GUTTER MAG ISSUE 4 by GUTTER MAG

ISSUE 4 DECEMBER 2014

Print Editor-At-Large: Janet Katsnelson

Managing Editor: Nina Braca

Design Editor: Kelly Ryan

Assistant Design Editor Victoria Ottomano

Copy Editors: Lauren Dâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;errico Innes Lukic

Writers: Abby Adams Yarra Berger Terence Brosnan Loisa Fenichell Julie Ficks Leo Frampton Rachel Gill Bruce Hamilton Gordon Hinchen Max Mahler Winnie McNally Ross Pannebecker Steven Smith Christ Stewart

Illustrators: Yarra Berger Jake Brush Jason Fox Thomas Galarce Samantha Knightly Max Mahler Victoria Ottomano Lani Rubin Kelly Ryan Alyssa Spizzirro

Photographers: Olivia Battell

Cover by: Kelly Ryan

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR What does winter mean to you? For me, winter means complaining about the cold, not leaving my apartment, listening to Some Things Just Stick In Your Mind, watching Love Actually three times a week, attempting to get into Infinite Jest and failing almost immediately, and my teetering relationship with New Jersey. Ever since coming to Purchase, I have developed this weird “I guess this is the end, but really only for now” emotion that gets me feeling some type of way at the end of every semester. Well, for the first time since I’ve came here, I am feeling a completely different type of way. Instead of anxiously waiting for my grades to be up on Moodle so that I can be Done With This, I find myself reflecting on this past semester. With that being said, I have never in my life been this proud of, but even more so grateful for a group of people. I have had the incredible honor of watching Gutter Mag grow into a publication that I am so proud of, and that is primarily because of our incredible staff. To everyone involved with the publication: thank you. Thank you thank you thank you. Thank you for your patience. Thank you for laughing at my stress-induced-probably-not-funny jokes. Thank you for developing content that I not only enjoy reading but feel #blessed to be publishing. To everyone that has supported the publication: your kind words and support have meant more to me than you could ever know. Every time someone compliments our layout, a piece written by someone, or really anything, I get to tell that person. That is hands down the best part of this job. Thank you for that. To everyone interested in joining the Gutter staff: do it. We meet on Tuesdays at 9 in the basement of CCN. We won’t be doing this over break though. However, come February, we’ll be back! Our meetings are nice and short and sometimes we have snacks. Come Through. Gutter Mag is a non-profit magazine, paid for by the Mandatory Student Activities Fee. Gutter Mag is a forum for campus culture related content. Any opinions expressed are those of the writers, not those of Gutter Mag, its editors, or the PSGA. We accept submissions but the publication of those submissions is not guaranteed but subject to the discretion of the editors. Send all inquiries to purchaseguttermag@gmail.com

Love,

TABLE OF CONTENTS FINCHER’S WINTER

Rachel Gill 20

NOTHING SWEET

WINTER IS COMING

Winnie McNally 9

Chris Stewart 21

WHY “A CHARLIE BROWN CHRISTMAS” MAKES ME WEEP UNCONTROLLABLY

SOUND BITES

Ross Pannebecker 11

Abby Adams 25

LUCID FALLACIES

ROSS YELLING AT YOU ABOUT MUSIC

Gordon Hinchen 13

Ross Pannebecker 27

BECOMING DISFARMER

COMICS

Max Mahler 14

A COLD DAY IN HELL

Bruce Hamilton 15

A BROAD ABROAD

Terence Brosnan 5

ARIES (MARCH 21 - APRIL 19) You knew the holidays were over when your uncle across the table said, “you know when you can tell a person’s jewish just by lookin’ at em?”

TAURUS (APRIL 20 - MAY 20) Go back home and be rad, bro. Be you. Be bro. Hey, be bror ad even. Just know that every living creature dies alone.

GEMINI (MAY 21 - JUNE 20) You’re not really too psyched about the holidays ever since your sister started subbing you on twitter. You relate a bit too hard to just about everything your family doesn’t, and this bothers you. Don’t worry too much about the inevitable feminist rant you will shout across the table to your grandfather. Sip some tea. Twist your pinkies together. Text your friends. Find the dog. Yeah, the dog.

CANCER (JUNE 21 - JULY 22) A 12-year-old grabbed the hat off your head and threw it into the trash. This made you angry, realizing you expected a level of authority and respect. It suddenly hit you how a dad must feel. This has slowly been ruining your punk agenda ever since.

CAPRICORN (DECEMBER 22 - JANUARY 19) Boys will be confusing and you will turn to green. Snow will fall and bring a new blanket, a new sense of security. Wine still exists, and so does YikYak but perhaps a little less. Enjoy the holidays, as well as what comes with it. Remind yourself to not be afraid to stand up in the face of injustice. Maybe you can still conquer the world.

AQUARIUS (JANUARY 20 - FEBRUARY 18) You went to party for a rug. Though it wasn’t anything less than hipster nonsense, perhaps it was the good kind. Either way, Bowie played. So that was a plus.

PISCES (FEBRUARY 19 - MARCH 20) You keep running into people you matched with on Tinder in real life before either of you actually chatted the other up. Say something for once. Or stick to hot chocolate.

by Yarra Berger

LEO (JULY 23 - AUGUST 22) Your hometown is expected to get so much snow, you’ve already started stocking up on beer. A storm, the likes of which have never been seen, will hit, crashing into everything you once knew and loved. Gas will dry up, houses will lock, and traffic cops will be incredibly annoying. Once the water freezes, only the beer will remain.

VIRGO (AUGUST 23 - SEPTEMBER 22) During the holidays, you’re either sad or you’re dad. No exceptions.

LIBRA (SEPTEMBER 23 - OCTOBER 22) You ate a Nutella bagel wearing a bowler hat, a leather jacket, and crocs. Are you a fashion student? No. An icon? Maybe.

SCORPIO (OCTOBER 23 - NOVEMBER 21) Rock that ‘I Heart Morrissey’ sweater for all it’s worth. We all can dig it.

SAGITTARIUS (NOVEMBER 22 - DECEMBER 21) Albeit moody and odd, you still manage to deliver the charm during the holidays. Many will flock to you due to your cute mannerisms, which no one will yet find cliché. You’re damn adorable, and you know it. Now is the time to eat your pie without asking. Bask in the glory.

FINCHER’S WINTER by Terence Brosnan Many people seem to hate the winter simply because of the cruel cold and bothersome snow, but David Fincher shows us that winter is not so bad by showing just how deadly and destructive spring and summer are. So sit back, crack open a hot chocolate, and watch some Fincher films to make you feel sad, but at least you’ll be happy to be alive. Winter, like most seasons and weather patterns, is of extreme importance in cinema. The brightly lit nighttime sky reflecting the white snow is not merely used in Christmas specials, and David Fincher shows this vividly in his 2012 film, The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. Dealing with Mikael (Daniel Craig), a journalist hired by Henrik Vanger (Christopher Plummer) to find his presumed dead niece, Fincher’s world is already depressingly grim, and the film’s winter setting only furthers these emotional undertones. Early on, the message is clear that Mikael is going to be highly isolated, staying in the guesthouse of Vanger as he tries to solve the crime. He tries to warn himself up in the non-heated hut with newspaper, blankets, and his new friend, a thick-furred cat who lingers around Mikael. Quickly after making himself as warm as humanly possible, Vanger fills the journalist in on the details of the young girl. It is not unusual for Fincher to choose a crime narrative for a film, but the beginning of the film is its most peculiar for the enigmatic director. With most of his films, the crime is instantly introduced, Fight Club’s first image is the narrative with the gun in his mouth, Gone Girl’s first shot has a title card saying, “One day gone.” So for Fincher to begin with a more conventional, “create the characters first then force them into the crime” is a bit strange, and I’m not going to lie, a bit worrisome. It is easy for an auteur to lose his steam after a number of years (am I alone in disliking Boyhood?) but

once the more typical exposition ends, Fincher does not disappoint. Right when Mikael is at the Vanger residence, Fincher makes a distinct visual difference between winter and summer, warm and cold. The disappearance is revealed to have happened in the warmth of summertime. So winter is already set up to be isolating, but Fincher then tells his audience that the heat is the threatening danger. This idea of a fearful warmth present in many of his films, most notably Zodiac, arguably his best film, which begins with a murder on the Fourth of July, and the second murder occurring at a summer picnic. Notably, the film spends a great deal of time following the murderer’s threat to kill again on Christmas, a threat that he never executes. Fincher shows his immense skill as a multi-genre filmmaker by separating two distinct styles by season. He creates the horror and action of his films in summertime and the prolonged isolating suspense in winter. Danger always occurs in summer, while the waiting, and the agony and utter emptiness of the waiting, happens in Fincher’s winter. Fincher’s camera is perfect for his view on winter, warmth, and life in general (no matter how dramatic that may sound). Being known as a perfectionist, his camera is extremely distant and precise (cold) and moves in a mechanical fashion. As winter is cold, harsh, stiff and frozen, Fincher’s movement of the camera mirrors this stiffness. More importantly, it makes the viewer lose a human connection to the film, as his depiction of winter is also void of this humanness. With its inherent smooth, robotic-like searching of the world, the viewer believes that a person is not controlling the camera, but a machine. Even in the warmer season settings of Fincher’s films this wintery cold camera lingers, showing the always-present isolation and detachment between humans and the wait for spring’s death. Although the film is chock-full of mystery and twists,

Fincher puts that on the back burner (so to speak) as he explores the characters’ alienation and fear of what lies in their future. The most mysterious and effective pieces of evidence Vanger has are the gifts that the supposed killer sends to him each year; a tree branch, the same as the young niece sent to him before her death. With this, Fincher again shows the threat that summer and heat possess. The lively green plants represent the always-present danger of death that is to come after winter is over. Each time Vanger receives a plant, he is reminded of the overpowering aloneness that he suffered from because of the spring, and that he too will be consumed soon after the (metaphorical) winter ends. Mikael’s hunt for the killer is dampened by the cold, again displayed to us with images of claustrophobia of being wrapped in blankets and sitting with the cat. The camera shows Mikael walking around the village, asking questions about the young girl, with the snow and wind often taking power over both the camera and Mikael in exterior shots. Even in each house, Fincher creates a cold atmosphere with dark lighting and dull colors, showing the emptiness that the cold creates, even with its reflection of light. Fincher, however, has never cared to make his films a whodunit murder mystery; so with the use of images and even the intangible temperature, he makes the “killer” easy to detect early in the film. Fincher is a filmmaker that is often compared to nihilism, existentialism, and things of that nature. His films are visually dark, as well as thematically, and when Fincher uses bright colors, the audience knows that something bad will happen Each time Mikael talks to

Martin Vanger (Stellan Skarsgård) at his home, there is a clear sense of warmth. With prominent use of the colors red and yellow, warmth is presented with a connection to Martin, making him like the springa threat. Also, his windows are all clear, large panes that make up the whole exterior walls of the house, revealing both the

interior to outside world and the exterior from the inside. With all the characters, including Mikael, being extremely enclosed by their houses, Stellan is fully visible, showing dominance and a lack of fear of the weather outside, as he is the same amount of trouble.

Lisbeth Salander’s (Rooney Mara) entrance into the murder narrative aids in the idea of winter being overwhelmingly lonely, as well as introducing the best acting of the film, as Mara completely embodies Salander. Mikael’s cat was killed and gutted in front of his door, removing the image of temporary warmth and companionship he provided Mikael. The protagonist becomes even more alone and as soon as the cat is dead, both Lisbeth and Mikael are isolated in the cold. They turn to each other for sex, warmth, and companionship in the alienating winter, hoping to forget about the outside world (just like college students) being Mikael’s wife and Lisbeth’s horrifyingly traumatic backstory of sexual assault, and the dread and complete aloneness that it represents. Later, when the crime is solved, the two are no longer partners, and no longer companions as Mikael turns his back to Lisbeth and continue to be with his wife, who is shallow and possibly the most mysterious character of the film. She doesn’t have much depth, making her the false sense of warmth and love that Mikael eventually falls back to, making a pleasant change of the depiction of love in most films, bust staying right on track to Fincher’s cold view of it. Like the winter itself, closeness to another human being is temporary in Fincher’s desolate season and film.

CONTINUED ON PAGE 29

NOTHING SWEET Interview by Winnie McNally

I talked to Patrick Mitchell of Nothing Sweet, an interview show that airs Sundays from 5-7 pm on WPSR. This time, the interviewer became the interviewee! We talked about the inspiration behind his show, his weekly interview preparations, and the narratives that he finds in everything around him. Winnie McNally: So could you tell me a little about your show? Patrick Mitchell: Okay, so, my show is called Nothing Sweet and I do long-form interviews with people, in which I try to get into their lives and find out who they are as people and what their perspectives are on life. WM: What got you first interested in doing a show on WPSR? PM: I always wanted to do something like this, and I just literally needed a time and place to do it and I thought that having a designated time slot and an obligation to come would get me to do it, you know? WM: That’s really cool, so it motivates you. Can I ask why is it called Nothing Sweet? Is that random? PM: It’s the reverse of sweet nothings. My friend, Victor Massari, used to have a radio show here that accompanied his music blog, Sweet Nothings, in which he interviewed musicians. I would sit in from time to time and help out. The semester that I came to Purchase, he was unable to continue the show, so I took over his time slot. We called it Nothing Sweet because it was darker in tone than what we had previously done. He was actually my first guest and it was probably heaviest the show ever got. The interviews do sometimes get very sad and even uncomfortable at times, but exploring those moments are very important. WM: Who do you interview? PM: Basically everyone I know is on my list.

Mostly Purchase kids because that’s who I’m surrounded by. Usually friends of mine, like Shannon Brooks and Liam Walsh. There are some people, like Troy Schipdam and Matt DeCostanza, who I became friends with after the interview. I didn’t even know Matt’s name when we pressed the “record” button. I would love to branch out more, like interview friends from back home, who have a completely different perspective than I do. My family too, my parents specifically “Do you still have sexual intercourse? How often? Have I ever interrupted? One time I found a used condom in your toil--OKAY I’LL GO!” but I don’t think I’ll be able to do that for a very long time. This project is something I see myself continuing past college in order to meet people from all over and represent a wide spectrum of perspectives, especially people who are of a different ethnicity/gender/sexuality/etc. from my own. WM: I’m glad we have more variety because I feel a lot of WPSR shows are mostly music, which my show totally is! PM: Yeah, I love those types of shows. I listen mostly to podcasts though, in which it is just people talking. For a while, the “art” of the conversation had died down, but I think that is changing with podcasts. And I enjoy its simplicity because anybody can do it. You’re just talking about things that excite you with people you like, and that is what makes podcasts so great. Everyone has those incredible conversations that they wish people could have witnessed, like that one that made you vomit from laughing so hard or that other one in which you finally got to know someone after ten years of friendship. Now there’s the option of recording it. Of course, it won’t actually be entertaining or engaging for the listener at first. That comes with time. And not every conversation should be recorded. Sometimes the reason a conversation is so memorable stems from how personal it is and it is limited to who is there at the moment.

WM: From what your show sounds like, it reminds me of Humans of New York; how you find a random person and they have some tragic backstory, or something crazy happened to them. PM: Oh, I love Humans of New York, especially the micro-fashion kids. I wish I could dress that well. I’m sure it has influenced me on some level, but podcasts are my main influence. WM: Are there any in particular that influenced you? PM: The major influences on my show are are WTF With Marc Maron and You Made It Weird with Pete Holmes, both of which conduct long-form interviews with people in the entertainment industry. Though each is incredible at what they do, I like Pete Holmes a bit more because he makes it more of conversation by talking about himself. He is very open about what he is feeling at the moment, which allows the guest to feel more comfortable and talk about things they would not normally address. Some find his style self-indulgent, and at times it undeniably is, but I think he creates fascinating and addicting conversations. Right now, I would say my show is more Maron than Holmes because even though I’m having people talk about themselves, I personally don’t like talking about myself [laughs]. On a conscious level, I want to the show to be about the guest, not me. On an unconscious level, without social mores dictating my every move, I want everything to be about me because my vanity is always rearing its head, screaming for attention. I also gravitate more towards Holmes because he is incredibly bubbly and optimistic, both of which I am not. If you ever see me at a party, I am usually brooding alone in a corner thinking about the existence of humanity as a metastasizing cancer cell on the Earth and how my work-in-progress magnum opus epic comic will unite all people to create a better tomorrow. Don’t ask me about it though because IT’S NOT READY YET!!!!!

WM: Is it hard to get people to talk about themselves? Is it hard to get them to sort of open up? PM: Yeah, there have been some disaster episodes. One specifically in that the guest refused to answer my questions and had me flounder for the whole hour. Those will never see the light of day. I want to talk about the things that make you you and not everyone is up for that, especially when they know that someone else might hear it. We usually don’t have listeners for the live session. I prefer that because people get very nervous when they think people are listening, even though I am recording it and I tell them in advance that I’m going to put it up on the internet. When someone’s sort of eavesdropping, they’re on edge. In the first semester I did this, I interviewed my friend Kathryn McCurdy. For the first half hour, we joked around a lot, just having a good conversation in general, and then I was like, “Alright, let’s get into it, let’s actually start talking about yourself,” and she clammed up. What she ended up revealing said a lot about why she did that, because - I mean, this is on the internet, so I’m not revealing anything she had Lupus as a kid, and she was always sick and always had to rely on people, so now that she’s going to college, she’s been able to reinvent herself as this independent person and she doesn’t like to rely on people. We have gotten closer since then, but in that moment she was just like “Oh, I’m not comfortable talking about this.” It was a very good moment for me to have - like, oh, not everybody wants to talk about themselves in that light! When I started this, I wanted to get to those dark places because those moments always stuck in my mind, but then I realized that you can have a really good conversation and not have to talk about how “this thing that traumatized me as a kid.”

CONTINUED ON PAGE 29 10

WHY “A CHARLIE BROWN CHRISTMAS” MAKES ME WEEP UNCONTROLLABLY by Ross Pannebecker

In mid-December of 2013, I journeyed up to Boston, MA, to visit a good friend of mine for her 21st birthday. Her boyfriend, another very good friend of mine, drove up from my hometown of Baltimore, MD, to pick up me and my friend (from Purchase, NY) on a Thursday. Her party, attended by ourselves, her roommates, and other friends of hers from college, was held on Saturday. It was a night I don’t remember very much of, a night I feel like I’m glad I don’t remember very much of. We spent the rest of our time in Boston recovering from that night, and by “recovering” I mean “smoking until we couldn’t feel anything.” On Sunday evening, we (myself, my three friends, and my friend’s roommates) decided we were going to watch “A Charlie Brown Christmas.” So, we all settled in to watch what some might call a “holiday classic.” This may have been a bad idea, as about halfway through the 25-minute epic I broke down in violent and uncontrollable tears. I do not know why. December of that year was a very strange month for me. No one else in the room really reacted, perhaps because they were too stoned to pay attention to anything besides Chuck Brown’s bald head. For this, I am thankful. After all this, though, I thought about it and

I realized that this was not the first time that “A Charlie Brown Christmas” had made me cry, not by a long shot. I have never quite been able to figure out exactly why this is, and so, for the remainder of this article, I will list a myriad of potential reasons why “A Charlie Brown Christmas” makes me weep uncontrollably, handily presented to you in an easily-digestible list: 1. Maybe the time of year that one would normally watch “A Charlie Brown Christmas” is generally just a dreary time, what with the lack of sun and family members you don’t like and the cold darkness all around you forever and ever. 2. Maybe there is something sweetly naive about the characters, especially poor Linus. He is so sincere and so well-meaning but it never seems to work out for him and maybe I see some of that in myself? 3. Maybe I also identify with the little tree that Charlie Brown brings to the Xmas pageant. It’s so withered and awful and shitty and terrible, but Charlie Brown loves it with the entirety of his soul. 4. Maybe it’s the fact that the entire Peanuts series invokes a certain false nostalgia in me, a throwback to an era so pure and wonderful that it could never have possibly existed, and maybe I just have always really, really wanted it to have existed. No one’s childhood was as good as they remember it and no one’s present life will be as good as they want it to be and maybe those weird little round-headed kids are able to get as close as possible to that false reality as is humanly possible.

LUCID FALLACIES WOODLAND ROOMMATES: PART I TURTLE DIARIES by Gordon Hinchen Today is Thursday, October 9th 2014. It is eight in the morning. The Sun is ill with melanoma, an increasingly common skin disease. The dense fog intensifies. I wonder if I am blind, but then I see the truth. I am Tiger, the Turtle. As in my name is Tiger, but for no particular reason at all, anthropological beings tend to call me Turtle. Just Turtle. I look up. The over-sized analog clock reads noon. In a vain attempt to assimilate, I posthumously join the track team. I’m not entirely sure if ‘posthumously’ is the proper word. English is not my first language. Pause. My nemesis appears to be on the track team as well. A bunny named Sunny. Most homos call just call him bunny, though. And by homos, I of course mean Homo sapiens. However, his name is unimportant. What is important is how much animosity I have towards him. And the fact that he cheated in hopscotch back in fourth grade and never owned up to it. Against the advice and expertise of literally every living organism, I challenge the physically superior mammal to a race. The young buck superciliously ushers the entourage off his prozac dong. Certain of his imminent success, Sunny accepts without hesitation. An air of arrogance clouds his judgement. The whistle blows and the race begins. Unaware of his naiveté, Sunny opts for a quick brake after taking a modest lead. Humiliation is on his mind, and not the race at all. Pace yourself, young grasshopper. By some stroke of luck or perhaps a sign of good faith, the sky flashes and wet rain showers down. One good hit and I’m off like lightning. Yellow sparks accompany my serendipitous stride. At last, the buck was fucked. Young Sunny was out-witted by the ancient wisdom of old shadows. Slow and steady wins the race. It is nine o’clock. I sit sheltered and sequestered

in my room. Achoo! A sneeze. Something despicable has irritated my allergies. I discover a rather large hare in my shell. Shocked, every fiber of my decrepit body quivers. A scurvy rabbit has invaded my home and shed his ignorance on me. “Given that I’m a reptile, I’m not much for religion, but Goddamn you! Easter isn’t even a real holiday, you jerk!” is what I wish I had said to that bigamist bunny named Sunny. A crack is heard off in the distance. I race to the scene, slow and steady like. A girl was struck by lightning. She lie face down in a puddle. Her eyes look dead. Kind of like her body because she too looks pretty dead. I check her pulse. Confirmation received. She’s definitely dead. The Sun peddles further and further away into the transparent horizon on its tricycle. Night appropriately follows, stalking the young star from the shadows like a creepy old homo in a large, sexually ambiguous van. And by homo, I of course mean Homo sapien. Lines of Shakespearean text flash in my mind like lonely lullabies. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast. Breast… what a silly word.

BECOMING DISFARMER by Max Mahler

Remember elementary school picture day, back when getting your picture taken was a mind-blowing thrill? Before handheld cameras and amateur photography, before effortlessly and instantly snapping pics was possible, when being photographed was, like, a whole thing. The Neuberger Museum of Art’s new exhibition, Becoming Disfarmer, open until march 2015, is a retrospective of the work of Mike Disfarmer, who worked as a commercial photographer in the tourist town of Herber Springs, Arkansas during the early twentieth century. From various biographical information found throughout the exhibition, one can infer that Disfarmer was probably a major weirdo. Little is known about the details of his life, except for that he changed his name from Michael Meyer to break with his family’s agrarian heritage and that he drank a lot of warm beer. Disfarmer’s portrait studio in Herber Springs was known well to the locals, and over the course of his career, the photographer amassed an impressive body of work, selling inexpensive gelatin silver prints to his patrons. It should be

noted that Disfarmer’s photographs were never considered to be “art” during his lifetime, and that it wasn’t until the 1970’s that he was “discovered” and recognized as an important artist in American history. Becoming Disfarmer transports audiences back to a time when photography was still perceived as being practically magical. The photographs themselves hold no real historical significance. However, these portraits are mesmerizing nonetheless. Long, curiously silent sittings in Disfarmer’s studio tended to bring deep psychological aspects of the portraits to the foreground. Though Disfarmer’s rural American subjects are separated from the viewer by nearly a century, these people can be surprisingly easy to connect to. Their stories, and often their names are unknown. Yet these ordinary folks - housewives, farmers, high school students, soldiers, families - become fascinating and captivating windows through time. With titles ranging from “Unidentified Woman” to “Alice your boy will look something like this in about 18 years”, there is an emphasis on the personal nature of Disfarmer’s work. Go to the Neuberger and stare longingly into the eyes of these black-and-white old people. They’ll probably stare back.

A COLD DAY IN HELL by Bruce Hamilton June 7, 1999 7:06am The last 24 hours have been nothing short of a nightmare and I’m still trying to process it all (sorry if this is jumbled, my mind is a piece of shit in the morning). I figured I’d start a diary just to have something to do, as it looks like there isn’t going to be much entertainment for a while. Firstly, I don’t think I was supposed to end up in Hell. I’m guessing there was a mistake during the committee hearing and my name was sorted in the wrong cabinet or put in the wrong drawer. I didn’t kill anybody or skip church on Pentecost or root for the Royals. If anything, this is indicative of the “bureaucracy of the afterlife,” which, based on my situation, has proven to be a disaster plagued by red tape. Ok, so yesterday, I was out fishing Cuomo River with Don, my neighbor, and the weather was pretty bad, so I suggested that we stop trolling for a bit (dangling the line out of the back of the boat while on the move). Don obliged, and steered the boat (a rickety ol’ dinghy, from the pre-regulation days) to shore. As I’m reaching for the cooler, Don hits a hidden rock and fuckin’ flips the thing, head over teakettle. The current had picked up, so I get swept swiftly downstream. From what I could tell, Don was nowhere to be found, which probably means he drowned, too - poor bastard. I ended up pretty far down Cuomo before I went under for good. I couldn’t make it to the shore, as the river seemed to get wider the further the went. For what it’s worth, drowning isn’t like it is in the movies. There was only a bit of struggle, then I went underneath. The water was colder than a penguin’s ass. Eventually, I went numb and before I knew it, I was “sleeping with the fishes,” which I guess is a consequence of always being a bad swimmer. Summer camp every year was “Dale Johnson...RED TAG,” in front of the other kids. Just recently, it was “Dale Kenneth Johnson...HELL,” which is the much more interesting story currently in progress. So, right after my lungs were fully water-logged, it felt like my eyes left my head, but they were weightless. I felt like a weightless set of eyes with gills. It then hit me that it was my soul. I didn’t feel good or bad, just neutral. I watched my lifeless 160-pound frame get pulled further downstream (literally 160 pounds soaking wet - har har) and my spirit rose up further. I felt in control, but it also seemed like I was getting pulled by a UFO ray up to the sky, though there wasn’t any light. I shot up, way up, and before I knew it, I was in front of two enormous brick buildings, sitting on clouds - they both looked like perfect squares, with each side being a mile by a mile. Behind the two buildings was a grey sky, no clouds, no stars. Atop ‘em both were the biggest billboards I’ve ever seen. One read “Department of Placement” above it and the other said “Court of Appeals.”

JASON FOX 16

I CAN’T BREATHE

JAKE BRUSH

A BROAD ABROAD by Rachel Gill

I’m at the three month mark of my four month odyssey abroad! In the middle of this journey, I had a ten day break where I did some traveling. My first voyage was outside of the EU and into the UK: five days in London! The true highlight of this trip was spending essential time with three friends from Purchase studying abroad in London, a pretty spectacular backdrop to our reunion! I saw the wonders of Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, The London Eye, and St. Paul’s Cathedral. I spent a rainy afternoon in the Tate Modern Museum which was overflowing with treasures such as works by Pablo Picasso, Francis Bacon, and Barkley L. Hendricks. I experienced the wildly vibrant Brick Lane Market: a massive bazaar in East London. Its streets are filled with endless thrift shops, art galleries, food samples of every culture imaginable, furniture, and eccentric trinkets that serve no purpose besides fulfilling your personal desires. My last stop in London before departing was King’s Cross Station, where I geeked out at Platform 9 ¾ , it was smashing! My next stop was Paris, the part of my trip I anticipated the most! I traveled with another Purchase dancer who is studying in Rotterdam, The Netherlands. Besides the six hour bus ride to and from Amsterdam, getting lost frequently, and the nitty gritty hostel; it was absolutely everything I dreamt it would be. I visited the Louvre, but it would take much longer than the two hours I spent there to see all that it contains. I saw the Mona Lisa; the painting itself didn’t do much for me but the glass protection around it and the rope holding back all the tourists was especially entertaining. When I got off the metro and saw the Eiffel Tower for the first time from a distance, I was afraid it wouldn’t excite me to the level of it’s hype. My fear disappeared

the closer I got, until I was standing right beneath it, staring up at it’s massive size and intricate structure. It was remarkable! I also managed to spend a day in Versailles: the largest display of wealth and nobility I’ve ever witnessed. We spent a few hours exploring the gardens and Marie Antoinette’s private estate, which was secluded from the Palace and main gardens. At the end of the day, we went inside the Palace. I was no longer awestruck by the elaborate decorations and lavish furniture because I realized the absolute vanity of it all. After returning to Paris, we said farewell to France by drinking a bottle of wine alongside the Seine River and counting the boats that floated by. It’s funny, I’ve spent a good amount of my life romanticizing Europe. While I think it is an absolutely lovely place, the longer I’ve been abroad, the more I find myself romanticizing the most familiar place in the world to me: The US. I realized it’s my “home” simply because it contains all the people I love!

WINTER IS COMING by Chris Stewart

If you happen to be a Game of Throne’s fan like myself, you are quite familiar with the phrase often spoke in a hushed voice: “Winter is Coming.” Winter, this ominous aura is whispered in low tones and in secrecy. Do we know just what exactly are they so afraid of? While many of us do in fact wish we were citizens of Westeros, living happily in George R.R. Martin’s wonderfully crafted medieval world, we live our lives here at Purchase and wherever else the physical world may take us. Instead of fearing the imminent threat of winter storms and bone-chilling winds, collegiate Americans fears finals week, and the close to pumpkin spice season. I celebrate the latter. Daylight savings comes every fall when we find ourselves sleeping until noon and wondering where the day went when the sun has set by five. Turning the clocks back is most peoples way of officially slipping into their schooltime skin, and buckling in for the long haul. Luckily for us humanoids, the body is designed to withstand a certain degree of chill. Our brain has a section known as the hypothalamus. The hypothalamus is the part of the

brain that acts as the body’s thermostat. To respond to the cold, the brain directs teeth to chatter to generate a source of heat. Often we find our arms, legs and various other areas covered with goose bumps, too. Covering the majority of our surface area, goose bumps act as an imitation of the fur/longer body hair that Homo sapiens once had. So, as we sit, walk, sleep, and/or talk with odd bumps and vibrating mouths, our delicate fingertips and toes begin to go numb. Our bodies also begin a process that brings the majority of the blood flow towards the center of our bodies. The brain brings the blood circulation to the center as an attempt to conserve the bodies heat, at the expense of our fingers and toes. So, besides bitter winds, texting in the cold sucks for biological reasons, feel good about that! The cold wears our bodies down physically for nearly half of the year. Regardless of where we are pulling our hair out; in the V.A., The PAC, or the library, many students often find themselves overwhelmingly sad and lonely amongst the company of their art and/or textbooks. Though we are experiencing physical damage, you may experience semi to extreme mental affliction as well. Seasonal Affective Disorder (S.A.D.) is a stream of depression that occurs at

specific times of the year, more commonly in the winter months. You may jump to conclusion and self-diagnose yourself with S.A.D.; grumpiness, moody, loss of interest in usual activities and craving of excessive carbohydrates are symptoms. However, medically diagnosed cases are rare. If you fear your Netflix binging has become uncontrollable and your lust for life depleted, assess the symptoms: has a close family member been diagnosed with S.A.D.? Are you often fatigued? Do you have trouble concentrating? Has this same feeling snuck up on you before, only to wash away when the flowers begin to sprout? The deciding factor is usually the genetic aspect. Winter is an odd time; there is death in every corner of our sightline. Dead trees, leaves, grass, flowers; nature has passed, only to rise again. It is common to feel overwhelmed by the atmosphere. Snow is enjoyable and lovely to watch, but again it alters our view of the world and can subconsciously affect the view we carry of ourselves. Many love winter, and for the right reasons. The holidays are filled with spirit, and a touch of generosity shines through in all of us. Yet, we often find ourselves slumped under the comforter, un-showered and lost in thought. Days may pass where we can’t undo the

blanket we’ve wrapped around our bodies and minds. Easily we fade. We succumb to negative thoughts, negative energies and lose sight of what we truly want. What we truly want is subjective, but the feeling of self-doubt and negativity is universal. S.A.D. may plague some and school may be overwhelming, but it is important to still assess ourselves in the mirror and notice we haven’t lost our worth. We change with the seasons. There are good days, and bad days. Everyone is having the same experience on some level. For myself, winter feels a little bit colder because of the love I have let go. Or, maybe it’s because of the wind on my blood-absent fingers, or the mood I woke up in – but I’ll remember to keep my head up, my hood too. Spring will eventually come and the school year will end. I’ll be plopped on a beach, thinking about ridiculous thoughts I had when the snow was falling outside my window. Friends will sympathize and share their moments of doubt, weakness and semi-insanity, and we will slowly start the cycle over again. We are aware of how we feel; we are blind to how we feel. I will remember that though the trees and leaves are dead, they’ll bloom again soon.

JESSABELLE by Steven Smith

If this apartment had a mouth it’d look like yours does, the door opens and shuts like something showing its teeth,  And I feel you everywhere here.   In the leaves that gather and burst under bicycle tires   In clouds of wax conjured by forget-me-not candles And you say you hate the noise sometimes, But I think it’s all you, and the static from the paint on your skin, A Miyazaki live wire; black magic like a hearth that licks and bursts  And crackles in the ways we all wake and become ourselves  In this spell that you’ve cast, in this place we call home, And you laugh like thunder when there’s gin in the fridge, The shudder of it pulses from the windows when you’re gone, When Sebastian and I pass bowls and talk about those  Elsewhere thoughts; school can be so quiet between the passing  Of things, but you bring us back, and bring us back  And it’s all that I need sometimes, to breathe that glow Because then it’s in me too, like a secret you never shared  But it’s mine anyway, and I’ll keep it, I think, 5 years from now when I live somewhere all my own  And the windows shudder or the door gnarls in its swing  And it’s you, it’s all you; your friendship is a home that I’ll take.

COLD NIGHT by Leo Frampton

You need to have those nights Where you lay awake and try to piece your day together It seems like just an hour ago The world was colorful and warm And people looked at you and you shivered And your throat vibrated with words that came from who knows where If my life were to reflect a single day I’d prefer it not to be one of those days But it could be worse

SOUND BITES by Abby Adams

Looking for a holiday gift idea? If you’re low on cash and have old jam jars lying around, this might be worth a try!

HOT COCOA JARS INGREDIENTS:

• Hot cocoa mix, or Ovaltine • Chocolate chips • Marshmallows • Candy canes • Clean mason jars (jam jars work too, but make sure you remove the label and adhesive first) • Ribbon • Gift tags

PREPARE :

• Put 1 portion of hot cocoa mix into a jar. Use packets of mix if the jars will be sitting around for a day or two before being given out. I like to do this the day of, and use loose powder, because the ingredients layer nicely in the jar. • Put a large handful of your favorite chocolate chips into the jar. • Throw in some marshmallows. • Pop on the lid and decorate the jar. I like to tie a piece of decorative ribbon around the lid and add a gift tag to label it. • When serving, pour hot water or milk into the jar and stir. • Don’t forget to add whipped cream!

For some reason, I associate The National with the holiday season. When I was in high school, I’d commute from the Bronx to the Upper West Side of Manhattan. I used to travel down the East Side and head across town. During the holiday season, I’d walk past the southeast corner of Central Park. When it snows there in December, the ground turns to muck and it’s incredibly bleak. Juxtaposing that with the holiday lights decorating 5th Avenue used to give me the warmest feeling. Winter in New York City is cold and harsh, but when I was a sadsophomore in high school, I found it incredibly illuminating. There’s so much sadness and love in December.

“Green Gloves” This song, unlike most songs by The National, is not sonically vast. It zooms in on the visual image created by the lyrics, and is very intimate because of that. It’s quiet, and tugs on my heart-strings. The implied harmonies in the melody make this song even more appealing because of the negative space they create. “Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks” This spacious song captures the holiday feel through its use of vocal harmonies and reverb. It’s almost like a chant in that it’s meant for a group to sing. I first heard this song when I saw them live at the Beacon Theater in December of my sophomore year in high school. They played this song as one of the encores. It was fitting because of the context, and the contrast between the lively theater and the wintry chaos outside. “Squalor Victoria” This is a pretty normal song by The National’s standards. The string section evokes a holiday feel, as do the bells in the background. Like the other songs I’m listing here, this song has somewhat angelic harmonies, and an ambient feel. This song however, illustrates the bleak nature of the holiday season in New York, and the hopelessness that many people feel around this time of year. It’s the perfect song to listen to on a nighttime walk in Manhattan, with a steaming mug of hot cocoa.

ROSS YELLING AT YOU ABOUT MUSIC by Ross Pannebecker

HELLO MY NAME IS ROSS PANNEBECKER I LIKE MUSIC A LOT AND IT IS ALWAYS NICE TO DISCOVER NEW MUSIC BUT THERE IS SO MUCH OF IT AND OFTENTIMES IT IS TEDIOUS TO PORE OVER MUSIC BLOGS AND THE LIKE SO HERE I HAVE MADE FOR YOU (YES YOU) SOME QUICK LIL SNIPPETY ALBUM REVIEWS SO THAT YOU CAN KEEP UP WITH YOUR BUSY 21ST-CENTURY LIFE, ALL CAPS BECAUSE I AM YELLING

THE MELVINS - HOLD IT IN (IPECAC): WAS THIS RECORD REALLY NECESSARY? I LIKE THE MELVINS BUT 3/5 ARCA - XEN (MUTE): “GOOD JOB DUDE YOU DID IT AGAIN, WE’RE ALL PROUD” 3/5

PINK FLOYD - THE ENDLESS RIVER (COLUMBIA): “I REALLY LOVE PINK FLOYD BUT UMMMMM HMMMMM IT’S BORING” 2/5

TEENGIRL FANTASY - THERMAL (BREAK WORLD): “VERY NICE VERY CHILL BUT NOTHING SPECTACULAR, STILL GOOD THOUGH” 3/5

ERIC COPELAND - LOGO MY EGO (L.I.E.S.): “FUCKED UP AND FUNKY, FANS OF BD MIGHT BE DISAPPOINTED” 3/5

KELE - TRICK (KOBALT/LILAC): BASICALLY HE JUST RIPS OFF BURIAL BUT HE DOES WELL 3/5

DEAN BLUNT - BLACK METAL (ROUGH TRADE): “DEAN BLUNT HAS NEVER QUITE HIT THE MARK, SAME HERE” 2/5 THE FLAMING LIPS - WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM MY FWIENDS (WARNER BROS): WAYNE, STOP. JUST STOP. ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. STEVEN STILL RULES 1/5 DEERHOOF - LA ISLA BONITA (POLYVINYL): “SO MUCH FUCKING REVERB, SO MANY FUCKING FEELINGS, HELL YEAH” 4/5 RUN THE JEWELS - RUN THE JEWELS 2 (MASS APPEAL): “THE ONLY WAY THEY COULD FOLLOW UP RTJ1, GOOD JOB” 3/5

VLADISLAV DELAY - VISA (RIPATTI): “SYNTH GOD MASTER AMBIENT LORD ANALOG BOW DOWN, DAMN SON” 4/5

ANDY STOTT - FAITH IN STRANGERS (MODERN LOVE): “ELEVATOR MUSIC FROM HELL, VERY DYNAMIC, NICE TIMBRES NICE BEATS” 4/5 TY SEGALL - $INGLE$ 2 (DRAG CITY): “YO EVEN IN HIS ‘EARLIER DAYS’ TY SEGALL KILLED IT” 4/5 DILLON FRANCIS - MONEY SUCKS, FRIENDS RULE (COLUMBIA): “THIS VARIES BETWEEN SUCKING REAL HARD AND BANGING REAL HARD” 3/5 DOPE BODY - LIFER (DRAG CITY): “I’M VERY VERY BIASED BUT I THINK IT’S PRETTY GOOD” 3/5

ANDY STOTT - FAITH IN STRANGERS (MODERN LOVE)

FINCHER’S WINTER CONTINUED FROM PAGE 6

Martin’s death is the only on-screen death of the film, as the cat was already dead when it was discovered. Interestingly enough, as Fincher seems to go against the idea of the waiting for death rather than its depiction in wintertime, a fire causes the death. The car that Martin attempts to escape in is de-railed by Lisbeth and explodes. Heat is what consumed Martin Vanger, as heat consumes almost every victim in Fincher’s universe. The last sequence of the film fully embodies the idea of being truly alone in winter as Lisbeth goes to see Mikael, but he is happy and back with his wife; having forgotten about Lisbeth. Again, showing the false sense of love that people continue to try to latch onto, if only for a short while. Fincher reveals to the audience that she bought Mikael a custom leather jacket that she angrily throws away. The image of the jacket is imperative to Fincher’s theme of showing exposed humanity to the cold. Mikael cannot keep himself warm through companionship, as it is temporary, shown by the loss of his relationship with Lisbeth. He loses his protection from the cold winter around him, becoming alone and in danger of what is to come. Since the film is based off of the book series, of three novels, the last shot of Lisbeth riding off down the road leaves an open end for the series to continue, if it ever does. There have been repeated talks and conflicts about the sequel, ‘will they won’t they’, but after this great intro to the series, I would hope they work it out. The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo is an incredible work from an outstanding filmmaker, with superb directing and writing. The acting is one of the finest parts of the film, even if it is extremely distant as the camera is. Skarsgård plays an excellent and smart bordering of the classic villain, something that fits the plot and film perfectly. Mara’s Salander is the most often talked about, playing the strong female lead,

and outsmarting the paid Mikael to find out that Martin is indeed the killer and eventually saves Mikael and gets revenge on the sadistic male. It’s a peculiar and provoking depiction of a female character, something that Fincher continued to fascinate me and audiences with in Gone Girl. After the bizarre (another word for bad, but I’m trying to be nice and really, forget about this) Curious Case of Benjamin Button, Fincher has been on top of his game and has made great film after great film. So while you’re home for winter break sitting around lazily, think about the death that the spring semester and warmth will bring you.

NOTHING SWEET CONTINUED FROM PAGE 10 WM: It can get really intense! PM: Yeah, and those intense moments are great, but not necessary for having an interesting conversation. There is a difference between being dark and being emotional and I prefer the emotional moments. Some people have compared it to a therapy session, which is something I would like to veer away from because I’m not trying to solve your problems and I’m not claiming that I do. Would it be awesome if I did? Of course! That’s not going to happen though. It’s about putting all the things that make you great and all the things that make you terrible on the table, and creating an accurate portrait of a person. Above all else, I want everyone participating in the conversation (guest, host, listener) to enjoy themselves. WM: That’s good to know! So are you involved with media or broadcasting; is that your major? PM: No, I’m a literature major. And there’s definitely a literary aspect to it. I’m trying to find the narrative of somebody’s life, you know? I believe that everyone has an interesting and unique story, but all of our stories are actually very similar with nuances here and there. When I’m listening to somebody talk about themselves, I

always think “Oh that was me! I’ve gone through something similar. I’ve thought the same thing. I’m glad I’m not alone.” By emphasizing individuals with differences, you can build a stronger community (I hope this pretentious tangent makes sense.) And I want to emulate that. WM: I totally see how that is literary. PM: Yeah, I’m obsessed with finding narrative in everything. It’s sometimes a problem. [laughs]. WM: Do you overanalyze? PM: A little bit, yeah. Sometimes I try to dig where there is nothing to dig or draw connections that aren’t there. I also think the questions reveal a lot about myself even though I’m not technically answering them. I’ve also been trying to explore different types of narratives that don’t really deal with words or pictures. When you look around this room, you think about “What kind of person would put up these Christmas lights? Where do these posters come from?” Everything represents a story. And I’ve just always organized the world into stories. Because to me that is what the world is: one big story of teeny tiny interconnected stories. I feel like I’m rambling now. WM: How do you prepare for your show? Do you just ask someone to come on, or just kind of wing it? PM: I usually ask them the day before, which is a terrible method. Sometimes I have to cancel because I don’t have anybody. It’s very difficult for me to ask someone to be on my show; it’s not just like “Hey, be a guest on my show! We’re gonna mess around.” It’s more like, “I’m going to ask you very probing questions, and you have to be open about everything for it to go well.” I’m usually very stressed about it the day of, right before it happens, like “Why do I do this to myself!?! This is gonna be terrible! I should just run away forever!” There have been episodes in which things aren’t clicking

and I’m not asking good questions and it’s not really going anywhere. I’ve also been trying to let them speak more without interrupting, so there are these long passages of time when I’m not talking, and there have been times in which I sort of stop paying attention. WM: Oh my gosh! PM: [laughs] Yeah, and it’s my own fault. If someone is on the show, that means I am genuinely interested in who they are as a person and want to hear what they have to say, but sometimes my mind starts to wander. WM: I guess if it was scripted every week, it might be kind of...”This person says these things, this person says kind of the same things...” PM: Right, right. The spontaneity is what keeps it interesting. I mean, I have a formula, as far as starting off with the same question ending with the same question, but everything in between is a shot in the dark. I start off with “What’s your major?” because since we’re in college it’s very important, we think it’s going to affect our entire lives. The interview usually leads us back to why you chose that major, and all about your childhood and stuff. WM: Oh wow, that’s really interesting! PM: It’s an easy stepping-stone for a conversation, you know? WM: Yeah, that’s the main way you start a conversation with anyone now. PM: Yeah, especially in college, “Oh my god, what’s your major? Oh, you’re Gender Studies? Why did you choose Gender Studies?” “Oh, because of this and this and this.” I would obviously like to get away from that and have the ability to jump into a compelling conversation out of nothing but I still have a lot to learn. Listen to Nothing Sweet live on Sundays from 5pm to 7pm @ www.purchaseradio.org, or check out the Bandcamp with downloadable episodes at nothingsweet.bandcamp.com.

LANI RUBIN

YARRA BERGER

THOMAS GALARCE

THIS IS HOW I KNOW MYSELF by Loisa Fenichell and Julie Ficks

i. my feet are cold and it’s becoming hard for me to tell the difference between them and my bones I don’t understand the harshness of the world or why my hands shake with rough snow why must I bare all things? Tree branches lately remind me of my mother’s limbs how they are thin like mine, how they are weak like mine and it makes me want to crawl back into her womb like the way a widow crawls to cemetery crawls away from her own bed and out into the cold, lonely, whispering to herself I feel guilty for not finding the cold holier than I do like the stones in Jerusalem, like my mother’s hands ironic, because I hate my own hands, especially when they’re shaking and they’re shaking under winter, and I do not know myself.

ii. I can see why man worships the sun, The sun large and whole and circular like circadian rhythm, seems to make more sense than anything else does and it’s gone now and I don’t know why, and I am something left, undone, with loose skin unraveled, I am the waves of a familiar lake, lorn, wasted, because I don’t know my own mother and now I don’t know her hands, either, or mine, in this cold. I walk down the street. I taste leaves in between my teeth, I am listening to my steps. Snow on pavement beneath my feet reminds me of the white necks of relatives now dead. My grandfather would have painted this scene, he would have painted me throbbing and alive, Would have painted my face red as the door of my childhood house As red as the whipping wind is making me, as red as my mother’s face when she gave birth to me.