Mental Magazine

mental

BENOIT DENIZET-LEWIS editorial advisor

KEVIN OLIVEIRA editor-in-chief

SARAH MARCANTONIO managing editor

BRITNI BIRT editor-in-chief

LINDSEY GONZALEZ managing editor

PIM PHONGSIRIVECH creative director

CARINA ALLEN creative director

JAMIE KRAVITZ senior editor ASHLEY LACHANT photo editor

CHRISTIAN FITZGERALD photo editor

MEAGHAN MCDONOUGH senior editor LIAM COLLINS senior editor

ISABELLA DIONNE senior editor

EMILY SOLOMON staff writer MEGAN FOSTER senior editor

ADAM MCCARTHY senior editor

AJ FAIR copyeditor ALEXANDRA KEPHART staff writer

PAIGE COBER staff writer

letter from the editors Are the active minds of millennials a blessing or a curse? Our insatiable desire for connection means that communication is easier than ever, and access to information is no object. But it seems that everywhere we turn (most likely to another screen), we’re bombarded with another boring listicle, another viral video, or god help us another personality quiz (page 35). So what if we took a minute to hone in on what actually makes us tick? As Jimmy Neutron would say, it’s time for a brain blast.

This magazine goes beyond the best summer workout routine in favor of something a little more, well, stimulating. Our young writers describe living with facial blindness, recount being kidnapped to spend a summer in the woods, and explore the ramifications of having a strange man foretell their future in a parking lot. We also compile the best playlist for a social-media detox, tell you how to live with a slob, and give you a million options so you don’t have to spend another night “Netflix and chilling”—you’re welcome. From two millennials to another: life is so much sweeter when we stop and get a little MENTAL. — Brit + Kevin

left brain 6 guess who / chew on this 8 cult following 10 mind games 11 into the woods 14 elephant in the room 16 rock ‘em sock ‘em 18 metal goes mainstream 19 a loud future 24 reader’s block 26 you’re fine 28 when it’s not wanderlust 30 night shift 31 slob story

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right brain budding romance 34 i quiz, therefore i am 35 i’ll tell you when you’re older 36 high notes 38 dream interpreter 40 hello, kitty 41 harm reduction 42 skirting the line 44 profit play 50 feed your feelings 52 leave a mark 53 consolation prize 55 watch what you eat 56 on track 57 euphemism treadmill 58 27 things to do instead 59 of watching netflix

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guess who? when everyone’s a stranger

by christian fitzgerald When I’m walking up stairs I tend to avoid eye contact at all costs. Usually I’m palming my phone, flicking through apps, in a frenzy to give the impression I’m busy and not just avoiding eye contact. It’s one of a handful of tricks I’ve picked up since learning I don’t have trouble remembering people; I have trouble recognizing them.

Last year, I was sitting in my psychology class when the subject turned to face blindness (prosopagnosia).

My teacher described how the cognitive disorder limits a person’s ability to perceive human faces, and as she described it I started to get a sinking feeling in my stomach. I’ve always had trouble remembering people I meet, but I assumed it was some strange byproduct of my ADD (or, maybe, the result of most people being easily forgettable.) You can imagine my relief learning it was just my brain malfunctioning.

After the initial shock wore off I realized I was actually lucky to finally have a name for it, and it didn’t hurt that as far as face blindness goes, I wasn’t all that bad off. In worse cases, people find they can’t recognize their families or even their own reflection.

To get a sense of how disorienting that feels, invert a photograph of a friend or your favorite celebrity and watch how generic their features become.

Have you ever received a text from an unknown number and tried to carry on a vague conversation until they gave you enough context clues to realize who they were? That’s how a lot of my in-person exchanges go. They obviously recognize me first, and if we’re both walking by each other, a friendly smile and hello work perfectly. If they stop and want to talk about something in particular, though, game on. They’ll speak first and almost always reveal the basics of our relationship. “Hey, do you know when Freedman’s test is?” or “What did you think of band/ movie/show?” gives me a lot to work off of because while not everyone has a distinctive look, there are only so many people with beards in my stats class.

After I’ve known someone long enough, I don’t have much trouble recognizing them. Over time, I learn the angles of their faces and pick up on

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varying quirks. Once I recognize a person’s aesthetic, so long as they don’t drastically change their clothing or hair I can pick them out in a crowd. It’s the first impressions that really give me trouble. The moment I’m no longer looking at them, their features start to blur in my mind. They don’t completely disappear, though. I still have a vague approximation of their face, and I can assume they have two eyes, a nose, and a mouth (though when they’re missing one of those it’s usually a lot easier on my end).

Ideally, my friends would stick to single outfit wardrobes like cartoon characters. Preferably, something monochrome with a name tag stitched to the lapel. Until I can convince them to do that, though, I’ll keep working on new techniques for recognizing people—or when it makes more sense, pretending there is something fascinating in my weather app.

A jar of peanut butter appears beside me; next to it, a small container. My classmate with whom I share the table plucks open the container, revealing slices of apple. I feel my nostrils flare, and I watch from the corner of my eye as she combs the unblemished peanut butter surface with her first slice. She pops it into her mouth and I hold my breath. The chewing commences. Can anybody else hear this? I glance around the room. Nobody’s doing anything.

I shift in my seat, trying to minimize my cringing and redirect my scowl toward the whiteboard. My classmate’s open mouth becomes a stage upon which a squelching symphony of peanut butter, apples, and saliva perform. I decide that my classmate, an otherwise reasonable woman, is the most deplorable person in the room.

It may be tempting to attribute my reaction to a table-manners obsession (or to being a dramatic college student), but you’d be wrong. I suffer from misophonia, a term coined in 2002 that translates to “hatred of sound.” It describes powerful feelings of annoyance, disgust, or rage triggered by sounds such as persistent nose-blowing, heavy breathing, lip smacking, audible swallowing, and loud typing.

clear my throat, I’ll throw a couple of side-eyes. Most people don’t notice. Sometimes I’ll resort to being a grownup about it and voicing my frustrations, but that’s usually met with scoffs, eyerolls, even exaggerated chewing.

I’ve come to accept that every so often, someone—a roommate, a cousin, a first date (who won’t get a second), a classmate, a professor—will accidentally evoke fits of fury. To those who share my symptoms, I suggest counting to ten, humming, deep breathing, taking multiple trips to the restroom, investing in noise-cancelling headphones, occasionally meditating, boycotting restaurants that serve ramen (slurping noodles is considered courteous in Japanese culture), and going late to get-togethers to avoid sitting next to that one friend who’s an obnoxious eater. Loud chewers, cut us some slack. Science says the auditory and limbic systems in our brains may be hyperconnected, so if we’re neurologically programmed to suffer, let us be. Control your mastication and we’ll control our misophonia.

I diagnosed myself with misophonia via a New York Times article last year. I had Googled “loud chewing, anger” after my boss refused to let me switch cubicles because I could hear my coworker gnawing on almonds every morning. I work in an office so lifeless that the sensor lights in the hallway will often turn off multiple times during my shifts.

The man who occupies the office closest to me likes to obliterate this peace with his snacking; not only does he chomp with neurotic intensity, but he does so with his mouth open so that the amplified sound surges through his open door and into my cubicle.

I understand that some foods are impossible to eat quietly, but the moment that someone chews with their mouth open, I find them contemptuous.

I identify with the “incredulity factor” my first reaction to noisy eaters is disbelief. It is unfathomable to me that the perpetrator is oblivious to the noise, and it is even more inconceivable when nobody shares my outrage. In cases where the offender insists on masticating with an open mouth, I react with a series of passive aggressive maneuvers: I’ll sigh, I’ll

by pim phongsirivech

chew on this when sound is the problem

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cult following what really makes a movie scary?

For a horror movie, The Witch possesses a curious attention to detail. Its dialogue (as first-time director Robert Eggers brags in the credits) is lifted straight from seventeenth-century source material. Its slow, haunting pans are populated by no-name actors dressed in costumes so periodaccurate that they elevate Puritan chic to art form. Its initial thirty minutes are reminiscent of a John le Carré adaptation—even if things pick up in the final thirty. Clearly, The Witch has an identity crisis.

Despite a meticulous presentation, it has neglected its duty to frighten us.

To define The Witch as a “horror” movie is to ignore a history of horror films, as well as the gothic tradition that made them possible.

Films like Rosemary’s Baby (1968), The Exorcist (1973), and A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984) wormed their way into public consciousness by playing with contemporary notions of sexuality, family values, and organized religion. They are considered horror movie classics because they exist within a veritable tradition of exploiting society’s anxieties. To understand why The Witch does not belong to this tradition, we must take a trip back to the seventeenth-century.

bloodlines In colonial America, gothic stories allowed anxious Puritans to contend with an unforgiving new climate and their own stifling customs; Eggers’ film is a kind of deconstruction of such tales. Later, in Victorian England, gothic stories began reflecting similarly strict moral codes—the consequences of urbanization and industrialization,

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and an empire beginning to show its contradictions. Mary Shelley gaves us the modern monster with Frankenstein (1823), while Robert Louis Stevenson’s The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde (1886) was an early challenge to moral absolutism. Cleverly buried within H.G. Wells’ The War of the Worlds (1898) is a critique of British imperialism.

By the twentieth century, it was clear these tales were more than what Edgar Allan Poe had dubbed “pleasurable terror”—they had become a critical mirror to society.

Eventually, out of the cultural morass of twentieth-century gothic (thrillers, noirs, home invasion narratives, zombie flicks, etc.) came the word “horror.”

While The Witch certainly horrified me (how could a crowpecked bosom and a baby parts pestle not?) it did not terrify me.

I did not leave the theater with the sense of existential dread I felt entitled to. Perhaps it would be useful to contrast The Witch with a film that did terrify me: 2014’s It Follows. Both are film festival darlings turned mainstream critical successes, and both are credited as part of a recent horror film revival.

It Follows stretches its simple premise—that “something” follows you, at a walking pace, forever, until it reaches you and murders you in grotesque fashion—over a longish (for its genre) one hundred minutes. Ultimately, its awful implications, more than its haunting aesthetics, strike a chord with audiences.

it still follows

It Follows knows its target: the eighteen to twenty-something

brash young adult who has recently become comfortable as a sexual and independent being. You. This is how the movie “follows” its audience: its protagonists could easily be you.

Its target audience will immediately notice that It Follows expresses anxieties over the spread of STIs. The aforementioned something is spread by sexual experience (the exact details are never specified)—once you have it, it will follow you until it kills you.

Logic dictates a simple solution: spread the thing and it will follow your sexual partner, instead. Of course, this monster cannot be destroyed: once it has killed, it follows the next person down the line of sexual experience.

Along with the main character Jay, we quickly learn that the thing takes the shape of various people (often strangers) and is invisible to everyone except her and the boy who gave her the curse. We are also introduced to a cast of familiar horror archetypes: there’s Paul, the childhood friend (and likely virgin) who has long hid his love for Jay. There’s “bad boy” Greg, who has a car, independence, and a willingness to make the ultimate sacrifice for Jay. There’s the bookish Yara, who always has the right quip for the occasion.

From these elements we can anticipate and plot the rest of the movie in terms of transgressions: friends will sleep with each other, and friends (and strangers) will consequently die horrific deaths.

The real power of It Follows is in the details which complicate this gothic trope of transgression—and leave us only with questions.

Why does the monster, as it appears closer to claiming its victim, take the shape of someone

close to that person? Why, by the end of the movie, does it resemble Jay’s dad (and where is her real dad, by the way)? Then there’s the question It Follows practically begs us to consider: Why, in this supposed era of unprecedented sexual freedom, do Americans still fear sex? Perhaps, as the film suggests, freedom itself terrifies us.

the broken

mirror Many proponents of the genre will argue that The Witch and It Follows are tunneling into the same mountain, using gothic aesthetic as a crude tool. They fail, however, to understand that these films descend from distinct histories. Where Egger’s film nestles comfortably

into the tradition of Hawthorne, Poe, and pleasurable terror, It Follows is truly scary. We may call it horror precisely because we are frightened of picking it apart— while The Witch practically invites interpretation and deconstruction of its gothic elements.

There is the sense that The Witch presents us with a whole mirror— anxieties over love, life, sex, and the nature of evil that might in some way reflect our own. But It Follows is a truly contemporary horror tale: it depicts a familiar yet dangerous suburbia, then bravely explores millennial anxieties over rapidly evolving notions of sexuality and consent. In its immediacy, it asks its viewers to collect the pieces of a shattered mirror and fit them into something coherent (and possibly ugly)—at the distinct risk of drawing blood.

by kevin oliveira illustration by ben patterson

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mind games

by megan foster

find your chill at the app store

Want a better memory, or sharper cognitive skills?

Too bad, because app developers have already turned their attention to happiness and well-being. Instead of creating the next Sudoku or crossword phenomenon, these engineers have introduced a new generation of games with names like Personal Zen, Happify, and Positive Activity Jackpot. These apps—which analyze our behaviors to maximize daily positivity—sound like pseudo-science, but might downloading happiness from the Internet actually work? Apparently, yes. Consumers report on Google Play that Happify, for instance, reduces stress levels and leads to a positive mindset. Now that there is more to the mind-boggler genre than meeting an intelligence quotient, it’s time to test if happiness is a game changer.

Tired of Sudoku?

Try Beehive Hidato. Created by an Israeli inventor, this game’s objective is to connect consecutive numbers through a honeycombdesigned maze. The game is difficult, but not stressful, because there aren’t as many numbers, and the plot doesn’t have nine different cages like Sudoku does. Admittedly, this game was not originally an “app,” although there are plenty of imitations on Google Play. You can start playing online Hidato at www.hidato.com.

4/5 stars

Do board games bore you to tears?

Personal Zen is the latest upgrade. You follow two cute animated elves as they walk through a field. One is calm, and the other is agitated. By training your mind to follow the more positive character, Personal Zen allows its buyers to train without pain.

3.5/5 stars

A

crossword

4.5/5 stars

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fan?

The word association game Word to Word is much easier and less stressful.

You’re given a platform to match words that are either opposites, compound words, related terms, or synonyms to see how far you can get. Word to Word works because it’s easy to get the hang of, and the level of difficulty tracks the player’s progress connecting words.

Rather than fighting to win, the goal is to grow with the game.

My kidnappers were named Alex and Liz.

into the woods jamie kravitz

I would learn later that they were more commonly referred to as transporters, but to me they will always be kidnappers. The pair appeared in my bedroom j u s t b e f o r e 4 AM on July 11, 2011. I was 16 years old.

When I first opened my eyes, I thought I saw my mom disappearing behind the halfshut door. I thought I heard her whisper, “I love you.” But before I could distinguish between the remnants of my dream and reality, a hefty Polynesian man and a tall white woman with a “don’t mess with me” look were standing by my bed. When they told me that I needed to get up and come with them, my first instinct was not to run. Instead, being a typical teenage girl, I reached for my cell phone— which I didn’t realize my captors had already snatched from my bedside—explaining that I wanted to text my boyfriend and tell him

I couldn’t hang out that day. When I realized it wasn’t there, I told the two strangers that I needed to use the bathroom. The woman followed me down the hall and proceeded to stand by the sink (with her back to me) so that I couldn’t lock myself in. Thus, she thwarted the first of my many brilliant plans of evasion.

If you haven’t caught on by now, I wasn’t exactly kidnapped.

My parents had signed a waiver and paid more than $5,000 to have me transported from our Virginia home to the middle-ofnowhere Colorado for a wilderness therapy program called Open Sky. I had been suffering for years from behavioral problems and, more recently, had missed weeks of school due to severe depression. I had no idea that my parents had planned this intervention; they assumed (correctly) that if I knew about it, I would never go.

For many “troubled” teenagers,

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this surreal experience is their reality. While some people enter wilderness therapy by choice, the nature of the programs and the target demographic determines a need for these transporters. Both men and women attend wilderness programs; in my case, the genders were separated. Teens come to wilderness therapy for a variety of mental health and behavioral reasons: depression, eating disorders, substance abuse, and rebellious behavior are just a few examples.

Programs like Open Sky take a holistic approach to healing, Where are these programs located?

There are programs based in a number of states across the country, including Utah, Colorado, Montana, Oregon, Maine, North Carolina, and even Hawaii.

How many programs are there?

88, according to a February 2014 article in High Country News.

Are they regulated?

According to NBC, as of 2013 “there [was] still no overarching federal regulation of the industry, and licensing and standards vary widely from state to state.”

Have there been deaths?

Yes. At least 20. Unconfirmed numbers go as high as 86.

What is the success rate?

According to the High Country News article, ninety two percent of participants currently complete treatment.

How many people attend?

In the thousands. “The National Association of Therapeutic Schools and Programs says that its membership, which includes some wilderness camps but not boot camps, serves 4,500 youths.”

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accounting for the physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual aspects of an individual. Wilderness therapy places an emphasis on nature’s role in the therapeutic process. In my case, this meant ten weeks in the great outdoors. I was dropped off at base camp in the middle of the night. My boots were collected as soon as I got there.

Newcomers were required to sleep under a tarp with a guide on either side, until it was decided that they wouldn’t try to run. Lying awake with heavy breathing all around me, I had never felt more alone.

As someone who would scream every time I saw a bug, sleeping on the ground and only showering once a week (for a strictly timed three minutes) took getting used to.

We had to perform tick checks on ourselves every night, and luxuries such as deodorant and contacts were prohibited. Add weekly group and individual therapy, meditation, and yoga, and I was completely out of my element.

I was assigned to “Firefly,” a group of seven girls between the ages of fourteen and seventeen. As one might expect when adolescent girls are forced to be together 24/7, we didn’t all get along. If one girl decided she didn’t want to hike, it affected the entire lot. Admittedly,

that person was almost always me.

As a stubborn teenager who was not used to climbing miles of rocky terrain with all my belongings on my back, I announced more than once that I was simply “done.” We had a set schedule that was known only by our more experienced adult guides, but we were always supposed to arrive at our destination and set up camp before dark. We were expected to build our own shelters out of tarps and rope, and cook meals over fires we started ourselves—tasks which are much easier to accomplish in the daylight. Lee Ann, a California native with an attitude worse than her drug problem, was not afraid to voice her frustration. Only Caroline, the first girl to speak to me when I arrived, took my side.

A few weeks in, it was announced that we would be going on “solos.” We were split up, each girl assigned to a different location.

The solo experience was supposed to be a time to reflect and focus on ourselves and our goals. But in reality, I was stuck alone in the woods for two days and nights.

An unseen individual dropped off assignments every now and then, and I was allowed a notebook and pen. Because I could not yet start a fire on my own, I was out of luck

for heat and light once the sun went down. While I still harbored feelings of resentment toward my parents, in that moment, all I wanted was my mom.

When it was determined that I had completed the program as best I could, my family flew to Colorado for my graduation ceremony. After it was all over, we drove to a hotel where we would stay the night.

For two and a half months, I had only caught sight of my warped reflection in the metallic cup I used for my morning oats. When I finally looked at myself in the full-length hotel mirror, I barely recognized the person in front of me. My hair was long and dry, my unplucked eyebrows bushier than I had ever seen them. I had gained a significant amount of muscle mass.

My entire body was slightly dirty, suntanned skin coated with a faint layer of dirt. I must have stood in

the shower for an hour, letting the hot water cleanse me of everything I had been through.

But, I didn’t return home. I didn’t go back to my public high school, the familiarity of my bedroom, or my worried best friends. Wilderness therapy is used as a kind of wake-up call. Once treatment has begun, however, an eight-to-twelve week intervention is usually not enough. Most participants are sent to therapeutic boarding schools or residential treatment centers to continue therapy. I had two days with my family before moving directly to a residential treatment center in Utah. This is where I spent my entire junior year.

Four years later, I continue to have dreams that take me back to a world of ghostly aspen trees and the even more haunting feeling of isolation. I lost friends and a

boyfriend because they went a year without hearing from me. My relationship with my parents also changed significantly. I resented them for sending me away—not once, but twice. How could I ever trust them again? Overall, the way we communicate has improved.

After a year of intensive family therapy, we are more open and emotionally honest. But even now, that year remains a touchy subject at home.

In a world where there continues to be an unfortunate stigma surrounding mental illness, what I went through is more common than most people realize.

If we as a society can become more comfortable addressing sensitive issues and starting conversations around the “taboo” topic of mental health, then perhaps—one day— such programs will no longer be deemed necessary.

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the elephant in the room a college conservative speaks

Name: Connor Dane Year: Sophomore Major: Political Communication Hometown: Quincy, Massachusetts Voted for: Marco Rubio Dream candidate: Scott Brown, former Senator of Massachusetts

by emily solomon One of the first things Connor Dane, wearing a red and blue plaid button-up, says to me is this: “You always get your politics from your parents, right?”

It’s an idea that would likely elicit something a little more combative than a civil conversation at Emerson College, which holds the number one spot on The Princeton Review’s list of most LGBTQ-friendly colleges, and where #FeeltheBern is less a political movement and more a lifestyle. To leave it at “liberal” only scratches the surface.

And it’s what makes Connor Dane’s status as a registered Republican all the more an anomaly on campus. He seems to be aware of that quality in some way—his words, at first, are hesitant. He chews on each word and clause carefully, sometimes starting and stopping as he goes, as if afraid he’ll give off the wrong impression.

His answers are often a little roundabout in nature, but in a way they mirror his journey into politics:

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“Fun fact,” he starts, “I applied to Emerson as a film major.” It wasn’t until Connor took AP U.S. Government and Politics his senior year that he considered pursuing politics in college. He withdrew his original application and reapplied as a Political Communication major. When asked what it is, specifically, about the conservative right that resonates with him, he elaborates: “I guess I just identify with the ‘Live Free or Die’ movement that the Republicans have.”

Talking about how this plays out in the classroom and on campus, he starts out pleased, explaining that Political Communication professors ask students “to leave their politics at the door.” There, parties don’t matter—just the communication itself. But there’s more to an Emerson degree than a major: general education requirements make up roughly a third of a student’s course load, and not everyone is conditioned to “leave their politics at the door.”

Here, his tone shifts; he draws into himself. His words come slower, a hesitance borne from knowing your opinions are not always met kindly. “I’m taking

more animated and engaged. It’s a sharp contrast to his earlier stopand-start demeanor.

When I ask him about the prevalent idea that college makes students more liberal, only for them to become more conservative as they grow older, his answer comes readily. “It’s funny, my dad always says that if you’re not a liberal at 18 you have no heart, and if you’re not a conservative at 40 you have no brain.” Connor’s always considered himself “socially liberal,” but he attributes very little of that to his time at Emerson.

one GenEd,” he explains, “and I barely talk in it at all, because I mean—” he stops and starts again: “Everybody just like—spouts their—” and here he laughs a bit as he finally tells me which course it is, as though he’d been avoiding saying it aloud: U.S. Multicultural Literatures. It’s a course where leftleaning liberalism is practically baked into the syllabus. Connor doesn’t beat around the bush in this regard: the professor, he says, “lets his politics influence how he teaches the class.”

The course resembles less of a literature class and more, Connor finds, of an, “I hate white people class.”

He gains speed and energy as he goes, his movements and speech

There’s much to be said about the liberal bubble here, and on many college campuses across the country. “I feel like it’s always important to think for yourself,” he says, “and make decisions for yourself rather than going with the popular point of view at a university.” He references how it seems to be the “cool thing to be a Bernie supporter [...] Colleges across the country at this point, it’s like—if you’re not a Bernie supporter, you can’t sit at the cool table at lunch. And I feel like a lot of people have sort of fallen into that trap, so to speak.”

Politicization, indeed, has become an unavoidable trend this election cycle. “Even Facebook, now, is insane,” says Connor. “You can’t scroll through three posts without seeing something political.”

Echoing his earlier remark, he laughs and says, “Everyone needs to chill out! And it’s like—my buddies are joking but they’re like ‘Oh, Connor, GOP—vote Trump,’ and I’m like ‘well I’m not voting for Trump,’ and it has nothing to do with anything but the polarization thing. People are just assuming ‘well he’s a Republican, he must be just like Donald Trump.”

It’s something that’s become characteristic of the 2016 race: an individual no longer exists as a singular person but instead as part of a monolith, representative of the whole. And it goes beyond leftagainst-right rhetoric, proliferating even within party lines on both sides, pitting #FeelTheBern against #ImWithHer, outsider against establishment.

Perhaps one of the most illuminating moments of my interview with Connor came toward the end of our conversation, as we talked about the nature of extremism, and of outliers. It’s not unfair, at this point, to state that Bernie and Trump represent a similar mentality—or a similar state of being, if you will—on opposite ends of the political spectrum: outsiders tired of the status quo.

But Connor paints a picture that’s less linear—a clear contrast to much of the thinking surrounding the race, where everything is thisor-that, black and white: “I feel like the extremes of both ends are kind of like a heart.” He physically demonstrates, positioning his arms with “the establishment at the curves, and you have the extremists that are right next to each other.”

Bernie and Trump, in this case, sit at those two points, at the center of the heart. “I dunno if you’ve even heard of the people trying to choose between Trump and Bernie. [...] So the populist thing—I dunno—I kind of feel like an outsider when it comes to not ‘feeling the Bern.’”

For a presidential campaign that’s resembled a bloodbath on all sides, that he’s invoking the symbol of a heart straddles the line between contrary and, just maybe, perfectly fitting.

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rock’em sock’em the most epic battle of the bots

liam collins

In an indeterminate location, two metal giants will engage in mortal conflict—the outcome of their battle will decide the future of giant robot combat. Through engineering and technical innovation, man and machine will finally be united on a real-world battlefield.

To realize a future where giant robots engage in arena-style combat, Megabots, Inc. co-founders Matt Oehrlein and Gui Cavalcanti built a 15-foot tall, 12,000 pound, dual-piloted mech set on tractor treads. The cockpit holds two pilots much like a fighter jet. One steers while the other controls the mech’s weapon-mounted “arms,” which can fire cannonballsized paintballs at a speed of more than 120 miles per hour. The company’s titular MegaBot Mk. II was born from engineering expertise married with ambition; it is a mechanical gladiator built on the dreams of creating a giant robot sports league.

But Oehrlein and Cavalcanti were not the first to assemble a giant robot.

Japanese giant robot producer Suidobashi Heavy Industries had already brought the robots of fiction to the real world, and in June 2015, Oehrlein and Cavalcanti issued them a challenge: “You have a giant robot, we have a giant robot—we have a duty to the science fiction lovers of this world to fight them to the death.”

Five days later, Suidobashi responded. With their 13-foot, 9,000 pound Kuratas, they accepted—agreeing to the challenge under the stipulation that the fight includes melee combat. “Giant robots are Japanese culture.

MEGABOT

Engine: American-made V8, with over 340 HP Top Speed: 10 MPH Torque: 4,600 foot-pounds Hydraulic Pressure: 4,000 psi Hydraulic Flow: 120 GPM Tracks: Custom-made Ripsaw MS4 Tracks Fixed armaments: 3 lb. paintball cannon

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Yeah, I’ll fight. Absolutely,” said Kuratas designer and developer Kogoro Kurata in a video response posted to YouTube and the company’s Facebook page.

The robots and mechs that have appeared in films, literature, video games, television, and toy brands were initially popularized by Japanese anime and manga. Mecha found an audience worldwide after the genre exploded into popular culture. The mid-1990s release and overseas success of Mobile Suite Gundam Wing introduced millions to the genre.

From fighting criminals to engaging in space warfare to battling in the real world, giant robots continue to excite the imaginations of fans worldwide.

Nine months have passed since the Oakland start-up’s throwing of the gauntlet. Since Suidobashi’s July 5th reply, the MegaBots team took to Kickstarter to crowdfund the upgrades needed to transform America’s representative into a machine fit for battle. With nearly eight thousand backers giving $554,592, the campaign funded new weapon systems, beefed-up hydraulic actuators, increased horsepower, and

shock-mounted steel armor “needed to survive multi-ton punches.”

Suidobashi’s privately produced Kuratas, on the other hand, have seen little change, save for possible upgrades to armor and its cache of weaponry. Roughly humanoid in shape, with two arms and a thirtyjoint exoskeleton with four-wheelended “legs” for locomotion, the Kuratas is crewed by a single pilot or remote-controlled. It is also equipped with twin gatling guns and multiple on-board weapon systems, and has a top speed of six miles per hour.

Though the rules of engagement and venue are not yet finalized, this contest places the future of a sport on the international stage. While enthusiasts of science fiction may not be expecting Pacific Rim or Gundamlike clashes in this first fight, spectacle is key. Win or lose, the future of giant robot combat rests upon the ability of MegaBots and Suidobashi to entertain a global audience by turning their dreams into reality. Now, giant robot enthusiasts worldwide wait to see which of these two multiton mechanical warriors will be left standing.

KURATA

Engine: Hydraulically operated diesel engine Top Speed: 6 MPH Custom order cost: $1.35 million Fixed armaments: LOHAS rocket launcher, iron claw, pile bunker, twin 6mm gatling guns

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metal goes mainstream Oh goody, another Grammy show!

Ain’t that exciting, kids? We get to see all the biggest, brightest stars like Beyonce come out to shine.

You kids like Beyonce, right?

Yeah.

The Grammys stopped being about “music” a long time ago; they’ve become a multi-million dollar dog and pony show for the Recording Academy. It shouldn’t surprise you that the Academy often defines “best” as “the one who makes us the most money.”

And so they end up snubbing the talented acts that exist on the fringe of what they already consider to be “fringe genres.” As a lover of one of those “fringe genres” myself (Heavy Metal), it’s easy to get sick of it all. And despite the fact that they have a category for Best Metal Performance, it’s always been less about actual performance and more about visibility (or about which band scares advertising overlords the least). It’s the only logical explanation as to why bands like Nine Inch Nails and Jethro Tull could beat acts like Megadeth and Metallica in their heyday.

So this past Grammys was a shocker. Not only were the Best Performance Metal nominations genuinely decent bands (Lamb of God, Slipknot, Ghost, and Sevendust), some were of an aesthetic that I never thought would please the mainstream media. Take the Swedish band Ghost, for example: the members of the band are all anonymous, and their shtick is that of a satanic anti-pope and his demon instrumentalists. The frontman is known only as Papa Emeritus III, and the musicians clad in priestly vestments and silver demon masks are the Nameless Ghouls. Now that might sound ominous to the

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“Can you imagine a world where denim and leather are staples of any wardrobe, and where corpse paint is considered casual makeup?” text by aj fair photos by carina allen

uninitiated listener until you hear their actual music, which can best be described as a fusion of ‘70s poprock and metal rhythms and riffs (like if the Beatles were evangelical Satanists). This dissonance between their appearance and their sound has won them a sizeable following in the states, myself included.

And yet, to those new to the scene, these displays of showmanship can be uncomfortable at best and terrifying at worst.

(Cattle Decapitation, anyone?)

Metal is a genre that thrives on the extreme. This is one of the reasons why it has, for the most part, remained an underground scene. And its audience is one

that maintains a hefty skepticism of any rise in popularity. To the metal community, any sacrifice of artistry for commercial success is anathema. This is one of the reasons why there are some who view the steady rise of mainstream visibility as nothing but a blight. Bands have more control over their content than they have over who enjoys it.

Given the extremophile nature of the music and the aesthetic that comes with it, can you imagine a world where denim and leather are staples of any wardrobe, and where corpse paint is considered casual make-up?

It wouldn’t be boring, that’s for sure.

a loud future 19

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models: rraine hanson, john barlow, caitlin stassa makeup: peri lapidus jackets: revivals vintage

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reader’s block inside the psychic mind by megan foster

When speaking with a nationally recognized psychic like Melissa Peil, you never know how much they know. You start questioning whether she can read your healthy skepticism towards telepathy through body language, voice, or mind reading—or if she can already see that joke you made the other night about the occult. This tension helps draw attention to Peil’s voice. Crystal clear without filler words or pause, her speech is measured, calming, and uncannily familiar—a necessity in a line of work in which connections with clients are paramount, and radio appearances are the norm. You can’t help but expect that she also knows every secret in your twisted psychosis, down to your mismatched socks.

Peil has spent her career gaining trust in her abilities, and in her methods of reading. She insists that there is a “circle” she sets up for a reading, out of respect for a client’s privacy. Outside of the circle, it’s just one on one.

To Peil, skeptics are irrelevant.

It becomes clear that as a professional, her experiences in the business have left her unbothered by debates and accusations over fraud and con-artistry. Rather than being annoyed by questions

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concerning inaccurate readings, she is tolerant, even patient. Her confidence becomes contagious during a chat devoted to white light, burning sage, the trials of being young and misunderstood, and the differences between clairvoyance, clairaudience, and intuition.

Her beginnings at SUNY College at Brockport, where she earned a master’s degree in education, and her position for some years as an elementary school teacher put her on a trajectory toward her current career. After realizing there were

children at the school with similar intuitive abilities to her own, Peil began working as a psychic and medium in 2005, and her practice soon expanded to include classes for those children experiencing visions and other manifestations of spirituality.

Today, she is one of Boston’s most recognized Psychics, despite having joined the community recently in 2015. Peil has been chosen as one of the Best Psychics in Boston and Seattle, and recognized in Jennifur Diamond’s Top 50 Psychics and Mediums in the U.S.

How long have you been working as a psychic and medium?

make a reading more difficult. How do you work with skepticism?

For ten and a half years.

Yes, since I was very young. I have always been intuitive, with an inner-knowing. I’m clairvoyant, meaning I see images; I am clairaudient (having the ability to hear), and I have the abilities to smell, taste, and feel things that others do not perceive.

One very important part of my business is I don’t advertise. I have been able to work with an incredibly supportive client base.

And why expend energy on those who do not seek assistance? Spirit guides only those who accept the light, because skeptics tend to project their issues onto others, like mirrors. But, on the other hand, many people are more open than they give themselves credit for.

And were you taught as a child to work with these abilities?

What other unidentifiable barriers are at work during a reading?

No, but there were others in my family who also were intuitive, especially on my mother’s side.

There was a dialogue in my household at least, with support.

Very rarely, as a medium, have I come across someone on the other side who is not ready to talk. If this happens, it typically indicates the timing isn’t right. Those who have passed away on the other side must go through their own journey, and sometimes that means giving the person space to reflect upon this lifetime. This can be very difficult for a client to hear, of course, especially if they have

But you have been intuitive for much longer?

Are parents, overall, supportive of their children’s intuition?

For the most part. Sometimes a mother will come in trusting their children’s distress, and a father will be more worried. But usually at this stage, both parents know their child needs help, and in the end are pleased with the results!

We were wondering about that question of trust. This is why your term, intuition, stood out so much to us while we were reading your website. Could you elaborate on it a bit?

I am able to see images, like you would watching a film and [viewing] a chain of events. I can also feel the emotions of others, and as a medium, communicate between people and their loved ones on the other side, who have passed away. Spirit guides me, and in my studio, I create a space to help others. There are six senses at work: sight, sound, touch, smell, taste, and clear knowing.

traveled a long distance to speak with someone. But whenever I reschedule an appointment, I am amazed by how fantastic the next session goes.

In a few other cases, I have come up with a blank when I have been trying to read someone’s future, or give guidance. Instead of a movie or scene, nothing comes to me.

That means Spirit knows it isn’t a good time for the reading—and we have to wait until that time comes.

But when it does, it happens for a reason.

If you could say anything to the twentysomething crowd, what would it be?

There are always choices and freewill in a matter. When you’re planning your life, don’t schedule from steps one through ten.

Instead, plan steps one through three, and then once step one is completed, work on step four. Be flexible with your expectations. I believe as a society, we’re shifting to a higher conscious, but we’re still disconnected in the tornado of life.

“There are six senses at work: sight, sound, touch, smell, taste, and clear knowing.”

On your site, you mentioned how skepticism could create a barrier and

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“you’re fine”

when no one feels your (chronic) pain

by sarah marcantonio

“Well, the tests came back negative. Nothing’s wrong with you.” The doctor was smiling as he told me the news; the lack of diagnosis was a good thing to him.

No cancer, no fatal disease.

“Oh, okay. I’m not sure what the next step is,” I stuttered, all too familiar with these disappointing conversations. “I’m still experiencing the same symptoms.”

“You could try exercising more often,” he suggested. “Or seeing some more doctors. The tests are negative though so really there’s nothing to worry about.” I tensed up and looked down at my feet while clutching my stomach, where I felt like someone had just punched me.

Before I started my first year of high school, I began experiencing pains and symptoms throughout my body. It started in my knees. One day, I walked into my ballet class and told my teacher that I would have to stop lessons for a while. It was too hard with whatever was happening. I felt like small needles were being jabbed into my knee caps constantly. Later, the pain spread to my other joints, my back, and my stomach.

Some days, my stomach pain kept me from eating.

I was too embarrassed to admit how sick I felt, so I ended up cancelling plans with friends and hiding during our lunch period. During the first few months, I went to doctor after doctor, looking for some explanation. I was tested for hundreds of illnesses and nothing came up. When I went to gastroenterologists and they were unable to find anything, they sent me to rheumatologists, who sent me to other doctors. An explanation never came.

One morning, I woke up and felt that I couldn’t move. Everything ached, and I was exhausted. I threw myself out of bed and onto the floor before gripping onto the nearby desk to force myself into a standing position. Over the next few months, I found myself on that floor, forcing myself up. It was a victory every time I managed to get out of bed. On these mornings, my mom would walk into my room looking concerned but knowing she had to force me to get to school, no matter how much pain I was in.

Despite being sympathetic, I knew that my family and friends couldn’t understand what I was going through. My parents pushed me to work through

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the pain, but I took their encouragement to mean that they didn’t believe me. Everyone else seemed to have such an easy time going about their daily tasks, but for me it was a battle to move and go about my day.

After months of failed diagnoses and no solutions, I began to go to therapy for pain management. The first day, I went through a series of tests and evaluations, and was diagnosed with mild depression and given antidepressants. The psychiatrist said that antidepressants could help my pain. After being evaluated, a group of doctors decided that the best method of treatment was medication combined with weekly therapy using mindfulness.

My therapist explained mindfulness as a mental state that allowed one to calmly acknowledge all of one’s thoughts while focusing on the present moment. I practiced mindfulness in various forms over the next few months by focusing on specific tastes in my food or doing body scans, acknowledging how my body felt one piece at a time.

One morning, when getting out of bed was too hard, I counted each of my breathes.

I closed my eyes and felt the way my chest and stomach moved as I breathed. Then, I got up. The pain was still there, but I knew I could get up and conquer the day, despite the pain. Mindfulness was all about learning to focus on one small thing instead of letting larger thoughts consume me. When battling chronic pain, a lot of things made me feel helpless. Mindfulness allowed me to get out of those situations.

My chronic pain did not go away.

Mindfulness didn’t cure or treat me—it taught me how to function. I no longer take antidepressants or any medication for my pain, as I don’t feel it makes a significant difference for me.

Today, I got out of bed. It wasn’t easy to move, but I stretched and got in the shower.

Although it is rare now, I feel ashamed when there are days when I cannot bring my body to move, when the pain keeps me inside.

“

I focus on little things, accept the pain, and tell myself that this is a battle I have to fight.”

Instead of letting that shame consume me, I acknowledge my pain, and I get up anyway.

Having symptoms that no one can see or understand brings a lot of questions. Why are you okay sometimes and other times unable to move? What defines “chronic pain?” Are you sure it’s not all in your head? I don’t have the answers, but I know that I am not alone in my suffering. The Institute of Medicine of The National Academies estimates that 100 million Americans suffer from chronic pain. There is research being done and developments being made. There are still very few answers for me. But today, I got out of bed. Tomorrow, I’ll do it again.

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Every time I call my bank or one of my credit card’s customer service hubs, there’s inevitably a question that goes something like this: “What’s your permanent address?”

Recently, I find myself pausing as I run through a number of options—which address had I given at the time of registration? Was it my father’s address in Colorado (and if so, which one), my mother’s address in Cocoa Beach (which at time of writing is no longer hers), or my dorm address in Boston?

I usually laugh and mutter something about how being a college student with divorced parents makes it a loaded question.

Another loaded question comes around the end of an academic term: “Are you going home for break?”

“Home,” for me, has been a shifting concept for years.

It wasn’t until I was halfway through college that I was able to articulate how I felt, constantly shuffling from dorm to condo to house, from New England to the Atlantic shore to the Rocky Mountains and back again. Never quite fitting anywhere 100%, with gaps between me and foreign walls, or rough edges pushing up against boundaries I’d long since outgrown.

Perpetually homesick, is how I put it.

A shifting sense of home—and consider calling home a state of mind rather than a concrete place— is something that I’m certain many college students experience. For me, though, it goes beyond my departure for school; it’s more than a stage in the progression of life.

My parents, when they divorced, did not have the “who gets the house” argument. Not at first, at least. Instead, rather than having me and my sister go back and forth, they handed off the house with us inside. A revolving wheel instead of a tug of war.

It was meant to be easier on me and my sister—to keep us in the home we’d grown up with. At the time, I preferred it. There was

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when it’s not wanderlust

by emily solomon no packing, no questions of “did I forget my phone charger at Dad’s?” or “where the hell did I leave that shirt?” It was the path of least resistance.

I’ve learned since then that the path of least resistance is not necessarily one you ought to take.

My parents’ decision twisted the home I’d known into something different—something distorted.

With different parenting styles between them, it was a constant game of shifting circumstances, learning and unlearning and relearning expectations depending on who was home at the time.

It was an attempt to maintain the status quo, but it was an effort that fell to pieces at even the slightest scrutiny. Rather than preserving a sense of normalcy, it became a mockery of what used to be a haven. Less like divorce—more like alternating business trips, one parent in and another out without a definitive split.

I made the mistake of going “home” the summer after my sophomore year, in 2014.

It started with a month-long trip to my dad’s in Denver, to a house I’d been to only once before.

He’d moved out there in January of my freshman year, taking my sister with him and finally moving in together with his girlfriend of

over two years. It was a strange cognitive dissonance, to be “home” and yet be relegated to the guest room, to be thrown into a dynamic so utterly foreign to me.

I split the bathroom with my sister, spent most of my time in the kitchen where my dad could enter at any time, and lived out of my suitcase. There wasn’t much that felt like mine. I even shared my name—with my dad’s girlfriend of three years, also Emily.

I can’t make this stuff up. It’d been one thing when she didn’t live in the same house—at least then I was the “designated” Emily of the house. So when your dad calls your name up the stairs but isn’t even talking to you—well, whiplash is putting it mildly. When said girlfriend insists that you’re the one that needs a nickname, it starts feeling like a personal version of The Twilight Zone.

My dad and I spent more than a few hours in the kitchen, talking late into the night about how the house felt like a foreign state, about how learning new protocol and procedure added to my anxiety, to my state of unrest. “I want this place to feel like a home to you,” I remember my dad saying.

I remember wanting the same, but it didn’t change the fact that I was a guest in that house.

“Perpetually homesick, is how I put it.”

Home as a state of mind is a neat concept, but I think to completely pin it on a person’s mental processing is to neglect how an environment (in this case, a lack of a fixed one) affects a person.

My mother has moved out of her condo, where she lived for five years starting in 2012, and into her mother’s house twenty minutes down the road. My dad’s parents are considering a new house or a condo two hours further south. My uncle has moved back in with his “once-wife-made-ex-wife-madegirlfriend-made-fiancee” in a new house.

The only sense of constancy has been school; from the moment I stepped on campus at Emerson College in Boston, I wanted so keenly to step away from the

confusion that clouded my last few years of high school. Where many of my friends stayed in-state, I was driven out by a desire to find a place where I could recenter myself.

And so I thought, for a time, that Emerson could be home. It’s probably as close as I’ve come since before my parents’ divorce. I tried to convince myself that home was a state of being, something I could get my head and my heart to believe in over time, if I only put in the effort. And yet, even in the most ideal of dorm rooms, one I have tried to make mine in any way I can, it still hasn’t clicked.

There are strangers living in my house right now.

Well, technically it’s my father’s house, considering he hasn’t sold it

yet. Since August of 2014, it’s been occupied by a family that I’ve never met aside for one brief hello with the mother.

It was that January my dad scooped up my sister and their most important belongings and made the journey from Merritt Island, Florida to out west, settling in the suburbia surrounding Denver, Colorado. It was a move that satisfied a few different needs in one fell swoop: my sister needed to be away from my alcoholic mother now that I was no longer around to act as a buffer. My dad’s girlfriend—the Emily that wasn’t me—wanted to return to her home state. And my dad longed for a change of pace. Three birds, one stone, no place to call mine.

So when I returned to the house that summer, it was empty except for me. It was the first time in years that it resembled the home I remembered, the home from a time where my parents were together and happily so. No walking on eggshells from their last few years together, no balancing act of the parental shuffle. It was ideal.

It didn’t last, though—by summer’s end, belongings were shuffled off to my mother’s condo, or my grandparents’ house down the road, or taken with me back to Boston. In a sense, I still feel like its last occupant. The last of a line, the end of an era. It’s a stretch, perhaps. A romanticization, almost certainly.

I went to my hometown for winter break this year and stayed with my grandparents. At some point I took myself up on my own masochistic tendencies and drove to the house that had never technically belonged to me but always felt like mine, knowing that there were people I didn’t know staying in my room, showering where I’d showered.

I took one look at the place, at the foreign SUV parked in the driveway where my car used to sit, and kept driving.

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night shift our writer explores new ways to sleep by adam mccarthy Every night when I get into bed, my spastic cat Batman begins his day.

Hunting, presumably, he races across the living room, toying with scraps of paper and fake mice. He knocks small items from counters and then bolts when he hears the crash. Eventually I exit my bedroom fuming, glaring at the clock on my stove. It’s 2:47 a.m.

“Batman!” I yell as I stumble in the dark trying to find him. His yellow eyes glow at me. I scoop him in my arms and try to calm him down. I put him on my bed, but it’s only a few minutes before he crashes back attempting to catch his next prey.

Batman’s bizarre sleep schedule got me thinking.

Human beings sleep monophasically, which means we sleep in one large block. But what if we slept like cats?

What if we were polyphasic? How much time would we gain? It is possible to train yourself to thrive on six hours or less of sleep. And for me, the biggest allure of alternative sleep is the time I would gain during the night. Night is underrated. When I’m awake while everyone else sleeps, I feel privy to a new world—the way Batman must feel when he prowls the living room at night, without interference.

Here are three different sleeping patterns that people are using to gain time : 1). Uberman The Uberman pattern is the most extreme alternative for humans. Not the easiest to start with, I know. You get six twenty-minute naps every four hours. Two hours of sleep to last you all day. It sounds crazy, but if you have the willpower to push through the initial adjustment, you might be able do it.

The exaptation process is one way of getting adjusted.You stay up for at least twenty-four hours, thirty-six if you can, and then constrain yourself to naps of about an hour and a half. After two to four days of this, your REM cycles will start to adjust, eventually giving you the exact same rest that people get in six hours. All you have to do is survive the infamous “zombie mode” that results in severely impaired cognitive function. So, please sleep responsibly.

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2). Biphasic Biphasic sleeping is way more fun and easy than the Uberman—you’re welcome. Most of us probably practice it already. Before artificial lighting was established, people went to bed earlier—but they didn’t sleep all the way through the night. Around midnight they arose for a couple hours to read, have sex, talk— before they went back to sleep for about another four hours. They called these the first and second sleeps, and many people believe that biphasic sleep is the natural human sleep cycle. Unfortunately, biphasic sleeping hasn’t stuck.

The Biphasic pattern can be more beneficial than traditional sleeping patterns. You can place your core sleep at any time you want—anything ranging from 10 p.m-2:30 a.m. or 6 a.m.-10:30 a.m. Ten hours later, you should take a ninety minute nap, which will last you to your core block.

Will you be tired after only six hours of sleep?

Initally yes, but your body can actually adjust pretty rapidly.

3). Everyman This final pattern is the middleground between biphasic and Uberman sleeping. If you’re obsessed with productivity, and want to sleep efficiently, this is the pattern for you. The Everyman condenses your total sleep time into just four hours. Compared to biphasic sleeping, that’s two extra hours. Two extra hours a day is fourteen in a week. Which is 728 hours in a year.

Divide that by twenty-four hours in a day and, voila, you have just given yourself an extra thirty days and eight hours in a year. Not bad.

slob story

surviving a messy roommate Blankets strewn across the living room floor, an open box of cereal overtaken by ants, and a shower covered in hair—it’s enough to make you mental. There’s probably nothing you could have done to deserve this, but there is a way to combat it. Here are some tips for digging your way out of someone else’s mess: 1. Compartmentalize your belongings (and maybe your feelings too!)

While your roommate has become an expert at traversing their cluttered floor, your room can remain free of booby traps with a little categorization. You can sort your clothing into various drawers by piece and fold each item (this is especially fun to do with socks), or use a desk drawer organizer to separate staples, paper clips, pencils, etc. There are so many opportunities for organization that are sure to provide hours of relaxation.

by lindsey gonzalez art by taylor roberts 2. Arrange the knickknacks on your desk While desks are a great place for self-expression, they can easily become cluttered. Your roommate might allow a halffinished coffee to spoil on their desk for weeks, but you can maintain the cleanliness of yours with one simple trick—arranging your knickknacks. A neat display of photos, figurines, and Post-it Notes will invite productivity.

3. Label everything Once you have everything sorted, you can take things to the next level with labels. The label maker is a neat freak’s best friend.

It’s also a great way to show your roommate how serious you are about maintaining the cleanliness of your shared spaces. Go crazy and label everything—the pantry, the medicine cabinet, the refrigerator, the dog etc.

4. Go on a neat freak shopping spree Treat yourself to a plethora of organizational tools for your closet, kitchen, bathroom, etc. by browsing shops like the Container Store, Crate and Barrel, and Office Max. Buy a sink organizer to store brushes, soaps, and sponges; a clear seven-drawer chest for your makeup products; and one hanger to hold all your scarves.

Then, enjoy playing with your new toys and gadgets all throughout your apartment.

5. Mark your calendar for a deep cleaning day You can organize all you want, but there will come a day when your apartment needs a good scrubbing. So mark your calendar and gather supplies for a deep cleaning day. Then, while your roommate is out, slip on your rubber gloves and scour every inch of the place as you jam out to Hilary Duff ’s “Come Clean” (this track is optional, but highly recommended). If your roommate arrives home and doesn’t bother to thank you, it won’t matter, because the fresh, lemon scent of your apartment is all the assurance you need of a job well done. Most importantly, there isn’t something growing in a corner somewhere.

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budding romance find your perfect plant by carina allen Although not everyone may be inclined to spend nights camping in the woods or days hiking through a jungle, there is something to be said about the the peaceful presence that even one plant can bring to a room. Thanks to lifestyle bloggers, interior designers, and aesthetic-loving Instagrammers, various popular house plants have flooded our social media and crawled into our hearts, bringing some benefits with them. Studies show that having house plants in a office or study room can lower blood pressure, reduce anxiety, and increase a person’s ability to concentrate.

Aloe About Aloe

I can keep your skin happy and moisturized and I’m also a gr8 nutritional supplement. I’m super low-maintenance. I’ll look great on your instagram, and if you want another one of me, break off one of my legs and plant it, you’ll get a baby aloe in no time ;)

So, are you feeling like you could use some peace, relaxation, and boosted memory? Here are a few plants that could become your new roommate or plus one.

About Snake Plant

I’m a tough guy, tbh. I like a challenge. Keep me in the dark, deprive me of water, I’ll be fine. You might recognize me from your local shopping mall planter, or from the set of your favorite sitcom. I’m sturdy and striking, what more could you want?

Cactus

Air Plants

About Cactus

About Air Plants

People always say I look intimidating, but I’m a softie at heart. I could sunbathe for hours, my fav spot is def the beach. Not a big drinker...had too much once and it didn’t go well. Still the life of the party though.

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Snake Plant

Just here for fun; I don’t like to be tied down.

I don’t need any soil, so I’m down to chill anywhere that has some sun. Clean freak. I like a light mist shower every day and a soak in the bath every so often. And if you keep me happy, I might bloom beautiful flowers.

I Quiz, Therefore I Am

why we’re obsessed with personalities by isabella dionne When you swipe through Tinder, one thing often stands out

in potential matches’ bios. “Pisces, ENTP, Hufflepuff.” reads the bio of your upteenth match; “ISFJ,” states another; a third simply includes the Sagittarius emoji. So, do personality types really mean anything? And when did people start declaring their Myers-Briggs type in social settings?

Not until recently. After a long history of practice in psychological theory and essentially nowhere else, the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI) and other personality assessments have exploded into popular media as a way for people to categorize themselves and share what makes them unique with others.

The indicator emerged from the influence of psychiatrist Carl Jung.

After nearly thirty years of research by social theorist Katharine Cook, Briggs, and Briggs’ daughter, Isabel Myers, the Briggs Myers Type Indicator Handbook was published in 1944. The test name changed to the Myers-Briggs Type Assessment Indicator in 1956, but the test itself has remained standard. Once the indicator gained popularity among workplaces during the 1970s, it became an accepted tool for assessing personalities and advising people both in and outside of their employment. Psychologists could use results to recommend career paths, list romantically compatible types, etc.

“When people differ, a knowledge of type lessens friction and eases strain,” claimed founder Isabel Briggs Myers. According to the Myers & Briggs Foundation, the MBTI is used in the workplace, among religious organizations, and

in private counsel. Basically, any organization or group involving social interaction can use MBTI results to understand how interactions within the group might work.

But why has the MBTI become a recent mainstream obsession?

The answer may lie in social psychologist John Turner’s social identity theory—an idea that each individual’s social identity determines intergroup behavior.

Turner theorized that the way we define ourselves, and the way we are defined by others, plays out in actions and social interactions.

While the theory was originally explained in terms of national affiliation, political groups, sports teams, and other interests, it also translates into affiliation with groups embodying the personality traits of individuals in question. An increase in people seeking more ways to establish social identity allows for the creation of more personality tests and indicators.

Some personas are determined by birth, like astrological signs, while others, like the more formal MBTI, are determined by a test.

The four temperament types, for example, were originally established by Hippocrates to interpret different human emotions and behaviors. The idea concerns sorting personalities into four different types: choleric, melancholic, phlegmatic, and sanguine.

However archaic the concept seems today, online tests still offer individuals an opportunity to discover their temperament quickly and easily. Other personality determinants use popular culture to gain recognition and encourage fan interaction. Harry Potter fans can sort themselves into one of the four

Hogwarts Houses on the franchise website, Pottermore. Similarly, participants of the popular roleplaying game Dungeons & Dragons can determine their ethical and moral alignment in a series of fanmade online quizzes.

The hunt for categorizing oneself is often parodied in quizzes from popular media outlets like Buzzfeed, PlayBuzz, and Zimbio.

These clickbait-type websites take advantage of social media sharing to gain massive interaction on links like “Which Famous Writer Are You?” or “Are You More Barack Obama or Justin Trudeau?” Other quizzes parody the concept itself— see Slate’s “Which Buzzfeed Quiz Are You?” But all of these results help users find further methods of identification. The viral spread of entertainment and information among social media fuels the spike in personality quiz popularity today: quizzes, type indicators, and horoscopes spread like wildfire, and as a result, different personality evaluations are widely understood and relevant among large audiences.

Categorizing ourselves by personality type and group helps us teach others about ourselves.

Declaring yourself a Gryffindor is much more fun and less awkward than telling your friends how brave and selfless you are. Saying “That’s the Virgo in me!” is a quick and easy excuse for being a perfectionist neat freak, and finding out which fruits your friends are is just plain fun.

So while personality declarations in social media profiles may seem unnecessary, just remember: these personality types offer insight into an individual’s personal world and character, providing more than just superficial information.

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I’ll tell y o u when you’re older A parking lot palm reading mystery I was five years old when a stranger read my palm in a parking lot.

My parents decided our new East Coast life should begin with a day trip to York Beach, a quintessential seaside town in Maine, dotted with salt-water taffy and ice cream shops. As we traveled up the rocky coastline, we passed motels with aging signs that flashed “vacancy” and local souvenir shops that were shut down for the season.

Near York, we decided to take a turn into a small, deserted parking lot. A garage stood before us; the site contained a furniture liquidation business. As we entered, the musty scent was overwhelming. Forty years ago, there likely would have been two 1960s Thunderbirds in place of the dusty sofas and jeweled lamps. As the only people in the store, we strolled down the aisles as I studied the antique dolls and ran my fingers over the tables filled with vintage watches.

Playing with the crinkly plastic coverings of the sofas, I noticed a thin, tall man—reminiscent of a sea captain—periodically peeking at us from his cluttered

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side-office, scattered with papers and pens. No parrot or peg leg was visible, only a few patches of salt and pepper hair and a pair of nervous eyes. When we locked eyes for the first time, he bowed his head quickly to the side, as if to give a gentle hello.

Not seeing anything that sparked their interest for our new house, my parents decided it was time to move on to the beach, where I hoped to fly my kite in the October wind. My mother took my hand and led me to the car. When my father followed, he had company.

Rubbing his hands together, and blowing into them, the expressionless owner quickly approached the side of our car. He motioned for us to join them on the driveway. My mother unbuckled my car seat and placed me and my Keds on the hard gravel.

Bent down to my level, resting his hands on his knees, the man introduced himself and said he had felt a high level of energy coming from me while I was in the store. I was pretty tired at that point in the afternoon, so I wasn’t sure what energy he was talking about. He asked if it was okay to take my hand

by alexandra kephart

art by christina ashbaugh

so he could tell some things to my parents that we needed to hear. I finally looked up, and his ruddy face was now not so calm. His lips were tight and thin, and his eyes looked like those of a fox. They stared into mine, and I nodded once. He thanked me. Now, would you give me your hand?

After tracing the lines on my palm with his wrinkled pointer finger, his brow furrowed and his eyelids closed. He let go and rose back up to exchange some whispers with my parents. Pausing between every few words, as though to turn inward to connect to his source of “energy,” my seconds of standing outside with him felt like hours.

My father nodded studiously, while my mother grinned and looked back at me every few words. She grasped my hand for reassurance, and I looked back at the car, where I knew my toys were. I just wanted to get to the beach; the sun was starting to fade behind the garage.

When we finally backed out of the driveway, I turned and tried to get one more glimpse of the man. He was gone. Normally full of stories and make believe, I fell quiet, as I attempted to wrap my mind around why he felt the need to “read” me. I wasn’t even sure what that meant. Staring at the old taffy machine in the window pulling a bright pink strawberry

flavor, I thought about this concept of “energy” he’d talked so fervently about.

My mother finally drew my attention away from the machine, and we took a stroll to the beach.

Walking hand in hand, she began telling me details about what the man had said. He knew about an allergy I had, some things I liked to do for fun, and he had a few other ideas, but my mother said she would tell me when I was older. I didn’t ask any questions.

We watched the sun set over the clear blue water, and soon it was time to go home.

When I wanted to enroll in tap classes, and when the cast lists for musicals came out, my mother would always smirk. It became clear to me that the man knew I’d love dance and theatre. We developed an unspoken language of confirmation. To say it in words often means to speak truths. When I declared my writing major, my dad told me that was interesting.

They never wanted to tell me; they wished I would choose my own path. And I never wanted to know.

Yet, to always have the knowledge of that reading looming in the background has been a gift and a curse. This duality has been present through every major event in my life. There is a secret desire to have it all laid out in front of me, for

times when I’m unsure. The more overwhelming desire to live freely always wins out. My parents have displayed a genuine pride in letting me choose my own interests, and not allowing the influence of a chance encounter with a medium affect me. But there is always a sense of astonishment when we all share, silently, that he had, in fact, predicted much of my future.

Apparently, the man only gave my parents a positive look into my life that day. When I began to understand the reading more, I used to ask if anything bad was going to happen to me. The reply was always no. He must have ignored any negative forces surrounding me. Maybe he didn’t see the impending periods of grief in my future, or the accident that would happen years later, only two miles from the sight of the palm reading.

The garage no longer houses the furniture business. The abandoned structure still creates both feelings of content and uneasiness. He may be gone, but so are my wishes to know. Life has pulled me in many directions, and I won’t be boxed into one predetermined destiny.

I’d like to create my own future, without a psychic’s vision blocking my own.

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high notes For the millennial generation, music and drugs go together better than Scooby and Shaggy. Whether you’re getting high alone or with friends, looking to chill out or dance, don’t underestimate the power of the perfect playlist. If you don’t have the time or the talent to curate your own, don’t worry: there’s an app for that.

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the soundtrack to your trip by jamie kravitz

Stereodose is currently the only application that creates specific playlists based on what drug you are, um, using. The app is available on Android, iPhone, and iPad, as well as online at stereodose.com, so you can get your fix on any device.

According to creator Mark Li, the premise of Stereodose is simple: “Pick Your Drug, We’ll Make Your Playlist.” Li first posted Stereodose on Reddit’s r/Drugs thread in 2012, and it has only grown in popularity since expanding to other platforms.

After what he cited on Facebook as “iOS compliance issues,” Li changed the substance names to candy references on the Apple app.

For those who aren’t so well versed in drug lingo: weed translates to brownies, ecstasy to jelly beans, LSD to sugar cubes, and mushrooms to marshmallows.

Li also offers “Stereoverdose” accounts with exclusive features. For $6, users receive

six months of extra content: longer playlists, listening history, and a replay button.

“While Stereodose will always remain free,” Li explained online, “I want to give users the option of directly supporting the site.”

Whether or not you choose to upgrade, playlists refresh each time you use the app.

There’s no need to worry about hearing the same tracks twice in a row. All of the music on Stereodose is sourced from Soundcloud, and most of the artists are relatively obscure.

If you choose brownies and tap the radio category “chill,” you may expect recognizable names such as The xx, Disclosure, and MGMT. Instead, you’ll get songs by indie pop and electronic darlings Kelpe, Snakadaktal, and Chromatics. Whether or not you’re under the influence, each playlist delivers a quality dose of new music that will take your listening experience—and your high—to the next level.

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dream interpreter BEING CHASED

Suggests that you run away from problems instead of tackling them head on.

FALLING

If you feel fear, signifies insecurity and anxiety about a situation. If you’re happily falling, you’re not afraid of change and are excited to embrace the beauty of it.

NAKED IN PUBLIC

Symbolizes conflict with identity, uncertainty, or being wrongly accused.

Could also mean you are comfortable in your own skin and who you and other people are because you understand that people are different.

UNPREPARED FOR EXAM

Signifies lack of confidence and inability to advance to the next stage of your life.

WATER

Represents emotions and unconscious minds. Quality of the water reveals how you’re feeling about and managing your feelings.

PEOPLE

Reflect characteristics you see in yourself and how you feel about them. Sometimes relates directly to real-life relationships, especially if there are interpersonal issues you need to work through. What you’re doing with these people also plays a role in how you feel about them.

DEATH

Dramatic state change; the end of something to make space for something new.

meaghan mcdonough

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In the ‘90s, it was all about Sea-Monkeys.

Then came Tamagotchis, the clicking, eggshaped computer game that fit onto your backpack and into the top drawer of your elementary school teacher’s desk. They made us caretakers to something that could thrive under our watchful eye. A few other pet games have come along, but none quite like Neko Atsume, the app that’s changing the pet simulation scene, allowing you to foster relationships with a litter of lovable cats that wander into your virtual yard.

“It’s like a low risk, low reward Pokemon,” says app enthusiast Evelyn.

Developed by Japanese game company Hit-Point, the game features a bunch of

adorable cats, each with their own assigned name (which you can change, if you fancy).

These cuties roll, wiggle, play, and even ponder the meaning of life, all with smiles on their little pixelated faces. The first time you’re introduced to them, it’s hard not to fall head over heels. Who needs kids, really, when you have a group of dependents who don’t talk back? One of the app’s shining features is the CatBook, where you can take photos of them for your personal album of cat kids to show off at your next networking event.

“My number one cat is Tubbs,” Evelyn says, showing off a photo. “He’s really cute.

We have a sort of business partnership going on...I use the app every day, multiple times a

day. I think I keep coming back because I’m fooling myself into thinking something big will happen.”

With its simplistic format and the no-stakes gameplay, it sets itself apart from other simulation games like Animal Crossing™ or Nintendogs, where a few days away from your pets would result in a messy town and sad eyes.

The background music is soothing and sweet, and with an animation style that lends vibrant color to the cast of characters that pop in and out of the yard, the allure to return to the app is overwhelming.

It’ll become a part of your daily routine, as crucial as checking your email. It’s fresh, it’s daring, it’s new—and it’s going to become an essential on every middle schooler’s iPad, every business professional’s Smart Watch, and the thing that keeps every college student awake at night.

Neko Atsume is available for iOS and Android.

hello, kitty catnip for cat lovers

by ashley lachant 41

harm reduction understanding self-injury The closet’s matted carpet reeked of stale cat piss as I knelt in the darkness, toes aligned with the sliver of light that peeked from beneath the closed door. In my right hand, which hovered over my left thigh, I held a razor I’d extracted from a pencil sharpener.

In the memory, it winked up at me, recognizing the secret we shared, as it wiggled between my shaking thumb and forefinger. I placed the sharp edge on the skin right below my hipbone, a place no one would see, and listened for the sound of someone outside my bedroom door. Certain I wouldn’t be discovered, I drew the blade across the skin, cutting myself.

Before it became a part of my life, my understanding of self-harm was limited to its portrayal in teen dramas and health class pamphlets as “a cry for help.” It was something stereotypical emo kids and crazy, suicidal people did—a most piteous kind of attentionseeking. As the member of a loving upper-middle-class family, with no history of mental illness and a great group of friends, self-harm seemed distant and impossible, more fiction than fact.

But the fact is this: I am one in five girls who engage in self-harming behavior. I’m one of the two million annually reported cases of non-suicidal self-injury (NSSI), and it has nothing to do with how much black I like to wear or how much I want to die.

The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders classifies NSSI as “a new disorder in need of further study.”

It isn’t tracked by health professionals, so the statistics on its prevalence vary widely. Estimates peg NSSI occurring in anywhere from 2-6% of the total U.S. population, and a 2009 study for Current Directions in Psychological Science

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meaghan mcdonough

explained that 1-4% of adults and 12-23% of adolescents report engaging in self-injurious behavior.

Yet these are only the self-reported cases; many, if not most, of those who self-harm keep it to themselves. Even worse is the fact that there are some people who don’t even recognize what they’re doing as NSSI. NSSI is a broad term indicating the deliberate, repetitive, impulsive, non-lethal harming of oneself. While cutting oneself is the most publicized means of NSSI, hitting, burning, pinching, scratching, and some kinds of hair pulling are all forms of self-harm.

Some experts even include unhealthy, abnormal eating and substance abuse under this umbrella. Three times more likely in women and found primarily in people with perfectionist and overachieving personalities, NSSI usually relates to emotional regulation. In a world where emotionality is a hindrance to professional, sexual, and even social success, controlling one’s feelings becomes increasingly important. It was a combination of these things that led to my continuous self-harm.

Experts disagree about whether the growing prevalence of NSSI is due to increased awareness of the condition or because it’s become trendy. Alec L. Miller, the clinical professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at New York’s Montefiore Medical Center, believes it to be the former, having seen NSSI patients for years before the Internet. “Often they learned by complete accident, banging into something like a coffee table that served some distraction and relief from their psychic pain,” Miller said.

But if the first instance is accidental, how does NSSI become habitual? According to Miller, self-harm seems to create opioids— chemical substances, including endorphins, that are released when we’re stressed, injured, or feeling pleasure. Opioids numb pain and deliver feelings of contentment and euphoria, blocking pain and providing anti-depressive effects.

A 2010 study by Joseph Franklin, a postdoctoral fellow in Harvard University’s suicide research program, found that self-harm is a form of pain-offset relief. According to this theory, virtually all creatures experience unpleasant physical responses to painful stimuli. When the painful stimuli are removed, we experience relief and are overwhelmed with euphoria. This is a result of the “feel good” hormones released in our brains. According to Franklin’s study, everyone has this response, whether they regularly engage in NSSI or not. “It looks like it’s this natural phenomenon that [people who self-injure] happen to be tapping into,” said Franklin.

I initially tapped into this while having a tantrum in the car at age five. I would keep slamming my head against the car seat until these feelings—of calm, of euphoria—would overcome me. After a minute or two, I would have a mild headache, but I wouldn’t be upset anymore. I was completely content. As I aged, this became my primary coping mechanism, and stopping the behavior seemed unthinkable.

Part of what makes it so difficult to stop is just how dependent the

brain becomes on the good feelings that come with it. “In terms of the opiates, self-injury can be similar to a drug or cigarette habit,” reports Mathilde Ross, a psychiatrist of Behavioral Medicine at Boston University Student Health Services.

Much like a drug habit, NSSI isn’t something you can be cured of: the urges lessen, but they never go away. I haven’t cut in nearly two years, but that doesn’t mean the compulsion isn’t there. My reasons for cutting in the first place are as varied as my reasons for stopping. I used to cut to ease negative feelings of sadness or stress, to punish myself, or even because I didn’t feel anything at all. I’ve stopped cutting because I don’t like having scars, or the idea of having to tell anyone that I started cutting again, and also because it just takes too much work to hide.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t look at a pencil sharpener without imagining how it would feel to crack it open, shimmy the razor out, and slice myself open.

For those who discover that someone they know or love is self-harming, the impulse is often to immediately get them treated for what seems like an extreme behavior. But psychologist Alec L. Miller says, “Your reaction can exacerbate the very problem we are trying to help, and they may be more ashamed and disgusted by themselves and do it more.”

In the case of NSSI, forcing help on someone—whether it’s taking away their NSSI tools or making them see a therapist—usually does more harm than good. The key to helping someone with NSSI is first understanding what they’re doing and why they’re doing it, then offering your help. Beyond that, it’s up to them. Most people who selfharm stop by adulthood, but for those who don’t, it’s a long lifetime journey of learning to live without the catharsis of pain.

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skirting the line text by britni birt photos by ashley lachant models: lenny alcid & lloyd mallison

Jared Leto announced on his blog a few years ago that real men do, in fact, wear skirts. Since then the fashion industry has jumped on board, heading toward a new mainstream. Though we knew the pioneer of the man-bun was on to something, it wasn’t until recently that men in skirts caught like wildfire and spread their gender-bending influence through Hollywood.

Ever since Kanye stepped out for a performance at Madison Square Garden donned in a leather skirt, it’s been a hustle to join the Yeezy designer in the pants-free zone.

Fashion legend and king of cool, Marc Jacobs, joined the ranks, and most recently so did Jaden Smith, who paired his man skirt with flexed biceps for his debut in Vogue Korea.

Solidifying this avant garde statement, the fashion industry officialized skirts as proper menswear on the runways of seasoned designers like Givenchy and newcomer Gypsy Sport this spring. But bending the gender norms when it comes

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to ensemble is nothing new for the fashion world—women have been borrowing from the boys for some time now. With this trend represented by the creative and outspoken voices of Leto, Smith, and West, the nod to women’s wear isn’t as much of a fashion statement as it is a cultural commentary. With West and Smith’s social reach, #MenInSkirts has spread rapidly through many a street style blog.

And what’s the big deal, really?

Skirts are freeing, comfortable, and stylish. So whether it’s a fashion revolution or a manly nod to something a little more delicate, we’re glad men are genderswapping in the style department.

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profit play

video games as spectator sport

paige cober Mark Fischbach records himself playing video games, including outlandish, often over-the-top commentary—for a living. Why should we take him seriously?

Last September, when Jimmy Kimmel’s interview with Let’s Play content creator Fischbach (known by his screenname, Markiplier) was uploaded to YouTube, the video received more negative than positive feedback. Fischbach’s audience was unhappy with Kimmel’s team, or as multiple comments say, unhappy they were “not taking him seriously.”

The Internet has been littered with psychologists scrambling to help explain to parents why their kids watch these “Let’s Play” videos; in reality, all they’ve come up with is what everyone seems to know––they watch them for the same reasons adults consume similar forms of media.

The answer psychologists are looking for

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is simple: Let’s Plays are a new form of passive entertainment, similar to how parents watch The Real Housewives of Atlanta after a grueling day of work, or stay up watching hours-long reruns of The Vanilla Ice Project on DIY. Arguably the most popular “let’s play” producer is Felix Kjellberg, a web-based comedian and producer also known by his screenname, PewdiePie. His YouTube channel took off in 2013, earning millions of viewers and establishing him as the most subscribed Youtube partner. To put that in perspective, the 10th season premiere of Keeping Up With the Kardashians received more than 1.5 million viewers. Kjellberg’s videos, on average, receive the same amount of viewership, if not more.

Even though YouTube’s content is free, Kjellberg has made a name for himself with sponsorship and revenue alone. Last year, his net worth was $12 million. Just this year, Kjellberg began producing content on the new service YouTube Red, YouTube’s answer to Netflix––n

“Despite popular opinion, passive, m i n d l e s s e n te r t a i n m e n t isn’t exactly bad.”

no doubt making even more from exclusive content. the Internet.

PewdiePie is the largest Let’s Play channel on the Internet. Viewers enjoy his videos, with his yelling and nonsensical laughter, for the same reason others outside of his audience hate his content.

It’s mindless but engaging, physically accessible for all ages and demographics, and PewdiePie has the kind of personality that appeals to tons of kids who just want something to watch after they come home from school.

Another content producer, Achievement Hunter, exists as a sect under an entire company, Rooster Teeth. Based in Austin, Rooster Teeth was founded in 2003 by Burnie Burns, Matt Hullum, Geoff Ramsey, Gus Sorola, and Joel Heyman. The company of webbased content producers soon grew in popularity after its forums, gaming news, and Halo-inspired webseries Red vs. Blue became a staple of gaming culture and meta-gaming entertainment.

In 2013, the company moved its Let’s Play videos— labeled “Achievement Hunter”—from its main YouTube channel to LetsPlay, a channel designed to showcase all of their Let’s Play content. Achievement Hunter is different from PewdiePie, not only in that it stemmed from an entire gaming company, but also because it houses a handful of gamers who interact with one another.

Rooster Teeth makes enough revenue off this content to foster the company, pay all of its employees, and have enough viewership to warrant two ongoing web series and a crowdfunded movie.

On Jimmy Kimmel, Fischbach said, “That’s what I would equate it to—people watching their friends play games. And that’s why I go to community outreach, I go to meet my fans all the time. That’s what makes it really special.”

Despite popular opinion, passive and mindless entertainment isn’t exactly bad. Mindless entertainment is, in fair amounts, good for one’s mental health. Let’s Plays in particular have been shown to curb situational depression and anxiety,

and serve as a valuable outlet for millennials. In a way, as Fischbach says, it’s not only passive entertainment, it’s a community.

There’s no complex psychology behind the appeal of watching others play video games. It goes hand-inhand with society’s want— and need—for something simple and easy. Let’s Plays in particular appeal to millennials above any other demographic.

They’re a generation that grew up with 9/11, two wars, and an economic downturn.

They have more problems with anxiety and adjustment than any other generation: they’re the least likely to get a job upon graduation, are less likely to buy a house or a car, and are more likely to be in debt.

Yes, Let’s Plays are mindless.

They’re a niche form of entertainment. A lot of people may not “get it.” But Let’s Plays have not only given millions of millennials an outlet to turn to, but an outlet where they can produce their own content— or even start a new, successful business by millennials, for millennials.

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feed your feelings

by aj fair

The idea of “comfort food” actually has more scientific basis than one might expect from something gracing BuzzFeed top-ten lists. But did you know that there’s also aggression food, despair food, and arousal food?

Meals for a Scrap A study by the University of California found that high levels of trans fatty acids greatly inhibit the production of omega-3 fatty acids. These omega-3s serve not only to stabilize our mood when we’re feeling down, but also to inhibit our aggressive impulses.

Trans fats are present in most

processed, fried, and fast foods. What else should you scrap from your diet? Caffeine is a chemical that filters through your body rapidly and leaves feelings of anxiety and irritability in exchange for a temporary ward against Mr. Sandman.

Scrumptious Shellfish Sensual Evenings

for

The medical community is skeptical of “aphrodisiac” foods’ ability to create feelings of passion and desire upon consumption. Scientists agree that the physiological reactions (increased heart-rate, flush, and sweating) created by eating foods like peppers, shellfish, and chocolates and those of a person feeling genuine arousal are so similar that we began associating the two. Of course, the Placebo effect has proven itself to be quite powerful; maybe these foods are worth a shot.

Dr. MealGood If bright and chipper is your goal, then you’ve got quite a few options. Dark chocolate helps lower the amount of cortisol in your system (high levels of this hormone are associated with increased stress and anxiety). Those omega-3 fats I mentioned earlier can help streamline your metabolism and help your body generate more serotonin, a neurotransmitter often associated with feelings of happiness and contentment.

Omega-3 fats can be found in most types of fish, nuts, and egg yolks.

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leave a mark profile of a whiteboard artist interview by liam collins

I’m curious to know: what does your art mean to you? What is your process like?

Art is a calming process for me.

It’s a zen moment. When I do a whiteboard drawing, it takes the entirety of my focus—I can look beyond the minutia and concentrate on my art. Sometimes, you need to take a moment and do something for yourself. That’s what my drawings are to me.

How has your art developed?

I remember when I was really little, my mom would buy me Crayola coloring pads and I would fill every page with red-crayon dinosaurs. My art only started to develop recently. It really began to change after I began paying attention to what looked best in my art, what looked more accurate, what worked.

When did your art first start to gain recognition?

With each dry-erase marker stroke, twenty-one-year-old Ben Patterson brings his temporary canvas to life.

Dinosaurs, animals, and mythical creatures roam the white space of his medium—brilliantly colored and each with more detail than the last.

Tucked away in a twelfth floor suite of an Emerson College dorm, where the sky just peeks into view from beneath a drawn shade, Patterson took a moment to reveal one of his greatest artistic works to date: a multi-colored hummingbird. His is an art of impermanence.

I sat down with Patterson to learn more about what drives him to work with whiteboards and hear his thoughts about mutability in art.

How and why does he transform white space (whether it’s an empty window or a dry erase board) into such beautiful and detailed visions?

Freshman year started with a T. rex and grew to be a full year of dinosaur whiteboard drawings.

It got to the point where people would leave notes asking me “Where’s the next one?!”

Where do you usually draw your inspiration from?

I usually do an image search for things that interest me. When I find something that makes me think, “Oh, I could make a really cool drawing out of that,” that’s what I usually choose as my subject. I work mostly from references, as a lot of the time the pictures inside my head don’t often translate as well onto the paper. A concrete image allows me to better capture detail and transmit that into my art.

What about using dry erase markers separates them from other drawing tools?

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The challenge of dry erase is that the art you create goes so quickly.

The markers I use also have the bad habit of erasing themselves, especially in the coloring process.

Small strokes get past this, but it still can be a pain and takes time.

Usually the coloring process occurs over a few hours. My average time is about two hours, though they have gone longer than that. Size and scope definitely play into how long it takes.

Is using medium ‘erase’ cathartic

your whiteboard, a which can so easily all your progress, or challenging?

Though I do pencil work sometimes when I am feeling it, there is something about the whiteboard— the way the colors look and how I’m able to share my work with others. I like when people are able to appreciate art. It does get really frustrating though, since I am always worried about my own hand smacking into it and taking out twenty minutes of work.

What themes do you pursue?

What are you trying to express through your art?

It depends on what I’m drawing inspiration from at the time.

Freshman year it was dinosaurs.

Sophomore year it was fantasy and mythical creatures.

The dragon rider and phoenix I did in Emerson’s Iwasaki Library stand out among all the pieces I’ve done.

Lately, though, I’ve been fascinated with darker imagery and themes— Gothic literature and H. P. Lovecraft, especially. I’m realizing more and more that the things that hit you, make do a double-take, are what I want to achieve. I want to express what I consume—whether that be other people’s art, literature, or video games.

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1. Homework You read twenty pages of your textbook—congratulations , you’re on your way to a hopefully useful degree! Isn’t that a big enough treat in itself? There’s no need to hunt down a fresh chocolate-chip cookie or go on a shopping spree. The best you received for doing homework in second grade was a shiny gold star—on a good day. Teachers who gave you anything more were basically just conditioning you to treat yo’ self, and they may in fact have ruined you for life.

2. Laundry So you got to the laundromat, put some dirty clothes in the machine, and tossed in a detergent pod. Nice job! It’s really tough after having our parents do it for us growing up, and it does take a lot of time out of our precious days, but laundry is something that functioning adults do. Wear those clean clothes proudly; they’re a treat in themselves.

consolation prize three reasons you shouldn’t treat yourself by alexandra kephart

3. Friends “Just because Olive is doing it, doesn’t mean you should too!”

That line we hear growing up to promote individuality and selfrespect still applies. You know how it goes down: your friend had a tough day at work, so they’re going to order pizza. Then, they invite you to do the same. But you actually had a great day at work, complete with free ice cream! Don’t double treat—you’ll only fall into a web of personal pan pizzas…and surefire shame.

Treat yo’ self. The comedy Parks and Recreation made the phrase popular back in 2011, and it has continued to inspire many millennials to keep treating themselves…for the most basic, mundane tasks. You think to yourself, wow, I really deserve something for doing my laundry today—but do you? Dessert treats wreck our diets and shopping sprees hurt our wallets, so here are three times you just don’t need that treat.

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watch what you eat your fill of korea’s viral food craze

by megan foster The girl is petite, pretty, and poised. You imagine she might be a K-Pop star sitting for an interview.

But the huge portion of Jabchae (a cold noodle dish), tray of kimchi, and mountain of Bulgogi (a korean grilled, marinated beef dish) in front of her quickly shatters that image. Within seconds, she’s consuming everything on the table, without any sign of quitting.

Slurping, belching, and grunting punctuate her progress.

Meok-bang, or “broadcast eating,” first gained international attention in early 2013, and was instantly panned as “bizarre” and “voyeuristic” by news sources inside and outside of South Korea.

Finally, there was a type of foodie perversion too grotesque for comparison with Paula Deen’s donut burgers or Gordon Ramsay’s profanity on FOX’s Hell’s Kitchen.

Young, often attractive people live-streaming their progress devouring huge meals over a web service called AfreecaTV may sound odd to the uninitiated (and its obsessed viewer audience may sound even stranger), but there is

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more to Meok-Bang than gluttony.

These streamers, or as they’re called in Korea, “broadcast jockeys” (BJs), converse with their viewers as though they’re eating with them at the dinner table. The intimacy between viewer and uploader loosely imitates what many members of the young Sampo generation in Korea go without: family-style meals. Despite the spectacle of binging, Meok-Bang has transcended entertainment because of this communal bonding and companionship. But let’s face it, vicariously experiencing someone else’s absurd appetite is enough of a reason to activate an AfreecaTV account. Here are Mental’s top Korean food porn performers, rated by food quality, quantity, exuberance, and table manners.

3. The Diva.

As one of Korea’s most prolific food broadcasters, this girl’s prowess as a Meok-Bang BJ has won her fans throughout South Korea and attention from CNN, TIME, Huffington Post, and The Independent. Without a doubt, The Diva is one of the pioneers of this trend. So why is she ranked third on our list? While The Diva has earned acclaim and publicity, others have since surpassed her in terms of originality. Her stomach’s capacity and metabolism are aweinspiring, but The Diva’s fame may not be enough to stop rising personalities in the genre.

2. The Gentleman At first glance, BJ Benzz does’t seem like much. College-aged, tidy, and average, his image used to be complete with large framed glasses and a bowl cut. But this BJ stuck through it all to become Meok-bang royalty. He has won over fans with a solid appreciation for good food, his manners, and his occasional outbursts over a particularly delicious or gross bowl of Bibimbap (a mixed vegetable, rice, and meat dish). Benzz is outlandishly entertaining despite (or because of ) his quiet demeanor and his “My goldfish are named Luther and Gilly” vibes. He grows on you.

1. The Chef Many BJs order takeout for their broadcasts to cut down on the workload, and while this is perfectly understandable, BJ Sof takes the opposite approach.

This BJ is a trained chef who has recently opened his own restaurant. Sof cooks all of the food he eats on his broadcasts, and his efforts pay off (last year he scored a profile with VICE’s network Munchies). Fans enjoy watching a man of two talents: the guy who cooks professionally and advertises through Meok-bang. BJ Sof has been able to carve a niche for himself on AfreecaTV based on quality, and his fine dining approach to Bibimbap, banana-fried waffles, and megasushi.

on track

three unexpected playlists

by isabella dionne

silent rave

down the road

social detox

Since the early ‘90s, the silent rave—a music experience in which participants listen to music through headphones instead of speakers—has gradually gained popularity in nightlife culture. Advantages of silent raves range from preventing noise pollution at outdoor festivals to clubs avoiding curfew issues in residential neighborhoods. If silent raves haven’t reached your neighborhood yet (or if you’ve had one noise complaint too many), consider hosting your own! Here are some songs to get you started.

In a time where red-eye flights, morning train commutes, and regional bus trips are the norm, the good old-fashioned road trip seems like a faraway memory. But with the right planning and equipment (read: meals on the road and pulling over to pitch a tent at a campsite), the road trip can be a cost-effective alternative to a traditional vacation. So pack your trunk, roll down your windows, and get ready to hit the highway! Here's a classic rock playlist just right for a classic adventure on the road.

What’s the best way to improve your social life? Cutting out the toxic people in it. Putting an emotionally abusive significant other or a one-sided friendship behind you is the first step toward improving your social and emotional health. The process may be difficult, but undoubtedly worth it in the end—and with a little musical inspiration, you can be on your way to a stress-free, drama-free life.

Blast Off (Radio Edit) / David Guetta & Kaz James

For You Blue / The Beatles

Go Quietly / Cold War Kids

The Long Run / Eagles

Raise Hell / Dorothy

That’s Alright / Fleetwood Mac

Kiss This / The Struts

Honky Tonk Women / The Rolling Stones

Yes I’m Changing / Tame Impala

Storm / Helena Legend Insomnia 2.0 (Avicci Remix) / Faithless Roses (Zaxx Remix) / The Chainsmokers

Heat Wave / Linda Ronstadt

Stomper / Chris Lake

Bron-Y-Aur Stomp / Led Zeppelin

Ah Yeah So What (Radio Edit) / Will Sparks Blackout / Hardwell Paradise / Tigerlily Do It Right - Blinkie Remix / Anne-Marie & Blinkie Ebony Eyes (Original Edit) / Rico Bernasconi Get Enough / NatNoiz

Forgive & Forget / The Kooks Down In the Dumps / WALK THE MOON Color / Finish Ticket

Across the Border / Electric Light Orchestra

Shine On / Vinyl Theatre

Shooting Star / Bad Company

This Is Your Life / The Killers

Half Moon / Janis Joplin

Love Me / The 1975

Slow Ride / Foghat

My Hair / The Maine

Hard Luck Woman / KISS

Barlights / fun.

Home Tonight / Aerosmith

At The End Of The Night / Swanky Tunes

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by christian fitzgerald Words grow with their cultures, shifting in sound and meaning just as the societies that use them develop and spread. Words that describe the unpleasant or the offensive are given a euphemism to make them more palatable—you don’t need to “pee,” you need to “use the restroom.” Over time, even a freshly-minted euphemism can be tainted through connotation and become negative. When that happens, a new euphemism is born to replace its dying predecessor.

There is a phenomenon that describes all of this: the euphemism treadmill. This process takes place when one euphemism is replaced by another, creating a sequence of neologisms passing in and out of favor.

This ancient cycle has a huge influence on the development of language and has been working as long as people have been speaking. In fact, the oldest-known euphemism is the word “bear,” which was derived from the Middle Dutch word “Bruin,” and translates literally to “the brown one.”

At the time, the creatures were so feared for their power and aggression that people wouldn’t speak their name. They needed a new one, a safer one, an entirely new word.

The euphemism treadmill churns out new language, morphing words in one of two main ways. The shifting connotations of words can be an organic process, changing over a long period of time after enough people use the word in a specific manner, like when “garbage collection” became “sanitation.” When words change like this, their impact usually isn’t noticed by the population and can slip into usage discreetly. But this can all become messy—even contentious—when the process is intentionally sped up and words are replaced by cultural mandate. As Harvard psychology professor Steven Pinker wrote in the New York Times, “One side says that language insidiously shapes attitudes and that vigilance against subtle offense is necessary to eliminate prejudice.

The other bristles at legislating language, seeing a corrosion of clarity and expressiveness at best, and thought control at worst...”

Every once in a while a concept’s treadmill stops moving and we’re left with a final word, seemingly immutable. The word for bear, for example, hasn’t changed in quite some time, likely because our firstworld urbanity protects us from what’s at the edge of the wilderness.

When the bear lost its teeth, it became a character in our cartoons and a symbol of natural glory, no longer the bogeyman it once was. Seemingly, it is only when a concept no longer frightens us that society no longer yearns to rename it.

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27 things to do instead of watching netflix 18.

1. Start knitting a sweater for an octopus baby.

2. Have some face-to-face interactions with literally anybody but Rory Gilmore and Blair Waldorf.

3. Lose Netflix and gain ultimate chill with the handydandy Cuisinart ICE-30BC Pure Indulgence 2-Quart Automatic Frozen Yogurt, Sorbet, and Ice Cream Maker! $69.99 for pure happiness or $107.88 a year for glazed-eyeballs? Chill wins.

4. Work up the courage to text your crush.

5. Recover from the terse response of your crush.

6. Have an existential crisis in the back of an Uber.

7. Calm your mind via an alternating, hot-to-cold shower—it feels good and is beneficial to your health.

Often referred to as a “Scottish Shower,” the power in alternating temperatures lies within the therapeutic benefits of hot and cold on the human body. Think of it as at home hydrotherapy.

21. Make your shitty resume sound professional.

9. Track down your birth parents. Just because your mother and father claim you’re their biological child, there’s no reason to take their word for it.

8. Make a shrine of your crush and hide it in your closet.

10. It takes the average shopper 3 hours to explore Ikea. You could complete this furniture maze 33 times in the time it would take you to binge-watch

That ‘70s Show.

11. Invest your time out of Netflix and into a pan-Asian, Mexican taco truck called “Natto Taco.”

13. On July 4, 2015, Matt Stonie ate 62 hot dogs in 10 minutes at the annual Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Contest. At this speed, he could eat a total of 279 hot dogs in the time it would take to binge-watch Breaking Bad. 16. It takes about 77 minutes to listen to Fetty Wap (Deluxe).

You should listen to the album 85 times instead of bingewatching Cheers.

17. Listen to the sound of silence.

20. Leave a trail of Lucky Charms from the train station to your front door. If someone follows them all the way to your home, invite them in. This is your new roommate.

Instead of binging Friends, you could make some.

19. According to the 2015 study “Canadian and American Sex Therapists’ Perceptions of Normal and Abnormal Ejaculatory Latencies: How Long Should Intercourse Last?” adequate sex lasts up to 7 minutes. You could have sex 777 times in the time it would take you to binge-watch Lost.

23. Instead of watching Gilmore Girls, you could take the SAT 28 times.

24. Watch more Netflix. Rather, watch other Netflix. In the time it takes to rewatch a season of Friends for the sixth time (roughly nine hours, in case you were wondering) you could have watched the entirety of Sense8 and gotten through at least the first three episodes of Marco Polo. Assuming you haven’t already watched those too.

25. A healthy poop should take about 3 minutes. You could have 498 bowel movements in the time it would take you to bingewatch Arrested Development.

(No multi-tasking).

26. Get a sugar daddy.

27. Finish the sweater.

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