You had me at Hello. No big deal.

Release the dry ice. Dim the lights to a dark, dusky blue. Rattle the room with an ominous BOOM. Enter: Hello Beautiful.

Perhaps the entrance sounds slightly 80s-rocker cliché, but I fully admit it got me hyped up. How or why they were the opening band for the evening seems to be an odd oversight to me. Hello Beautiful has the ability to capture and engage an audience before even setting foot on stage.

Despite being the first band and the Tavern not being filled up, the instant their ominous silhouettes hit the stage a small swarm of enthusiasts lunged for the dance floor. This may have been for the love of the band, but I suspect much of the draw came from the irresistible beats. Observing the interest in those both standing and sitting, each song set a different mood in the room. From Saint Andrew’s Bridge to Toxic in the City to Words, dancers of punk, rock, hip hop, and even swing alike freed themselves before the band. Arms waving, heads bobbing, and legs jiving, everyone was definitely feeling it. It was clear the energy from the band was contagious and delightfully alluring.

This vibe was also comforting in a way only small venue shows can feel. I love a band that displays comradery onstage, interacting with one another and the audience throughout the performance. So go on! Chirp each other on stage, shred on your guitars back-to-back! The more interaction I see onstage the more at ease I feel to do my part as an attendee. I sing along louder and dance harder. There is just something about seeing that comfort level and enjoyment among the band that enhances the feel of a small venue show, and you could hear it in the music, too.

Filing through most of the tracks off Soundtrack for Scenarios, Hello Beautiful’s debut album released in 2008, the crowd was entertained with a variety of sounds and beats. Lead vocalist and guitarist, Cole Martin, attacked the opening of the show with a distinctive flare reminiscent of Benjamin Kowalewicz of Billy Talent. Meanwhile, Charlie Royal, the band’s ultra smooth MC, mesmerized the crowd with his sultry subdued swagger. I was, however, slightly disappointed at times as the hip hop lyrics became slightly lost. This tends to be a common and, perhaps, inevitable flaw in small venue shows. The high energy and intensified sound in a smaller space may not allow for all the instruments and vocals to carry out properly, bouncing back on themselves instead.

This, however, is only a minute note of the evening as none of the talent, charisma or enthusiasm was lost. In fact, the instrumental skill demonstrated really amplified my respect for the band. Seeing Darrell Wallace shred on lead guitar made me realize I had never really paid enough respect to his gifted technique and passion. His massive riff to close “Wake Up” makes you wish the song would never end. Kevin Walsh, even seated at the back of the stage, never failed to keep the room alive through his drum beats. Dan Bradimore’s keys really took a prominent role during the concert as the band showcased a couple new tracks, both of which opened with a keyboard melody that remained dominant throughout each song.

Whether you’re craving a musical experience full of variety and exuberance, or just a reason to dance your day out, find your way to a Hello Beautiful show. I guarantee that no matter where they fall in the lineup or what time they begin, you won’t want their set to end.

You may be what is wrong with society. No big deal.

Youth homelessness. The concept sounds so tragic; and, these days, it evokes a potential Madonna/Angelina Jolie-esque kid snatcher in all of us. There is an immediate sense of empathy for a youth with no fixed address due to the general consensus that no child should go without proper shelter or food. There is no argument here. However, there is a double standard that is constantly present and, seemingly, widely accepted that is unjust.

When there is a full grown adult parked on a sewer grate at a major intersection, we avoid this unmaintained and unbathed person at all costs. We become blind to their hardships and deaf to their pleadings. Suddenly your phone is imaginarily ringing – oh that sneaky vibrate function; no one ever knows when you’re actually lying just to avoid an uncomfortable situation. Or you suddenly find yourself lost and need to stare up at street signs, buildings and clouds to guide you to where you need to go.

Yet is your reaction the same when you see a youth curled up on the curb, the dirt on its face streaked away by hopeless tears? I guarantee right now you feel a little worse than two sentences ago. There is a tendency to feel more empathy for a homeless youth rather than an adult. However, isn’t it youths who are always branded as being naïve and ignorant; for making bad choices and refusing to pay the consequences? Meanwhile the homeless adults are judged for their assumed capability to make better decisions than youths can. If this is, in fact, a common belief then there is a definite disconnect here.

While youth are given the benefit of the doubt for their naive lack of life experiences, adults are scorned for ever making a bad decision with their assumed abundance of wisdom. It seems when a homeless youth is spotted, the general assumption is that they were subject to intolerable conditions. Perhaps the child ran away from an abusive home or had become an orphan and was not financially taken care of. Perhaps it was simply neglect and abandonment. Maybe it was a Romeo and Juliet situation. Two foolish pre-teens run off together under the frivolous pretence of love, only to learn that love is an abstract concept. Sorry kiddies, Lionel Richie lied – love will not conquer all. Unless, of course, your love is a contractor, turned electrician, turned hunter and chef. This, then, would really help avoid the whole lack of shelter, warmth, and sustenance issue.

So at what age, or which turn of the century, are the youth expected to simply know better? In a “National Symposium on Homelessness Research” journal, written for the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development, one is considered a “youth” up until the age of 17. Granted the journal is from 1998, but now 17 year olds are graduating from high school. They are moving into campus residences to begin their post-secondary education. They are one year away from voting. That’s right. Society has given them the right to partake in national decisions in how the country will be run, and yet we give them the benefit of the doubt if we happen to step on them on the sidewalk.

It’s this benefit that may also be why there seems to be much more awareness and resources for homeless youth as opposed to adults. There is no denying there are resources for both, but there is much more emphasis given for youths. Whether it is that youths have less options or resources, this only enhances the level of difficulty adults may have to seek help. There is always a balanced spectrum in any given cause. The more empathy and benefit of a doubt given to youths, the more shame and disappointment adults feel in themselves. Not to mention the less they believe they can change or that the even deserve better.

At the end of the day, regardless of age or circumstances, it is only those who are willing to change their situation that can be helped. No matter how much life experience has been gained, the number of opportunities given, or the reason for such circumstances, it is up to you to help yourself. Never think it is too late. Take advantage of the resources available to you and, as a general rule to life, respect every opportunity you get. Everyone has their own story and hardships, and you will be surprised how many others will always have it worse than you. So respect the spectrum because, from one extreme to the other, your compassion and understanding alone does help. Your ignorant judgment does not.

I'm kind of racist. No big deal.

Don’t be fooled. The lack of riots, homicides, and public destruction is not a declaration that racism is not still prevalent in society. Like most sudden silences, it is a signal that winds have shifted, nature has yet again adapted, and its new mutation is rising up from the underground. As a Canadian-born Korean I have experienced racism of past and present, with a one-way ticket on the future red eye. I have noticed, though, that the progression of racial wars has become much more strategic. The obvious attacks from one race to another race—in schools, on buses, or in the political system—have been subdued in our great nation. Many would say this is a testament to great social progress, and I am not one to argue. The path of racial progression, however, is becoming culturally stunted now.

In my past, I was once accused of making up the term “Korean” because my accuser had never heard of it before. Granted I was seven years old and riding a crammed yellow school bus. Still, I knew better than to think this young African American girl could only have come from the Congo. Regardless, when it came to Asian ethnicities she only knew of “Chinks” and “Japs” so, clearly, throwing “Korean” into her well-balanced mix was completely absurd of me. Now, however, I would like to believe everyone has heard of Korea. North or South. Good or bad. It doesn’t matter as long as we’re acknowledged as a real country by now. Thanks Kim Jong-il for putting us on the map.

The present, and potentially future, of racism is possibly even more pathetic since I am not even considered “Korean” to other Koreans. Apparently there are levels of how Korean you can be and each judge on the panel, ranging from first to second generation Koreans, has their own rating system.

Judge #1 is a veteran of scrutiny and tradition; never the first to vocalize his true assessments, but the first to make conclusions. Of course, to this judge, judging based on Western cultural practices is unheard of. The traditions of his native country are top priority, whether you’re still there or not, and his opinion never hinges on whether you have even stepped foot on your native soil before. A firm grasp of the English language—grammar, vocabulary, proper sentence structure—is disregarded by Judge #1. Crucial importance is, however, placed on impeccable pronunciation when ordering beef bone stew in a Korean restaurant. Good luck. Hope you enjoy your meal subtly spiced with criticism and disgust. Someone should send the first judge a “Welcome to Canada, Get Over Yourself” basket. It may be too late though. I think the long overdue gesture has made the judge bitter and irrationally stubborn in his ways.

Judge #2 is a little out of it, as she arrived via plane for this. Because of this, she is slightly confused and very whiney. Then again, she always seems unsatisfied and, in her mind, will forever be right about everything. Technically, due to her more recent transfer from Korea to Canada, this judge is considered more as #1.5 (not quite first generation, but not a Canadian-born second generation either). Me being a female, the female judges are particularly tough to win over. They are particularly critical of fashion and appearances, holding true to trends that may bear no significance or logic in Western society. This is where I tend to fail. I have neither the capacity nor patience to understand why polka dot print would match with checkered print and still be topped with a fluorescent orange baseball cap. And personally, as an independent twenty-something, I fear I may have too many daily necessities to fit into a furry Hello Kitty backpack; unless, of course, I leave my pride at home. I am also put at a deficit since Judge #1.5 does not take social status into account; and since I do not have access to $20 designer knockoffs, my trendiness is merely sub par to this Gocci and Prado clad fashionista. Such kaleidoscopic trendiness is beyond my reach, in any direction I may attempt, so I will be satisfied being nothing more than average. At most. Don’t worry, I know where I stand in your ratings Judge #1.5, but you may want to reconsider your position to in front of a clear reflective surface, rather than that fuzzy lit, purposely angled, webcam photo shoot.

Zero for two so far. My chances of actually being Korean are looking slim. Lastly, my racial future hangs in the balance with Judge #2 (formally #3).

This last judge is my best bet. Also being born in Canada, he is also considered a second generation Korean like me. English is both our first language and we willingly accept our spotty, inelegant accent when trying to speak Korean. We enjoy traditional Korean meals, but can always go for some hearty Montreal-spiced meat and potatoes. We tend to have a variety of ethnic friends, or at least put forth an effort to greet them. We could have been raised in big cities as well as small towns and appreciate multiple genres of music. We are Koreans living in Canada. We are cultured beyond just Korean traditions. We respect the differences between races, whether these differences are values, social customs, or generational. Instead, we acknowledge and embrace them because we understand that being judgmental against your own racial members is futile. In fact it is a step backwards from the progress already made.

So mock my faulty pronunciation, question my fashion sense, and wonder why I hang out in multi-ethnic groups. After all, none of these things determine the validity of my race or the pride I have in my racial heritage. They do, however, establish an attempt to impede the social progress of a society that has spent generations suffering, fighting, and sacrificing to achieve. A culture that has already moved beyond such a close-minded and self-destructive perspective. To you, who insist on obstructing social harmoney, good luck and welcome. Careful though, it can get pretty hot in this melting pot.