, but for the last 15 years I've been focused on films. In 2010 or so, in part because of the success of GasLand, when people thought of fracking they thought of going to rural parts of states. I wanted to show that this boom was so big that it was now affecting all socioeconomic classes, not just poor people, but high-end suburbs. So we went out to film across the country. In the end, we filmed in 20 states, we did about 135 interviews, and then boiled it down to this 96 minutes that we literally finished five weeks ago. We're now in the middle of a 40-city tour to get some buzz and get people talking about it, which is working.

Why did you decide to release the film now?

Everyone's got images in their mind they'd rather be rid of. Maybe you snuck downstairs for a forbidden late-night viewing of A Nightmare on Elm Street as a kid. Maybe you staggered home drunk one night, and misguidedly decided to see what all the 3 Guys 1 Hammer fuss was all about. Maybe Pennywise the Clown is the reason you obsessively avoided showers and ended up reeking of BO for most of your early adolescence. Or maybe you saw an elderly gentleman projectile vomit his false teeth onto the indifferent concrete outside McDonald's when you were ten, an image that regularly causes you to wake up in nauseated, thrashing night sweats.

We've all got them—images that lay dormant in the distracting light of day, but return when you're horizontal and staring at the back of your eyelids in complete darkness, tossing from side to side. The things that never leave you, lingering constantly in the back of your mind, always following you, and which you'll never forget. Ever.

As it turns out, video games have a healthy share of these moments. As the medium has become more sophisticated, developers have found increasingly inventive ways to repulse, sadden, terrify, and disturb the player. From the sickeningly brutal, to the psychologically petrifying, right down to eye-watering moments of profound sadness, here are a few of the video game moments I can't seem to shake from my broken mind.

Look, these are all games that have been out a while, but nevertheless, consider what follows to contain spoilers for Condemned: Criminal Origins, The Last of Us, Dead Space 2, Silent Hill 2, SOMA, Life Is Strange, Metal Gear Solid 4, and The Walking Dead.

GOING SHOPPING, 'CONDEMNED: CRIMINAL ORIGINS'

If you're anything like me, you're irrationally terrified of mannequins. Imagine going to the kitchen in the dead of night to investigate a scratching noise, and finding one sat there on your sofa. Worse yet, imagine being dragged to a derelict shopping center in Monolith Software's overlooked horror gem Condemned, swarming with lunatics, being told to LEAVE by means of blood scrawled on a mutilated body thrown down the escalators at you, and then finding that the dummies are alive as well. They're appearing in rows behind you, vacant grins, blue suits, preventing you from escaping.

It's not something to experience in the dark, I promise you faithfully.

JOEL'S LIE, 'THE LAST OF US'

In my opinion, the ending to The Last of Us is an absolute masterpiece. Just watching the conversation between Ellie and Joel again for the purposes of this piece, my hairs pricked up, and fuck, my eyes even watered up a bit. "Swear to me," Ellie interrupts. "Swear to me that everything you said about the Fireflies is true." Joel looks at her in disbelief. It's not. She knows. He swears. And her eyes dart around suspiciously, heart-breakingly, as Gustavo Santaolalla's melancholy Spanish guitars begin tingling in the background. "Okay," she whispers. Tears forming in her betrayed eyes. And yours. Mainly yours.

COME TO DADDY, 'SILENT HILL 2'

When it comes to that invasive sense of tumbling, feverish, psychological turmoil—the harrowing room possessions in Silent Hill 4, Heather's oral miscarriage in Silent Hill 3, the entirety of P.T.—Konami's flagship horror series is largely unrivaled. For me, the franchise's most lasting and damaging image comes in the form of the Abstract Daddy in Silent Hill 2—a twisted and nightmarish manifestation of a female character's abuse at the hands of her father.

I've never been successful in fully shaking the Abstract Daddy from my mind. I think about it regularly. The way it vaguely resembles a man, grasping greedily and appallingly underneath blood-soaked bed sheets. The way Angela nearly vomits on the floor at the prospect of being touched by a reassuring James. The room itself, a demented padded cell, abstract objects penetrating the perfect holes in the wall. In every possible sense, the Abstract Daddy is the stuff of nightmares. It embodies them, represents them, and eventually, when you're tucked up in your sad little bed at night, it becomes them.

Article continues after the video below

Related: Watch our film with comedian Kenny Hotz, 'Trolling the US Presidential Race'

STICK A NEEDLE IN YOUR EYE, 'DEAD SPACE 2'

Can someone help me to block all mentions and images of eyeball tattoos on the internet? I'm unbearably squeamish about eyeballs. Imagine that. Having your eyeballs, possibly the most sensitive, achy, valuable organ in the body, poked with minuscule needles.

In case you needed reminding, fellow ommetaphobes, Dead Space 2 has the most wince-inducing eye-maiming scene since Lucio Fulci's Zombie Flesh Eaters. The player-controlled Isaac is strapped into some ghastly dystopian contraption, his bulbous, juicy, quivering eyeballs darting around in a panic. Fail the sequence, and the machine collapses and he screams in a mess of blood and grue. Fine. Over the top and really not that bad. But succeed, however, and the needle gently penetrates his iris, producing a gentle splatter of eye fluid, extends into the back of his brain, and pops back out again, a tiny fleck of blood appearing around the organ. Somehow, that's worse. I can't watch it again, even to this day. I can't stop imaging how unbearable that would be. The blinding of Isaac, indeed.

Oh, and I salute anyone with the balls to get eyeball tattoos done. Just don't come anywhere near me.

KATE'S SUICIDE, 'LIFE IS STRANGE'

On a rainy day in Arcadia Bay, I failed to save Kate from jumping off the roof.

Life Is Strange has a deeply unsettling way of making the player feel responsible for this, depending on your actions in the first two chapters—rejecting or accepting her phone calls, stepping in to save her from the school's obnoxious bullies—and it all comes to head on the roof of Blackwell Academy, the rain pouring, Kate's bloodshot, tear-ravaged eyes staring back at you as you make life or death conversation choices against the clock.

I made the wrong ones, and Kate's tortured life came to a premature end in one of video gaming's most intelligent and devastating representations of bullying and suicide ever witnessed.

PING!, 'METAL GEAR SOLID 4: GUNS OF THE PATRIOTS'

With the cold steel of a loaded pistol against my head, I could probably be forced to choose MGS4's microwave hall as my favorite moment in the entire series.

In the title's most devastating sequence, Snake crawls agonizingly through a seeming never-ending corridor of radioactive torture inside Outer Haven, Otacon desperately begging him not to give up, to forget about the pain.

"Love Theme" plays beautifully during the course of this astonishing set piece, which, brilliantly, forces the player to tap buttons constantly during its five-minute run-time; a thumb and wrist-crushingly torturous experience which places the player's physical and mental running in direct parallel with that of Snake's. It's exactly the sort of brave, brilliant and unforgettable design only Hideo Kojima is truly capable of. And exactly the sort of scene you'll never forget.

THE TUNNEL OF NOPE, 'SOMA'

SOMA, my favorite game of last year, has one specific sequence which manages to combine three of humankind's most common and visceral fears: the fear of spiders, the fear of small spaces, and the fear of the dark.

Towards the end of the game, when you descend to the hellish bowels of the ocean, fighting off an impeccably realized and awe-inspiringly atmospheric underwater hurricane, the developers prod you down a tunnel. A dark tunnel. A very dark tunnel. A very, very dark tunnel. A very, very dark and cramped tunnel. A very, very, very dark, cramped tunnel at the bottom of the sea. A very, very, very dark, cramped tunnel at the bottom of the sea, filled with huge, disgusting spiders, clinging to the walls like hands, and which constantly threaten to jump off and attack you.

That's why I call it the Tunnel of Nope. I still have nightmares about it. I am 31 years old.

LEE'S DEATH, 'THE WALKING DEAD'

This is honestly true. Mug me off in the comments all you like. But I haven't cried like I did when The Walking Dead's Lee died since that evening, which must have been about three years ago. I was full on sobbing. Hot, pissy tears were streaming down my face. I couldn't control myself. Proper, full-on, convulsing, lurching sobs.

That scene, man.

Lee desperately trying to prepare the orphan Clem for the brutal realities of life without him. Choosing to shoot him and accepting the consequences. The constant tension of having to make your conversation decisions quickly. Lee fading away, Clem's tears and shattered innocence. The final gunshot.

That fucking scene.

Follow Jonathan Beach on Twitter.

Photo by Jackie Dives

While living on the top of a mountain in the Kootenays of British Columbia I realized something was wrong with my eyes. I saw light patterns in total darkness. Those patterns swirled, they switched. They were constant, day or night. I was also suffering from debilitating migraines at the time, so I was worried they were connected. In a way they were, but not in the scary this-must-be-brain-cancer way I assumed.

Photo by Bruno Bayley

You know that feeling when you're staying in an Airbnb, and even though the place has good vibes, and the host magnanimously proffered her best linens, and even though the blinds are good at blocking out all light, somehow you still find yourself listening to your host's refrigerator and contemplating death at 3 AM as you wait for the warm blankness of sleep to return? It looks like science has an explanation for that.

According to a new report in the journal Current Biology, you're not suddenly an insomniac; your brain just won't shut completely off so that you'll be capable of "faster responses to risk factors" that you may not yet know about in these unfamiliar environs.

The report comes from the findings of an experiment by a team including Yuka Sasaki of Brown University, who, like all scientists in their field, were plagued by the notorious and well-documented first night effect in lab science. That is: participants in lab studies all sleep horribly the first night, and it wreaks havoc on the reliability of experimental data.

Turns out what's happening is that one hemisphere of a participant's brain is significantly more active on night one in a new sleeping space. Consequently, response time to a "deviant sound" was quicker on the first night of the experiment. The team determined this by having sleeping subjects wiggle their fingers when the "deviant sound" was played.

The report doesn't explain how the sound was "deviant," but presumably it was a bullwhip striking a buttock—that would make me wiggle my fingers.

"Unilateral hemispheric sleep" according to the report, has an established connection to avoidance of predators in other animals like birds. As NPR noted, a German experiment from 1999 looked at the brains of ducks sleeping in groups, comparing ducks surrounded by other ducks, to ducks at the edge of the group who were half-exposed to potential attacks from the side. Fully-surrounded ducks were able to shut off their whole brains, while ducks at the edge kept half of their brains on, and their gazes fixed on the non-duck side. The report concluded that the ducks sleeping with one eye open were scanning for shotgun-wielding Elmer Fudds.

"When we're sleeping in a new environment and we don't know how many predators are around," Niels Rattenborg of the Max Planck Institute for Ornithology told NPR, "it would make sense to keep half the brain more alert and more responsive to bumps in the night."

So next time you're half-awake in the arms of your snoring one-night stand, one bloodshot eye darting around their shitty apartment, maybe take a break from being mad at yourself for not sleeping well, and thank millions of years of evolution for making sure you're not being devoured by wolves at that exact second.

Follow Mike Pearl on Twitter.

Growing up gay and Jewish is a conflict some remedy easier than others. While strictly forbidden in orthodox communities, the culturally-contemporary Jew can interpret the Torah in a way that allows for both a tight-knit relationship with Adonai and a shared one-bedroom in Chelsea with his boyfriend.

It's 2016 and you can be a queer Rabbi with a designer kippah and have a David Barton membership where you may get "bagel-chased" in the steam room. But some things never change: Your mother still wants a Jewish son-in-law, and her dentist's assistant isn't going to cut it. In other words, the age-old tradition of Jews keeping their bloodlines Jew-y is definitely still a thing, and Jayson Littman wants to help Jewish men seeking Jewish men do just that in the most fun way possible.

Since 2008, Jayson and his events company Hebro have been putting on spectacle-like parties in New York for LGBT jews and the people who love them, featuring titles like High Homo Days, Schvitz, Jewbilee, and, my personal favorite, Sedarlicious.

Sedarlicious features over 500 gay Jews celebrating "the night away as if we just left Egypt yesterday," as well as hordes of partygoers dancing off their passover dinners. This year's party for the (LGB)Tribe was held at the Catina Rooftop in Midtown Manhattan last week, where a lit-up set of pyramids featured the emblazoned caption, "LET MY PEOPLE PARTY." Other highlights included a cameo by Lady Sinagaga, as well as a Star of David-clad hunk with matzah sticking out his pocket who promised attendees they could find the afikomen if they looked hard enough.

Happy passover everyone!

Visit Zak Krevitt's website to see more of his photo work.

This article originally appeared on VICE UK

Shakespeare has officially crossed over, and it only took a few centuries. Four hundred years after his death, a YouGov survey commissioned by the British Council found that, to about 18,000 people polled in a selection of 15 countries around the world, Bill is more more popular outside of the UK than in it. 65 percent of people said they "liked" him, versus 59 percent of UK respondents.

As hilariously small as that margin may be, liking Shakespeare never felt that important anyway. In school, "getting" him could be exhilarating, performing his work potentially transformative, and memorizing his sonnets the sort of deeply self-indulgent thing someone might do to impress a teacher or crush. But liking him? We thought he'd only been figuratively rammed down the throats of kids in English-speaking countries, so we asked some of our fellow VICE editors in Europe how relevant he's been in their lives.

ROMANIA

Theater's a pretty big thing here because it was one of the few forms of artistic expression encouraged during the communist regime. Most major cities in the country have a "Shakespeare festival," where they play Romanian versions of the bard's works—though they can have a weird nationalist twist. I'd take part in the Bucharest one, in English, and I loved doing it. The high point of my "career" was playing Hamlet after the lead actor got sick; I can still recite large portions of his monologue when I'm drunk. – Mihai Popescu

SERBIA

I've known about Shakespeare since I was a little girl. My father was a writer/translator, so he translated a lot of his works into Serbian and was very well know for being able to transfer the puns and ambiguity into our language. By the time I was 7, I knew Puck's last monologue by heart—in Serbian of course. Anyway, he is very respected and well-known in Serbia and the ABC of literature, especially in drama schools. He is still being translated by new, young translators and the plays are often published as part of the Complete Works. – Katarina Petrovic

POLAND

I grew up watching British MTV and went to a literature-oriented class, so I might have been a bit overexposed to your culture, but both Romeo and Juliet and Macbeth are part of the ordinary curriculum. We all get a fair share of Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet was actually my first experience with him—not the book though, it was that Leo DiCaprio film. All my friends thought that those guns with words dagger and longsword engraved on them were oh-so-cool. And as school went on, I bought copies of Hamlet, A Midsummer's Night Dream, and The Tempest from the discount shelf at the secondhand bookshop, because I thought being grounded in fine literature could help me in pick up girls. I don't think it ever did. – Maciek PiaseckI

ITALY

Here, like everywhere else in the western world I guess, we have to read his plays and poems during English class. For the rest of our lives when someone randomly mentions his name we nod and mumble "the Bard," "a pound of flesh," or "Friends, Romans, countrymen." His plays are far lighter to digest than any Italian playwright's and you can actually watch them. On the other hand, we somehow take pride in Shakespeare's work as, you know, Venice, Verona, the ancient Romans, etc. Sorry guys. But some of our "countrymen" have crossed the line and decided to reclaim Shakespeare as Italian, on vague linguistic bases. That's why we have a thing about Shakespeare: he was a Sicilian guy with a gold loop earring who named Shylocks and Romeos and didn't quite study history. – Elena Viale

FRANCE

I was seven when I first came across a Shakespeare quote, though I have to admit it was through Baz Lurhmann's Romeo + Juliet. Back then, I was clearly too young to understand the oxymorons Leonardo DiCaprio was reciting, and couldn't grasp why my then-15 year-old sister was screaming hysterically every time Leo opened his mouth. Loads of young French people discovered Shakespeare through this movie—only to study his works later on, be it in French or English class. I studied in the city of Angers, but he's a legend all over France and has been translated by some of the greatest French contemporary authors, from André Gide to Voltaire. We adore Shakespeare—but not everybody knows how to pronounce his name correctly. – Julie Le Baron

THE NETHERLANDS

Growing up near Amsterdam, Shakespeare wasn't really a thing until I went to high school, when we started learning English and muddling through Macbeth or Romeo and Juliet. When I was around 15, our teacher took us on a class outing to see a modern version of Romeo and Juliet, where they played "Rock DJ" and "Let's Get Loud" in between the scenes. Most of the class got drunk before the show and kept on yelling and booing throughout. We were eventually asked to leave. So yeah, while almost everyone in the Netherlands is aware that he's one of your literary greats, the general attitude towards actually sitting through one of his plays is pretty much the same as that of my former classmates: booze helps. – Lisette Van Eijk

DENMARK

"Something is rotten in the state of Denmark," says Marcellus, shouting out my home country in Hamlet. The play's setting in Helsingør is the sole reason most people care about Shakespeare in Denmark—we love it when the outside world notices us. We feel this in spite of the play describing our nation as one would a smelly fridge, where you can't quite figure out which dairy product has gone bad. To further milk this somewhat pathetic claim to fame, "Hamlet's Castle" doubles as the venue for the Shakespare Festival every year, where thespians can gather to bask in ole William's genius. Either way, thanks for putting us on the map, Bill. – Mads Schmidt

SWEDEN

Growing up, Shakespeare was always the poster child for sophisticated England. I don't remember us reading Shakespeare in school but I definitely remember my theatre classes always shoving monologues from Hamlet or Macbeth down our throats. My most vivid Shakespeare-related memory comes from Baz Luhrmann's Romeo + Juliet in 1996, where Leonardo DiCaprio's exquisite face can be seen through a fish tank. – Camila-Catalina Fernandez

SPAIN

I grew up in Zaragoza in the 80s and the truth is that Shakespeare wasn't a big hit there. The first thing I remember about him is a comedian in a funny TV show saying: "Ser o no ser, esa es la cuestión" (To be or not to be, that is the question), with a skull in his hand what appeared tp be in an absurd situation. So I suppose Shakespeare at that time was most easily transferred through a silly Hamlet cliché. – Juanjo Villalba

Some guy—not one of our European editors—really going for it as Hamlet

GERMANY

I'm not sure my experience really counts because I first learned about Shakespeare when I went abroad to a school in England for a year when I was 11. The English teacher there read Macbeth with us, and I remember liking it a lot because he was Scottish and his accent fit the play very well. The worst was when I went to school in France for a year, and the English teacher there also wanted to read Macbeth. Having French teenagers read Shakespeare is obviously the worst. I still like Macbeth, though, and I think in general German people have a lot of respect for Shakespeare, so don't worry. – Matern Boesalager

Tessa isn't like the stereotypical idea of a mum. The last time we met, she was taking an hour out from shagging a 22-year-old in east London while he waited for her in their hotel room.

Tessa's not her real name, but I can say that she's 49 years old and was celibate for seven years while she was raising her 15-year-old son on her own. Now that her son's gone to live with her dad, Tessa says she feels like she has her life back. Using dating website Toyboy Warehouse, she's fulfilled almost every sexual fantasy she can think of with younger guys.

There's still no clear scientific consensus on when men and women hit their sexual peaks and how we can even define a person's sex drive, beyond the rudiments of how well our bits reach to stimulation. But I chatted to Tessa to get some of her insight on sexual fulfillment, contentment and the quiet joy of getting crotchless pants delivered to your parents' house.

VICE: Hi Tessa, let's start at the start. Why do you think you're so into much younger guys?
Tessa: Women peak in their 40s, sexually, and men in their very late teens. That's just biological, so it's kind of a no-brainer. People snigger at this whole cougar thing, but biologically it makes perfect sense. I am hornier than I've ever been in my life and that's all young men want—and they can just keep it up.

What's the youngest you've ever gone?
Considering my son is 15, it freaks me out when I go too young. I had an 18-year-old recently begging me online to take his virginity, but I had to say, "I'm really sorry, that ain't going to happen." It creeped me out. Also, what's in it for me? If you're 18 and you haven't had sex before, you're probably going to last two and a half minutes. I'm not like a man who has this weird thing about "popping a girl's cherry." I just need someone who has stamina and energy. Twenty was the youngest I ever went and it was good, but we didn't really have a connection.

It's really not just about how buff they are. The first guy I spoke to on the website was a 27-year-old stockbroker and eventually after a year and a half we finally got it together. And he was really fit: he had a six-pack and everything and he looked amazing. But he showed up at my place and we had no chemistry, and I wasn't into it.

How does sex now compare to sex when you were young?
I had a couple of threesomes when I was 19 to 20 years old but I had no idea how to handle the situation and I don't think anything got done properly. I'd like to revisit it, now that I know exactly what I'm doing. You just gain experience, like with work. I think older women are more open-minded and we're much more open about our bodies.

What makes you say that?
I work with a lot of young female models in my job, and they're beautiful but I think a lot of them are paranoid about how they look and about their bodies. I think they don't let themselves go. I ask the guys I sleep with about this, and some of them say that they just have a fetish for older women, but some say they sleep with women their own age, and their review is often, they're hot, but they're quite boring.

When it come to avoiding boredom, who's been your favourite partner?
I met one 22-year-old Polish boy on the website. He worked in a factory up north, and was stunning to look at—he was a weightlifter or bodybuilder or something. I almost never message men myself on the website, but I sent him one saying, "Oh my god you look amazing." We chatted and he told me it was his birthday soon, and that he had nobody to spend it with, so I told him to come to London and to meet me at a hotel.

I got to reception an hour early and got them to send up a bucket of ice and two champagne glasses. When the stuff eventually arrived I was all dressed up—in something like thigh-high boots with seven-inch heels and stockings, suspenders, gloves—and the poor guy from reception was shocked. I was dressed like a dominatrix. The look on his face, like: Oh my god, you're a prostitute.

Then my toyboy finally arrived at 3PM, and he walked in we didn't say a word and just got down to it. We finished at 6AM. In between, I met up with you and some of the other guys at a pub round the corner for an hour, then took the birthday boy to a restaurant for a burger and a celebratory shot of vodka. When we were out together he was saying, "Do you think people think you're my mother?" and I could in theory have definitely have been his mother. And after that, I didn't see him again.

Is it just the sex you're into, or is it about more than that?
I'm a bit into dressing up, and have well over 2,000 pieces, which is good because a suspender belt covers up my hysterectomy scar. But it's not like I'm paranoid about my body—getting dressed up just turns me on. I buy lingerie almost every week, using American eBay sometimes, so that the lingerie's sent to my parents' address. My poor 85-year-old dad in the Deep South has to tell me what's arrived.

How does he usually react?
He'll go: "Yeah, you've got a pair of split-crotch knickers, and a bra that's got no nipples in it." He probably thinks I'm a prostitute, and he's quite religious, bless him. I wonder if it's hereditary. My mum's 85 and when I told her about the Polish boy and showed her a picture of his torso and penis and said, "Mum, I've been riding that," she said: "I am so proud of you." She's such a shagger—she says: "Sometimes your father and I have sex before church and then after church."

Occasionally I think there might be something wrong with me. But most women my age are busy washing uniforms and doing homework. I'm glad I don't have to do that. I just want to feel and experience everything before I die.

Thanks, Tessa.

@helennianias / @pom_lette

More on VICE:

Women Talk About What It's Like to Take a Grown Man's Virginity

Three Horrendously Awkward Stories About Failed Marriage Proposals

Foot Fetishes and Goo-Covered Lesbians: When Couples Watch Porn Together

Prince playing live at a 1999 concert. Credit: CAMERA PRESS/Wattie Cheung

In the aftermath of his tragic death on Thursday, journalists have found novel ways to refer to super-musician Prince as the "great purple genius of Paisley Park" and "the unparalleled genius." R&B beloved Frank Ocean waxed poetic about Prince as both a "vanguard and a genius." Guitarist Andrew Watt referred to Prince as "last greatest living performer" in an Instagram post that somehow got newly-dreadlocked Justin Bieber, who is surely not on the list of greatest living performers, miffed about the subjectivity of the claim. And a David Marchese-penned Vulture article titled "Everyone Is Saying Prince Was a Genius—Here's Why" begins with the mammoth statement, "It's a given that Prince was almost inarguably the most purely talented pop star of all time. " Marchese then goes on to deconstruct Prince's genius, identifying five key criteria: his singing, songwriting, production, guitar playing, and the scope/volume of his output over the years.

That's cool: I've freely used the term "genius" myself to describe Prince. While the traditional Western definition of genius has undergone more than a few updates since its debut in ancient Greece, a genius is essentially any person who is widely or unanimously acclaimed for an extraordinary, soaring talent, or brilliance—such as Da Vinci, Shakespeare, Einstein, Hitchcock, Mozart, Liszt, or Glenn Gould, to name just a handful of obvious dudes. Genius has a series of closely related terms, as well. There's virtuoso, which usually refers to a person with extraordinary technical ability; there's prodigy, which refers to a young genius; there's auteur, which refers to a skillful artist whose works demonstrate a consistent aesthetic vision; there's savant, which is someone whose genius seems innate, even if that genius is related to a disability or neurological impairment; and in music, there's maestro, which is a term of commendation given to an exceptional conductor or composer who has reached a level of mastery.

The challenge in assessing geniuses in pop music is that most of our ideas about musical brilliance come from entrenched Western classical tropes historically defined by white men. In contrast to Marchese's criteria for genius, writer Dennis Dutton has claimed that a musical genius is a person who creates compositional works that leave us awed with a sense of beauty. To be considered a genius, that composer has to make work that is considered original and innovative, and that demonstrates a profound variation of ideas and associations between concepts that are often unexpected. Dutton goes on to note that the skills of a musical genius have to be intuitive and felt rather than purely analytic, and that productivity is a great plus, too (well, actually, he says that "vast output is not a sufficient condition for creative genius, but it is difficult to name a creative genius who was not highly productive"). He also cites character traits: musical geniuses are often introverted, eccentric, iconoclastic, and autonomous in their decision-making.

Clearly Prince fit each one of those criteria in spades; you'd be hard-pressed to find a single sole who would disagree—even a cranky Justin Bieber. Prince very definitely embodied that classical conception of genius: He was a relentlessly enigmatic, almost solipsistic figure who crafted widely-acknowledged masterpieces, particularly his slate of classic albums including 1979's Prince, 1980's Dirty Mind, 1981's Controversy, 1982's 1999, 1984's Purple Rain, and 1988's Sign o' the Times. Like The Beatles and Stevie Wonder's respective back-to-back concept album masterpieces in the 1960s and 1970s, Prince created his masterpieces in a brilliantly successive fashion. True to the definition of musical genius, he composed music that featured profound musical sophistication and harmonic complexity (not unlike a Stevie Wonder or a Duke Ellington before him) and he managed to synthesize so many different musical strands—rock, rockabilly, pop, funk, synth funk, disco, new wave, country, and so much more—into a seamless whole.

In the lineage of performer-producers like Brian Wilson and Todd Rundgren before him, Prince was something of a one-man band in that he functioned as the performer, producer, songwriter, business man, and even film star often at the same time. Prince is the sole person credited on his debut album, 1978's For You; he boastfully played 21 instruments. Yet despite his impressive chops, Prince's talent was never purely technical or analytical. He plumed the soulful depths of intimacy and spirituality on classics songs like 1982's boudoir gem "Do Me Baby" and 1988's Earth, Wind & Fire-influenced masterpiece "Adore." If there was any doubt about Prince's genius, his brilliance was also confirmed during his lifetime by other widely acknowledge musical geniuses, including Miles Davis, who profusely gushed about the Purple One's work in his autobiography.

If Prince was a peerless icon who represented the pinnacle of achievement in contemporary pop music and there is no one else like him, what does his passing mean for the future of musical genius?

If Prince was a peerless icon who represented the pinnacle of achievement in contemporary pop music and there is no one else like him, what does his passing mean for the future of musical genius? The challenge with answering that question is that the term "genius" itself has become incredibly contested over the years. In Everything Is Obvious, a terrific book on the nature of common sense, sociologist Duncan Watts argues that there is no such thing as special people with innate extraordinary skills. Instead, he argues, geniuses are no more than the result of social and personal context—they possess qualities like drive or perseverance, they have attentive parents, etc. Some artists, including Mozart, become geniuses only after they die and we construct a movement to lionize them. Watts's revisionist line of thinking about the nature of genius is also backed up in certain quarters of contemporary neuroscience, psychology, and psychopathology, where genius is increasingly being seen as a social construct rather than an internal, innate quality.

Genius is also problematic because it's long been an exclusionary term. African American artists, historically denied full participation in American citizenship under slavery and Jim Crow, were often excluded from the category of genius or—in the case of visual art geniuses like Basquiat—obstructed from the full expression of their artistry by impinging discourses of primitivism and abjection. In popular music, rebel women like Joni Mitchell, Aretha Franklin, Whitney Houston, Bjork, and Kate Bush are often left out of musical genius discussions even as the celebration of male musical genius (Frank Sinatra, for example) is sometimes rooted in men's ability to demonstrate traditionally female traits like expressiveness and sensitivity when they perform. Apparently, there is no such thing as a single standard.

Prince performing in London in 1996. Credit: CAMERA PRESS / Gavin Smith

Genius also happens to be a widely abused term that privileges technical mastery (think, guitar shedding) rather than depth of emotional interpretation (another reason why female interpreters like Ella Fitzgerald have been time and time again left out of the boys' club category of genius). And at its worst, classifying genius simply becomes a game of accumulation in which a musician becomes valued for how many instruments he or she can play. In those all too common situations, musicians are commended for being jacks of all trades rather than just being masters of one or two or a few.

Still, the exact type of genius that Prince represented—that self-contained performer who has the skill to write and arrange songs, produce (and sometimes engineer) recordings, play multiple instruments, and even handle business affairs like marketing and distribution, as well as operating a label—might be fleeting. That's because Prince came of age in the 1970s as a musician on the heels of 60s self-contained virtuosos like Brian Wilson, Stevie Wonder, and Joni Mitchell, and the newly-deceased icon developed his particular skills at a historical musical moment in the 1970s that privileged sophisticated musicianship, guitar rock wizardry, and recording studio experimentation. We don't live in that moment right now.

The pioneering "all-in-one" performer-producers of the 1980s and 1990s—including R&B stalwarts like Kashif and Prince and Meshell Ndegeocello, as well as rock legends like Steve Albini and Trent Reznor—in turn opened the floodgates to 21st century "bedroom" producers like Danger Mouse and Diplo. Significant changes in the use of technologies like multi-tracking, drum machines, synthesizers, and digital software over the decades ushered in the rise of self-contained production and composition in genres like dub, hip-hop, rock, and dance, which meant that almost anybody could be a one man (or woman) band with access to a modest amount of technology. In that context, almost anybody could be considered a genius, depending on the flexibility of the criteria you use. These changes in the nature of how music is made (and distributed) have lead to endless debates about whether a gifted producer like Kanye West is actually genius or not, or even how one can even assess the question of genius for music stars who clearly lack traditional musical skills.

Prince is a genius, by any standard, even as the very definition of genius changes with the times to become more open-ended, inclusive, and nebulous.

Increasingly, however, we're seeing a return to formerly elitist discussions of aesthetic mastery—the idea of the musician who plays traditional musical instruments with a consummate skill. Many of these 21st century musical "geniuses" also happen to be women—St. Vincent, Tune-Yards, and Esperanza Spalding are just a few contemporary artists who seem to be following in aspects of Prince's musical maestro footsteps. Jacob Collier, a 21-year-old British YouTube sensation and Quincy Jones-supported prodigy, harmonizes with himself and plays a plethora of instruments all at the same time through the use of filming and overdubbing techniques, as well as through his own customized gear. In some ways, he represents a new way of considering musical geniuses. While a musician like Collier is clearly riding on our prized classical notions of musical genius that are problematic because they represent an exclusionary elitism, his virtuoso musical skills also coincide with his skills at contemporary technological innovation (he builds his own hardware and is pushing the boundaries of immersive live performances, plus he's known for his nuanced utilization of social media to push his career) in ways that seem go beyond the stuff old criteria for genius we've become accustomed to.

So, in light of the success of a new generation of musical maestros who might be pushing the envelope of genius in unprecedented ways, Prince is not the last greatest living performer. Maybe Justin Bieber was a little bit right about that, even if his timing was inconsiderate given that Prince had just passed. Still, Prince is a genius, by any standard, even as the very definition of genius changes with the times to become more open-ended, inclusive, and nebulous.

Dr. Jason King is Associate Professor and the founding faculty member of The Clive Davis Institute of Recorded Music at Tisch School of the Arts. A musician, DJ, performer, producer, arranger and songwriter, curator, and journalist, Jason is also the host and curator of NPR&B, a 24/7 streaming radio channel on NPR dedicated to soul and R&B. His book 'The Michael Jackson Treasures' has been translated into more than seven languages. Follow him on Twitter.

Image credit: Associate Press

"If you blinked, the water rose so fast that it didn't give us any time to get out," Blanca López, 50, told me as we walked through Plaza de la Independencia, a public plaza turned shanty-town community in Asunción, the capital city of Paraguay. "A year ago I had faith, but now my faith in Paraguay has run out."

In December, 2015, massive flooding on the Rio Paraguay forced over 100,000 Paraguayans to flee their homes, with the vast majority of them—roughly 90,000—in Asunción. At least four people lost their lives, and the federal government declared a state of emergency, authoring $3.5 million to provide immediate relief.

The flooding was caused by El Niño, a climatic phenomenon in the Pacific Ocean, which also wreaked havoc in other parts of the world where thousands more were affected by floods and droughts.

In Asunción, over 60,000 people still live in an assortment of plazas, roadways, and parks that extend along the coast above the floodplain in the capital. As the water rose in December, people filled these areas with thousands of makeshift single-family homes built from wood posts, plywood, and corrugated roofing materials.

"Flooding always happened, but now it's happening more and it's so much worse," López told me in March as we sat outside her current home in Plaza de la Independencia, a once-open public square that families packed tightly with their provisional houses. López said flooding used to happen about once every ten years—referencing the natural disasters that rocked the country in 1983 and 1992—but that she has had to flee twice in just the last two years. In June 2014, López, along with around 75,000 others in Asunción, left her flooded house and stayed in a public plaza for seven months before she could return home, only to retreat again in December 2015.

Some scientific research shows that the effects of El Niño patterns may become even more extreme in the future. And according to a weather prediction released earlier this year by the Paraguayan government's Department of Meteorology and Hydrology, a new round of flooding expected in June may be the worst on record.

Plaza de la Independencia, a public plaza turned shanty-town community in Asunción, the capital city of Paraguay. Photo by the author

López said she does not want to go back home, but cannot afford to move. Her house, like many in her low-lying neighborhood, does not have a deed, so she cannot sell it and move elsewhere. "There's no place for us to go, there's no way for us to have a house," López told me. "There's no way for us to live in dignity."

For the thousands of residents still displaced, a house may be as small as ten feet by eight feet for a family the size of Lopez's, who lives with her husband and 20-year-old son. A nearby neighbor, María Sosa, 31, lives in a slightly larger structure of 20 feet by 16 feet, just large enough to cram two twin beds, a dresser, and an electric stove to cook for herself, her husband, and her three young children. She said she wants to get back home as soon as the water recedes.

"The kids aren't happy here, they want to sleep in their own beds," Sosa told me. "It's terrible, but what are we going to do?"

Other basic amenities are scarce. As I sat outside Lopez's current home, she pointed to a small, three feet by five feet shack under the shade of a mango tree in the center of the plaza. A blue curtain served in place of a door. "Do you smell that?" López asked me.

Inside the room was a single toilet, the shared bathroom neighbors had constructed using a 100 liter barrel as a septic tank back in December. The 30 families that used the bathroom filled it up to capacity within a week. As we sat outside talking, a distinct smell of human waste wafted through the air.

Miguel Kurita, the Chief of Staff for the country's Secretary of National Emergencies (SEN), told me that the government provided some basic services to the displaced after the flooding initially hit. Along with the municipal government in Asunción, they distributed building materials for the makeshift homes, though residents had to construct the homes themselves. Today, SEN continues to allot some basic foodstuffs—like rice, noodles, and loose leaf yerba mate—to the families each month, though they haven't figured out how to adequately address issues such as sanitation.

"We give emergency aid, like the materials, which are readied in a very short period. And if materials are destroyed, then we replace them," Kurita told me over the phone from his office in the capital. "In terms of hygienic services, really it's so complicated, what we are doing is trying to provide bathrooms for every family."

A member of the international aid community agreed. "The main challenges related to the provision of aid in these actions are related to sanitary conditions," said a spokesman for the European Commission (EC), who requested his name not be included. The EC has funded €300,000 to support two flood-affected municipalities—Nanawa and José Falcón—just across the Rio Paraguay from Asunción. He told me that regular rain and high temperatures make it difficult to distribute emergency services, and that mosquito-born viruses such as dengue, chikungunya, and zika are a constant threat. SEN worked to tackle the sanitation issue with the installation of over 500 port-a-potties throughout the areas inhabited by the displaced.

But long-term solutions are hard to find. Kurita said there is a plan to build permanent housing for about 5,000 residents of Asunción in a location outside of the floodplain, though that is far from sufficient aid for the roughly 90,000 who were displaced in December, and there is no schedule for when that project will begin, let alone finish.

A flooded soccer field in La Chacarita neighborhood. Photo by the author

Beyond logistical problems, the government officials I spoke with said many people do not want to move away from their homes, many of which are in the city center and close to many jobs and schools. And there is simply no space in the already-cramped urban metropolis for new government housing outside the floodplain.

"Certainly is very bad, but the thing is conditioned by space," Kurita told me. "We have a problem with physical space here in Asunción."

In 2015 the government opened a pilot housing program of 222 single-family houses in Itagua, a smaller city just outside Asunción. A year later, the government found that 20 percent of people had left these houses to move back to their old neighborhoods for work or school.

"In Itagua, many people moved there and many moved back," Kurita told me. "Many people are already established in their daily lives... they will return to their homes."

Down in the flood-affected areas, there is already a growing number of people who are trying to ensure they never have to leave their homes at all.

Enrique Cañete (right) examines his new canoe with his neighbor. Photo by the author

"We don't want to move," Enrique Cañete, 59, told me as he inspected the paint job on his canoe. "So we built a house that the water can't touch."

Rather than look for a way out, Cañete is one of a small number of people in this area who are looking up. Last year he built a second floor onto his house and moved all his belongings upstairs. When the flooding came in December 2015, Cañete, his wife and all their possessions stayed dry. With his canoe, he will be dry and mobile when the next round of rain inevitably hits.

"We're used to it here and our work is close to here," Cañete told me emphatically. "We can't leave, we were born here."

But most people cannot afford to build a new floor on their house, which can cost thousands of dollars. López told me she would happily move anywhere, even if it were outside the city, as long is it is safe from the cycle of floods.

"The saddest thing of all is that after all your effort, when you go back home you have to start all over again," López lamented. "I just want to leave already and go to a place where there aren't floods."

Follow William on Twitter.

Photo by Matthias Koslik

Standing in the lobby of Vienna's experimental theater Schauspielhaus Wien with 30 or so well-mannered Austrians, there's a nervous hush as we huddle around a rusty metal door, unsure of what to expect on the other side. A deafening techno track begins roaring from behind it, breaking the silence as an attendant unlocks the door, gesturing the crowd down a darkened staircase. One by one, the guests pass through, having received no instructions other than that they can move about freely and speak to whomever they encounter in the underground world they are about to enter.

Once downstairs, we find ourselves in a fully-stocked pantry with dusty canned goods and flickering overhead lights. There are several doors leading in different directions, and the group splinters off through them uncertainly into the subterranean universe. To the left is what appears to be a teenage girl's bedroom, with dirty plush toys and vampire comic books strewn across the bed, and a 2003 Destiny's Child world tour poster on the wall. Take the door to the right and you'll end up in what looks like the dark room of a seedy gay sex club, a cramped concrete cell featuring a stained mattress with a pair of handcuffs lying across it. The ceilings are low and claustrophobic throughout the space, the lighting dingy, and everything gives the impression of an endlessly recurring nightmare, as rooms lead into other rooms, hallways, and dead ends, each circling back into one another without any sense of logic. As I wander alone through one of the dim passageways, I'm suddenly cornered by two teenagers who weren't with the original group. Speaking Arabic, they ask "Andak massari?" as they reach into my pockets, fishing out the change before running in the opposite direction. The money was never returned.

Photo by Luca Fuchs

As the playbill states, Cellar Door is a fully "walkable cosmos on the interface between performance and virtual reality" imagined by directors Thomas Bo Nilsson, Julian Eicke, and Jens Lassak as a work in three parts. The installation itself, which runs non-stop for 504 hours, consists of a sprawling, labyrinthine 50-room set constructed in the basement of the theatre and inhabited by 40 actors, some of whom remain on set and in character for the entire 21-day duration the project is on view. The multimedia performance is open to the public twice per day in four-hour slots until May 5, with the rest of the performance unfolding online at lexlydia.net, a dark web-inspired forum and live streaming video chat room created specifically for the piece. The set is outfitted with several 90s desktop computers, and the characters, who each have their own avatar on the platform, log in occasionally to gossip about each other.

The site, which is designed to look like a web 1.0 online gaming community, also allows users anywhere in the world to chat directly with the characters, some of whom are fitted with wearable video gear and take commands from the users in the chatroom as if they were characters in an RPG. The third component of Cellar Door comes in the form of a 12-minute short film directed by video artist Matt Lambert, which hints at the genesis story of how the underground world came to be. Together, the three parts congeal into a 21st century gesamtkunstwerk that merges IRL with URL, encouraging visitors to the set to continue their experience in the online chat room, and likewise luring the forum users to the physical location in Vienna. Call it a European, dystopian version of Charlie Kaufman's hyperrealist freakout Synecdoche, New York as if directed by Anonymous and the creators of Diablo.

Photo by Matthias Koslik

"There is no task or secret for the audience to discover," says Tobias Schuster, the theatre's dramaturge, who commissioned the piece in early 2015. "It's more important to simply experience this underground society which has completely fallen into itself, and how communication regulates their lives and how they deal with each other." Communication in the Cellar Door universe quickly turns dark. On set, as if under the protective cover of online anonymity, the characters constantly hurl racist, sexist, and homophobic insults at each other. Moving about aimlessly in the space, they seem to make little distinction between their online and offline selves, referring to each other by their usernames in the forum—BOY11GENERATION12 is a "disgusting faggot," GIRL4GENERATION20 is a "fat whore." On lexlydia.net, the conversations unfold nearly identically to those in the cellar.

"We were interested in exploring the anonymity which existed in the early days of the internet," co-director Thomas Bo Nilsson explains to me while still dressed as Gigi, the crimp-haired transgender computer addict he's playing in the piece. "Your choice of identity was much freer, there were no laws or rules about what you could or couldn't say. But anonymity brings out the worst sides of people. I don't know why, but it's a fact we wanted to explore."

Photo by Luca Fuchs

Sexual aggression and sadism are rampant on set as well. On entering one room which looked like a makeshift kitchen in a college dorm, I meet a character who identifies himself as Sathanus. Dressed in a baby blue soccer jersey and mesh shorts, he finishes tying up two extras wearing fetish gear of sorts, lying prostrate on the floor. After flicking coffee grounds at them and pouring Ouzo over their heads, he runs out of ideas and asks me if I think he should pour some of the scalding hot coffee over them. I say I'd rather see them make out, which he then forces them to do. When I return to the same room later in the night, the three are gone, likely causing havoc in some other part of the set, perhaps to broadcast their depraved games on one of the webcams set up for online viewers. My interpretation of the "plot," I realize, will be completely different from the other visitors'.

I continued through the set, occasionally joining some of the others who had entered the cellar with me. They were entangled in their own interactions with the characters, some more open to the experience than others. Witnessing one actor start an impromptu deep throat competition with a dildo, one of the visitors left the room, clearly uncomfortable. The rest stayed. "I think an interactive piece like Cellar Door points out that society and the events which unfold are still very much in our control. It's not dictated by some higher power," says Schuster.

In other words, while the project has turned the dark underbelly of social interaction on the web into a physical manifestation, Cellar Door reminds us we still have the agency to choose how we behave both online and off. If anything, this explorable microcosm of internet culture exemplifies that some people can't stomach (or deep throat) the type of taboo or depraved culture found on digital platforms when confronted with it outside a screen. "Doing a piece about the sadism of people doesn't need to be pessimistic," the dramaturge adds. " is a reflection of our dark side, reminding people of their possibilities and a chance to reflect on their morals."

Later in the evening, after striking up a conversation with one of the characters, I find myself lying on one of the mattresses with him, flirting. Another actor suddenly bursts into the room, grabbing me by the arm and pushing me out the theatre. It's 1:00 AM and the IRL happening is over for the night, though Cellar Door's online component is likely still in motion. As I walk back to my hotel, I try to make sense of what I'd just seen, asking myself if the flirting was real, or part of the performance. I ended up going back the next night to find out, but the anonymous character was nowhere to be found.

'Cellar Door' runs through May 5 at Schauspielhaus Wien theatre in Vienna. For more information, visit the project website here. For more, explore the space on lexlydia.net.

Follow Darryl on Tumblr

Hello, I am VICE's art editor and I am constantly judging everything that passes through my line of vision or into my body. One of my favorite things to critique is frozen food. Supposedly it's terrible for you, but the boxes are always so appealing. Being an aesthete, I'm very susceptible to advertising and attractive package design.

Are the food products as good as they look? Is anything as good as advertised? Why should you care? I'm not really sure yet. But this week I tried a bunch of different frozen Mexican food and ended up getting offered to be set up on a date with a friend of Amy—the Amy from frozen food mega-brand Amy's Kitchen. Life is funny. One day you're eating too much easily-prepared food, and the next you're potentially finding your future foodie soulmate.

José Olé Chicken & Cheese Taquitos

You'd think these would be great, but all you can taste is the flour from the tortillas. There might as well be no chicken or cheese inside the little crispy rolled up carpets of flour. Eating these felt like an unpleasant job and I was just punching the clock.

GRADE: D

José Olé Chimichanga Chicken & Cheese and Steak & Cheese

I didn't like these. The chicken meat is rubbery and sinewy. The beef burrito was more edible, but still the main takeaway was that it was gross. The tortillas are thick, presumably to keep the burritos from exploding in the microwave. But they exploded anyway. It's hard to taste anything over the dominating flavor of the tortillas in any Jose Olé product. Are they being forced to use so much flour by the goons from Big Flour or something?

GRADES:
Chicken & Cheese: D
Beef & Cheese: C

Amy's Burrito Especial

This is a pretty basic little flour sleeping bag with rice and beans in it, so I added half an avocado and a ton of Cholula. It was terrific. What a meal!

But everything is great with half an avocado and Cholula on it. You could put avocado and Cholula on a steak, a salad, some hummus—the list goes on. You could put them on your failed relationship or your disappointing child that you secretly resent. You could put them on a bad day at the office or even on an insulting comment on your Instagram and everything would be as smooth and spicy as avocados and Cholula.

GRADE: A

Amy's Cheese Enchilada

I originally posted the following review on my Instagram page:

This is as good as enchiladas I've ordered in restaurants. I'm not vegetarian and I get pretty annoyed by the vocal vegetarians who won't stop bragging, but Amy's frozen food is better than a lot of fresh made meat dishes. I realistically see myself eating a ton of these in the future, and I wonder what the real-life Amy is like. Did she rebel against her parents and open a barbecue place? What's her least favorite Amy's dish? Did she have a punk phase? How much is the Amy's Kitchen business worth? Amy are you reading this? Will you marry me?

After I posted that review I got some responses from the Amy's Kitchen Instagram account:

Hey @nickgazin!

This is Sarah, Amy's best friend since 2001. You pose some good questions about Amy and since she's cozied in with a sweet, brand new baby—he's a week old today!—and a freezer full of pot pies (her favorite Amy's food at the moment because it reminds her of being a kid), I thought I'd answer on her behalf. 'Cause that's what BFFs do. Amy is a pretty down-to-earth gal. She's warm and ridiculously goofy and she actually really likes her parents. (No, really.) She didn't go through a full-on punk phase, but she did have a lip piercing back in the day (#rebel!).

She doesn't actually have a "least favorite Amy's dish" because her parents use her as the taste-tester for almost every product we've made (#roughjob), but I'll tell you one secret: the one ingredient no one in the family likes is eggplant.

Unfortunately, she is already married to a guy we all like but I know some other Amys who like enchiladas and artists. We could set you up if you message us.

Your review is an A+, the best we've read and yes, we read it all. I noticed you are a talented artist... maybe you want to draw a portrait of our enchiladas next?

Cheers Nick,
Sarah

Later I received a second comment from the same Amy's Kitchen account, this time from the Amy!

@nickgazin, I can't marry you but I can send you some enchiladas instead. Send us your address and I'll send some frozen food love. ~ Amy (yes, the real Amy)

So that's what's new with my life. I ate a frozen vegetarian enchilada and it's leading to me being set up on dates and getting more frozen enchiladas. I will let you know as this story develops.

Grade: A+

Follow me on Instagram if you want to see what I'm eating more regularly, as well as if Amy from Amy's Kitchen can get me a date.

In this week's installment of First-Person Shooter, we sent two cameras to Clayton Leavell, a 24-year-old auto mechanic apprentice in Temple, California. Clayton's been working as a mechanic for a little over a year after making the jump from hobbyist to professional. He attends the Pasadena City College Automotive Program, and helps his colleagues at VJ's Auto and RV servicework on all varieties of vehicles from sports cars to RV's.

Clayton's Friday at the shop was extremely busy. First, an RV came in with a busted septic tank, then Clayton was called into an airport hanger to work with a mechanic named Slick Vic in order to fix a broken-down truck. Afterwards, he cracked some brews and watched planes land, ending the day on a breezy note. Here's what else he told us about the Friday he snapped the following pics.

VICE: What was your day like on the Friday you took photos of?
Clayton Leavell: Friday's are usually pretty busy so I kicked it off with a big breakfast at a diner called Chef's. Once I hit the shop, I took out the trash out and checked in with the office for an idea of the work I'd have to do that day. This Friday, I spent most of the day with my coworker Jose on an RV, doing six tires (dual axle in the back), a transmission fluid exchange, a brake flush, new brake pads and rotors, and some work on the septic system.

I also helped my service advisor pick up a few cars, and did a quality inspection on a large job on a Lincoln Navigator to make sure there were no leaks on the rear main seal between the engine and transmission, oil pan gasket, transmission pan gasket, and new AC compressor.

Looks like a guy is crouching next to a hose that's plugged into the RV. What's he doing?
He's actually replacing what I can best describe as a garbage disposal for your shit. They put a little motor with a fan blade on it in the septic system of RV's to chop up your turds for easy disposal. Our customer had gone on a trip to Colorado and hit some sub zero temperatures. The shit really hit the fan. The shit won.

Do you only work on certain types of cars?
We're an independent shop, so we work on everything from domestics to imports and RVs. It really keeps you on your toes and tests your knowledge on all fronts. These days, mechanics have to have a solid handle on the theory behind combustion engines and also be a plumber, an electrician, a welder, a diagnostician, and a computer technician. Continuing education is a must.

Why'd you go the airport?
I went down to the airport to do some work at a different shop with my coworker. We moved some cars around and got some engines ready to be put back in. I also ended up drinking some beers with some pretty cool old dude who hangs around and works on furniture.

What was that Buick doing at the airport?
The Buick is down there waiting to be restored. The engine needs to be resealed and retuned. It's such a beautiful boat of a car. Eighteen feet long with a 5.3 liter V8 and a trunk big enough to hide five stool pigeons in.

I see that photo with a whole bunch of beers on your car in the Police Parking Only area. Did you get in any trouble?
Naw, the helicopter police are pretty cool. They were more concerned about locating beers for themselves than anything else.

Why do all auto shops seem to have nudie calendars up on the walls?
It's like an unspoken tradition of shops. They're hiding where it's hard for customers to find them without permission. It's like an easter egg hunt when I go to another shop to find them. I'm never disappointed.

How did your day end?
My day ended with a very refreshing Negra Modelo while watching the planes land for the night.

Follow Julian on Instagram and visit his website for more of his photo work.

Love makes us irrational. Unrequited love, probably more so. When I first read that last month's hijacked EgyptAir flight might have boiled down to a man's desperation to see his ex-wife, I didn't think: Aw, what a sweet display of puppy-dog devotion, but more: If they're divorced why can't this dude let it go, it's done mate.

Harassment couched as infatuation pretty easily blurs the line between creepy and cute. But when it comes to strangers, where the pretence of love isn't even established, we tread closer towards actual stalking. We've reached the end of National Stalking Awareness Week in the UK, kicked off last Sunday by Lily Allen's horrific story of being hounded for seven years without major police intervention until her stalker broke into her flat and possibly took her bag. Only when her case became one about property theft did the police seem able to handle it.

About one-third of more than 3,100 stalking complaints from 2014 to 2015 led to victims starting prosecution. Out of those, 427 could have led to an actual conviction, of a maximum five years. That number looked low, so I rang up Rachel Horman, a solicitor specialising in stalking and domestic abuse and chair of stalking victim advocacy service Paladin, to find out why our legal process hasn't quite figured out how to find, prosecute and keep track of stalkers.

VICE: Hi Rachel, what's the deal with our stalking law?
Rachel Horman: I think one of the issues around the stalking legislation, and the reason it's not used sufficiently, is probably around training and knowledge of the police. We've had the stalking legislation in now for almost four years, however it's not used very often at all by police. Or when the police do look to charge with stalking, they go to the CPS , who quite often say "no, there's not sufficient evidence" in many cases.

The first harassment law was introduced in 1997. Why did it take that long to codify anti-harassment?
Well, there simply wasn't any legislation to help people. If someone had been in a relationship with their partner, they couldn't rely on the criminal law. So they'd come to solicitors like me to try and get a civil order—an injunction—to keep this person away. Even then, they could only do that if they'd been in a relationship with the person. If it was a stranger, they would struggle to even get a civil order against the stalker.

It was cases like TV presenter Jill Dando's that highlighted problems with the law. I know it was never proven what happened to Dando, but at the time it was reported that a stalker had been following her—and nothing could be done in cases like that. That's how the law developed. You'd imagine that there should've been something way before then.

What was the next major breakthrough?
The law created the criminal offence of stalking in 2012. Before, we had the Protection from Harassment Act of 1997. But that didn't really reflect the reality of the situation. When someone says "harassment" you think about two neighbours arguing over the height of a hedge, whereas stalking makes you think of something very different.

What's the difference between harassment and stalking, in the eyes of the law?
When someone has on their criminal record that they've been convicted of harassment versus being convicted of stalking, they'll be treated very differently. Once Laura Richards, Paladin's founder, campaigned to bring the specific offence of stalking in, it was accepted pretty quickly that the harassment legislation didn't reflect the seriousness of the situation for people who are being stalked.

What hasn't the new law sorted out?
Paladin are campaigning to increase the sentence for stalking—where the maximum is currently five years. There's a consultation taking place as to whether there should be a stalking protection order, and that's just finished—but that would only last 28 days. Now the next step is for the government to consider that.

READ: This Woman Blogs About Her Private Stalker

But in cases when it comes time to prosecute, what happens?
There are two kinds of courts: civil and criminal. It's easier to prosecute in the civil court, which says you only have to work on the balance of probabilities and be 51 percent sure, rather than the criminal court, where it's proof beyond reasonable doubt. In the criminal court you have to be more like 95 percent sure.

So it's easier to prove in civil court, but the problem is that you have to take the case to court yourself, which can be expensive. In a criminal case, the lawyers on behalf of the police do it, and you're just a witness. Some people are able to get legal aid for some civil cases, but that's being restricted, so when it's not realistic for victims to get a civil case they rely on the criminal law.

When you go for a criminal case, what are the benefits? If it's harder to prove, what's the pay-off?
It creates a criminal record, for starters, unlike a civil case. If someone's sent down for breaking a court order in a civil case that doesn't show up on their record to highlight future problems. Victims shouldn't even have to come to lawyers in these sorts of cases—they should just be able to report it to the police, take it to court and have the police do the jobs we pay them to do. In Lily Allen's case, he wasn't even charged with stalking but with harassment.

How can the laws be made more effective, though?
By introducing a serial stalker's register, like the sexual offender's register, and a serial stalker's order. So serial stalkers would have to tell the police when they move address, tell the police when they change their name and tell the police when they're in a new relationship, so they could be monitored. At the moment they can't do that, even when the police know that someone is dangerous and goes from one victim to the next. We need to be more proactive to stop forcing the people who've been stalked to constantly alter their lifestyles.

Thanks, Rachel.

@tnm___

More on VICE:

We Asked an Expert If Kanye West Could Possibly Be as Broke as He Said He Was

We Asked a Planner How to Build the Perfect Town

We Asked an Expert How Easy it Is to Make Poppers