Kitsch Fall 2011: The Secrets Issue

kitsch pop culture, politics, college, etc

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In this Issue...

Secrets of Cornell Frat Houses: Hidden beneath the beer-soaked floors Cipher, Scribbler, Soldier, Spy: Can you crack the kitsch kode?

Plus!

Dark Side of Disney: How cartoon classics conditioned kids and why they got it right On the Plaza: What’s your guilty pleasure?

Big Brother Is Watching: Stalking by monthly subscription

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kitsch

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veryone has secrets. We share some and hide others. No matter what happens throughout the day, they remain at the back of our minds, quietly reminding us that we never know the whole truth about anyone.

The girl you met at the bar on Saturday night may not be a natural blonde, and her real name may not be Cecile, but you’ll never know. The engineer you see in self-induced confinement at the back of the library may secretly know every verse to Chicago and Wicked, but he’ll probably never tell you that.

Ithaca itself holds secrets within its hilly borders and craggy gorges. “Secrets of Cornell Frat Houses” (p. 20) explores the hidden mysteries buried within the walls of Cornell’s architecturally striking Greek community. The next time you’re feeling thirsty like a fish, pull up a stool at one of Ithaca’s lesser-known bar settings (p. 26).

When secrets take a turn for the worse, things can get scary. “Big Brother Is Watching You” (p. 34) takes a hard look at what the dissolving notion of privacy means in a technologically dependent culture, while “Two Hours in the Jungle” (p. 14) takes readers inside the controversial encampment of Ithaca’s homeless citizens.

The human need for secrets inevitably leads to their pervasion in pop culture, where they can be used to alter the message of a story or for sheer entertainment value. “The Dark Side of Disney” (p.

42) exposes and analyzes the drastic edits made to classic and memorable childhood tales in order to make them appropriate for the children of modern society. The advent of digital Easter eggs as discussed in “Hidden in the Matrix” (pg. 38) has created a vast network of jokes that are understood only by the most avid gamers, and the perennial question of how a fluffy bunny lays brightly colored eggs is answered in “Sexy History” (p. 6).

Little secrets, when harmless, can keep life interesting. And let’s face it, in Ithaca, it’s pretty damn hard to stay interested once exams creep up and the sky turns a perpetual shade of heather grey. We tested exactly how much strangers will reveal when prompted on the spot in “On the Plaza” (p. 7), and kitsch editors reveal some of their own secrets via postcard (p. 8). And if you’re feeling lucky, try cracking the kitsch kode in “Cipher, Scribbler, Soldier, Spy” (p. 32). It’s harder than it looks.

When someone discovers the secret to getting an “A” in Calculus II, come find me. Until then, I’ll be waiting to see what secrets are wrapped with brightly colored bows underneath my Christmas tree.

James Fairbrother

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kitsch magazine kitsch magazine

an independent student publication

editorial board editor-in-chief James Fairbrother

managing editor Alex Newman

Ithaca College editor

Ariel Lawrence

zooming in

design editor

Norah Sweeney

Charles Wang

zooming out

asst. design editor

Becky Ochs

Lanny Huang

watch and listen

copy editor

Laura Van Winkle

Katie Tregurtha

ďŹ ction editor

webmaster

Renee Tornatore

Greg Manis

bite size

media editor

Gina Cargas

writers

Lanny Huang

contributers

Alexis Boytsov, Erika Lundahl, Courtney Mayszak, Maddie McCann, Meaghan McSorley, Kaitlyn Tiffany, Shaye Torres, Rodrigo Ugarte, Vivienne Woodward, Joseph Young

artists

Zac Kinkade, Allie Riggs

layout artists Kaitlyn Tiffany, Jenny Zhao

copy editors

Thalia Aoki, Robyn Bernstein, Lianne Bornfeld, Emily Choi, Evelyn Fok, Mingming Koh, Joanna Ladzinski, Karina Parikh

advisors

Michael Koch English, Cornell University

Catherine Taylor Writing, Ithaca College

Kitsch Magazine, an independent student organization located at Cornell University and Ithaca College, produced and is responsible for the content of this publication. This publication was not reviewed or approved by, nor does it necessarily express or reflect the policies or opinions of Cornell University, IC, or their designated representatives.

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fall 2011

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Sexy History:

Easter Eggs art by ZAC KINKADE layout by GINA CARGAS

Flora, fetuses, and fertility

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f you’re anything like me, you can’t think about Easter without imagining a parade of cute little bunnies and Easter eggs, dyed (or these days, made of plastic) in your favorite springtime pastels. But if you actually stop to think about it, bunnies don’t lay eggs. So why does the Easter Bunny bring them? And from what poor bird did he steal them?

It all traces back to the celebration of springtime and the vernal equinox, when nature starts reproducing again.

This is typically around March 21, though in Ithaca, nature doesn’t wake up until late April or early May. For at least 2,500 years Persians have been celebrating Nowruz, or New Year, whose symbolism includes sprouts and sentiments of rebirth and renewal. Ancient Romans celebrated the Festival of Floralia, dedicated to Flora, the goddess of flowers, while the

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JOSEPH YOUNG Druids celebrated Alban Eilir, honoring the seeds that would become that year’s harvest.

Springtime, renewal, and fertility were associated with the Germanic goddess Eostre, after whom Easter was named. Eggs and bunnies have also long been considered fertility symbols.

After all, eggs have fetuses inside (what could be more fertile than that?) and female rabbits are able to conceive while still pregnant with their previous litter, hence the expression, “to fuck like bunnies.” While it’s clear why eggs and bunnies are related to Easter, a bunny bringing an egg is a weird idea.

Apparently, hares like to raise their babies in the vacated nests of plovers (a type of bird), and people got confused and thought the hares were laying eggs.

In any case, the tradition of dyeing eggs dates back at least 2,500 years, and comes from Nowruz. Yet from there, it diverges. Some people dye them blood red, to symbolize Christ’s blood, while others use ornate wax-dyeing methods to make super intricate eggs that are then given as gifts. Either way, the day after Easter, I make a mean deviled egg. ◊

ding downloa f o s y a d o hree listened t e v “Within t I’ ’ , y a a My W ting” ‘Get Outt and coun s e im t 9 it 56 Looi, ‘15 - Terence

“Right now - Meliss ? Gchat” a Price, ‘14

“cuteboyswithcats.net” - Vincent Peters, ‘14

“I rock

out to c hick c - Charle ountry... like T -Swift” s Wang , ‘12

“Hooking up with guys younger than me.”

- Nicole Taz, ‘12

reruns” “Oprah gton, ‘12 Pennin - Lucas

“Biting” , ‘12 - Kyllan Gilmore

ean aula D ill” P g n i h “Watc the treadm 2 on , ‘1 while Fairbrother s - Jame

ks” ee drin ff o c ly 4 “Gir Choi, ‘1 k ic r t a P -

“As a ve ge hour m tarian, watchi ng a th arathon ree of Epic Mealtim - Allie R e” iggs, ‘1 3

“Masturbating” - Chaz Childers, ‘13

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secrets

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art by ALLYSON KELLEY

Office Space:

Gregory Graffin GINA CARGAS Here at kitsch, we like to imagine that all our professors live secret lives as badass punkrockers—and we’ve found one that actually does. Meet Greg Graffin, evolutionary biologist and lead singer of Bad Religion.

Where are you from? How did you end up at Cornell?

Is there any overlap?

Los Angeles. I came to Ithaca twenty years ago for graduate school here at Cornell. I decided to stay, but still spend three months a year at my family home in L.A. as well. I taught ecology and evolution at UCLA from 2007-2010; then I was asked to teach at Cornell in 2011. Thanks to that opportunity from the department of Ecology and Evolutionary Biology, I am slated to be here in the fall semester for the next few years.

There is. Both jobs require public presentations. Lectures are one way of sharing ideas, songwriting and singing is a similar challenge.

Describe yourself in five words or less.

Three albums if I may: “Jesus Christ Superstar” (studio version, not Broadway cast); Utopia, “Oops Wrong Planet” ; and Germs, “GI.”

Punk-rock singer and lecturer.

Name three books that changed the way you see the world.

How did you transition from being a punk rocker to an evolutionary biologist?

Dawkins’ “Selfish Gene,” E.O. Wilson’s “Consilience,” and Jared Diamond’s “Guns, Germs, and Steel.” And just to remind you that I love fiction too: Don DeLillo’s “White Noise” and Salman Rushdie’s “Midnight’s Children.”

I studied evolution since high school, alongside my career in music. Both developed congruently.

How did you first become interested in evolutionary biology?

My mom gave me a book on human history as a present when I was in tenth grade, the same year I started my band.

How have you made time for both careers?

I’ve had very supportive leaves-of-absence at times to develop and fine-tune each career path.

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Name three bands that changed the way you see the world.

Tell us about your work regarding the tensions between evolution and religion.

I thought this was short-answer! Let’s just say that evolution and religion have mutually exclusive tenets, but that doesn’t seem to preclude evolutionists from having certain irrational beliefs about nature; nor does it seem to preclude religious types from accepting certain facts about evolution while rejecting evolution’s uncomfortable implications. In other words, there’s no end to the degree of intellectual weaseling in which humans are willing to engage. Nowhere is this seen more overtly than in the intersection of evolution and religion. ◊

Undisciplined

Stags and

Hip

Flasks

Underground drinking at cornell during prohibition and today

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BECKY OCHS

he drinking culture at Cornell has recently come under great scrutiny by the administration; however, student drinking—whether legal or illegal—has a long history at this university, as do attempts by trustees and the administration to stop it and attempts by students to rebel. There have been many unfavorable reactions to changes in university policies regarding underage students and alcohol, along with creative measures taken to flout those new regulations. This unfavorable reaction to crackdowns on alcohol use is nothing new to Ithaca, and particularly nothing new to Cornell.

Drinking was not common at Cornell until around 1900, and even then it was fairly moderate. According to Morris Bishop’s “A History of Cornell,” beer taps in the early 1900s “flowed only downtown, and mostly on Saturday nights, as a ceremonial observance of athletic victory.” Although it may seem as if we have departed from this custom, if “morning” is substituted for “night” and “loss” for “victory,” then Bishop’s description of drinking at Cornell in the 1900s is not unlike our Homecoming traditions today. This spirited atmosphere prevailed at Cornell for over a decade, but student life changed drastically and arguably for the worse after WWI. A somber mood took over campus after the war, and Romeyn Berry criticized the new seriousness in the Alumni News for February 4, 1926: “Nothing makes them mad except their inability to find a desired book in the Library. They… take life too seriously. They are good because it is too much trouble to be bad.”

Others lamented the pre-war spirit, particularly the imbibing of spirits. In the Alumni News for April 23, 1931, an alumnus wrote, “No more do the better students chant their Alma Mater in a happy trance; they sing from the side of the mouth, with the air of cynical priests of old Egypt… No more do torch bearers by the thousand escort departing teams with pomp; no more do inebriates walk to streets.” Notice that this alumnus highlights the “happy trance” (read: buzzed/tipsy/downright drunk enthusiasm) of those singing the Alma Mater, and even describes them as the “better students.” Additionally, the lack of inebriates in the streets is conveyed as a negative, rather than positive, change. In a similar vein, imagine Lynah Rink without the exuberance of the animated—and, yes, often inebriated—faithful singing in that “happy trance.” The austerity hanging over the hill was not only

characterized by a focus on erudition, but also by the resulting lack of liveliness and enthusiasm inspired by athletics and the “ceremonious” drinking that followed (or preceded). Therefore, Prohibition, which came to Ithaca slightly earlier that it did to the nation as a whole, only exacerbated this crabby campus mood.

According to an article by Paula Fuchsberg and Linda Roubik in an issue of The Cornell Daily Sun from November 10, 1978, the city of Ithaca—once conservative, believe it or not—voted to go dry in 1918, two years before the 18th Amendment prohibited alcohol nationwide, and for a brief period of time, this practice was faithfully observed. Some embraced these changes and lauded the improved atmosphere that the decline in liquor consumption facilitated. In “1920’s: Prohibition Forces Cornell Drinking Underground,” Fuchsberg and Roubik quote O.D. Von Engein, noting that in 1924 times had “happily changed” since pre-Prohibition and that a wild night of self-indulgence now consisted of an evening at the movies. Others gladly altered lyrics to “Give My Regards to Davy,” Cornell’s main fight song, in order to promote Prohibition-friendly, non-alcoholic thoughts.

Written by three brothers of Beta Theta Pi Fraternity in 1905, the song celebrates the gusto of a fictional student who was expelled for overindulging in drinking. So as not to applaud an individual for boozing to the point of expulsion (a feat which, as anyone who has ever experienced a Group Therapy hangover can attest, requires impressive stamina), lines such as “We’ll all

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zooming in have drinks at Theodore Zincks” and “lapping up a high highball” were changed to “Oh! we’ll all write a berry in the old Wisterie” and “Listening to the jazz band’s call”.

While I personally have no idea what “writing a berry in the old Wisterie” refers to, it sounds significantly less appealing— and certainly less exciting—than having drinks at Theodore Zincks’, a pub owned by Ithaca’s most famous and most popular tavern owner. In today’s terms, post-Friday night hockey game victory socializing at Level B would be replaced with something akin to playing Monopoly with Denice Cassaro (or whatever the modern equivalent of that line would be). Additionally, advertisements for local saloons that previously littered the pages of The Sun disappeared and were replaced by those for local theatres in an attempt to promote those livin’-on-the-edge nights at the movies Von Engein was so fond of.

Although these changes attempted to replace all tastes for debauchery among the Cornell community with more wholesome inclinations, nostalgia for the drunken cheer before Prohibition proved more powerful. In “A History of Cornell,” Morris Bishop describes the actions of the first dissenters: “The elders set the example, infringing the law to satisfy old cravings or out of mere bravado. Noisome brews bubbled in many a professorial cellar. Jolly journeys were made to the wine country westward, where gallon jugs were passed out of vineyardists’ back doors.”

Following the example of these adventuresome professors, many Cornell students began to rebel against the amendment, blatantly expressing their objections. For example, The Widow, a humor magazine at the time, featured a “statistical table” in its April 1921 issue, mocking the effect Prohibition realistically had on the conduct of Cornell students. The table read: Total registration of men in the University – 3,462 Number who would take a drink – 3,450 Number studying for the ministry – 12

Others expressed their disregard for the law through their actions; while fraternities had hitherto respected the no-liquor rule, they soon abandoned it for more lively parties. Bishop writes, “Previously drinking and dancing had been rigorously separated; now they were blent, and even the girls had their nips from the boys’ hip flasks,” highlighting the changing culture at fraternity dances. Some students took advantage of the financial opportunity outlawing booze provided and made a go of it as bootleggers. The profits from the alcohol, which bootlegger students purchased in downtown Ithaca and then resold to fraternities, were substantial enough to fund their entire Cornell tuition, suggesting a blatant and widespread disregard for Prohibition.

In typical Cornell fashion, other students turned to their respective disciplines for inspiration on how to circumvent the law. According to Fuchsberg and Roubik, chemistry majors made beer using lab equipment, strategically brewing their own concoctions with vaporizers over school breaks when they knew faculty would not check the equipment. These brews were made with malt and yeast, but no hops; according to a home-brewer Bishop knew, the hops is superfluous because it does nothing to the alcohol content of the beer and “just makes it taste good.” The Chemies also partook in illegally concocting hard liquor. Most commonly, they relabeled

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clear bottles of ethyl alcohol as “cleaning fluid,” after mixing the contents with juniper juice and glycerin, thereby creating a type of gin. Although these handmade concoctions were often repulsive, they did the trick.

Given their willingness to imbibe awful tasting beverages, Cornellians during Prohibition prove not unlike students today.

I’m sure there are numerous individuals on campus (myself included) who have had a shot of Barton’s vodka or a can of Keystone Light, all the while wishing they had no taste buds, then continued to indulge in several more despite the admittedly horrible taste. Just like the homemade gin and home-brewed beer in the 1920s, these drinks are terrible, yet we still drink them because they are cheap, available, and most importantly, intoxicating. And hey—at least Keystone has hops.

In response to these rebellious attitudes and behaviors, the Alumni News in 1921 commented, “This community has awakened to the realization that the young person of the present day no longer follows mid-Victorian standards of deportment. It has become aware that the combined elements of totally undisciplined stags, jazz music, synthetic spirits, and powerless chaperones form an unstable compound. It has discovered that the gin man is almost as regular and faithful as the milkman.” By interpreting the thoughts of this writer for the Alumni News as a comment on young Cornellians of our present day, it seems as though the “powerless chaperones” from the 20s could have learned a thing or two from today’s Sober Monitors.

In an attempt to deal with the disobedient youth, discipline those unruly stags, and weaken the gin man’s spirits, the student council, along with trustees, “demanded enforcement of antiliquor rules in fraternities, the abolition of uncontrolled fraternity dances, and the persuasion of visiting alumni to keep sober,” according to Bishop. However, despite ending fraternity dances and holding the Greek system to standards that aligned with state laws, University policies ultimately had little effect on the overall drinking culture among students. In fact, Bishop tells us that matters got steadily worse, “in Cornell as in the great world without.” Whether “comic or tragic,” there were numerous instances of “drunken brawls and misbehavior [and]

The profits from the alcohol... were substantial enough to fund their entire Cornell tuition...

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Cornell Drinking of alcohol begotten accidents,” a scene that is not unique to the 20s. On a given Friday or Saturday night in Collegetown, there are still “drunken brawls” and “alcohol begotten accidents,” the most comic (and my personal favorite) of which occur on Halloween or during Ithaca’s winter months. To cite two memorable examples, there was once a fight between a guy in a cow costume and another dressed as a butcher on Halloween, and there was my own tumble down some icy stairs on College Avenue that resulted in the ejection of a stolen—er, borrowed—handle of Admiral Nelson’s from the safety of my jacket and disapproving looks from the individuals it belonged to. Based on the trends in the 20s, as fraternities become more limited in hosting parties, I only see the prevalence of these brawls and accidents in Collegetown increasing.

While many administrators during Prohibition did attempt to end the consumption of alcohol entirely, some trustees saw the benefits of the presence of illicit brews. “Strength and decision of character are tested only by temptation,” said Cuthbert W. Pound, Class of 1887 and John L. Senior, Class of 1901, in their alumni trustee report for 1928, claiming “until the temptations of college life have been met, one may not easily decide who will stand and who will fall.” Bishop had an interesting response to this claim, arguing, “One might conclude that if no temptation was available, it would be the University’s duty to provide it.”

Based on these documents, along with recent debates on campus regarding drinking and Greek life, there are clear parallels between actions and statements of University officials, as well as responses and behaviors of students, from the 20s and today. Currently, the administration continues to constrain fraternities’ abilities to have open parties and to prohibit freshman from going to them at all. Given these restrictions, where are the alternatives that allow students to learn and build character by making good choices? Additionally, if abolishing fraternity dances in the 20s failed to ameliorate the situation, despite the fact that alcohol was outlawed entirely in the United States, how do these decisions hope to prevent “drunken brawls” and “alcohol begotten accidents” when alcohol is easily accessible? According to Susan Murphy, vice president for student and academic services, even the proposed alternative of a campus pub sparks concerns. Remembering her time at Cornell during the early 70s in a November 18, 2010 issue of The Sun, she said, “Back when the drinking age was 18 we had behavior problems,” continuing to explain her hesitance, having been on campus when there were pubs.

Based on the previous statements from the 1921 Alumni News, however, “behavior problems” exist regardless of the drinking age and the presence of pubs on campus. Moreover, these “problems” are entirely subjective. While I can say with near certainty that “undisciplined stags” and “jazz music” were not what Susan Murphy was referring to when she made this statement, those exact things were considered quite threatening problems 90 years ago. Considering that in the 1920s, 70s, and the present day the administration has seen “behavior problems” among students regardless of whether alcohol was illegal for those under 18, under 21, or outlawed entirely, it seems that the problem is not alcohol, but rather the fact that Cornell’s campus has con-

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sistently been inhabited by thousands of 18-22 year olds, newly free from parental supervision and only beginning to learn how to make their own decisions. The student body consists of an age group which is learning to embrace adulthood while still fully enjoying the perks of having minimal responsibility in life.

Furthermore, according to Bishop, “Drinking has always been a problem among students, free for the first time to experiment with delights hitherto forbidden.” Based on this statement, it appears that student drinking will continue to be an issue as long as alcohol continues to exist.

While I am not advocating that the administration accept a campus full of binge drinkers, I do hope to bring attention to the fact that by nature of the American college experience, college students are going to drink whether it is legal or not. University attempts to minimize drinking, particularly through strict regulations of the Greek system, have historically and consistently failed to change this phenomenon. In that sense, perhaps it would be better to accept that the University is powerless to rework the existing drinking culture by repressing it, and it should focus instead on facilitating safe and educated drinking practices.

Although there have always been Cornellians who take life way too seriously (that kid who only gets upset about his “inability to find a desired book in the library” in 1926 can still be seen from time to time on the verge of hyperventilating in the Olin stacks), there have also always been Cornellians simply looking to enjoy the finer (or cheaper) spirits in life. Whether brewing beer in chemistry, vaporizing equipment, smuggling vodka into a Cornell Concert Commission show in Barton Hall, or drinking while underage on University property, it seems as though students at Cornell will always find a way to disobey the laws, rules, or regulations imposed on us. In the wise words of a 1921 editor of The Sun, “There never was a time in the history of Cornell or any other university when students did not drink—and it is pretty safe to say there never will be.” In the 90 years that have passed since then, Ithaca has seen Prohibition enacted and repealed and the drinking age changed from 18 to 21, but that statement still holds true. Sorry, Susan Murphy, but I think he got it right. ◊

College students are going to drink whether it’s legal or not.

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art by LAURA VAN WINKLE layout by LANNY HUANG

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zooming in art by LAURA VAN WINKLE layout by LANNY HUANG

College Cougars

Sex, society, and the dangers of taking advantage of easy prey

VIVIENNE WOODWARD

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s out-of-town parents turn onto one of the many one-way streets at approximately five miles per hour, cautiously crawl up one of Ithaca’s many hills, and proceed to lug in eighteen years’ worth of belongings—only to lug back out seventeen after discovering the size of dorm rooms—we can’t help but laugh. The arrival of freshmen on campus is an all-too-familiar scene, one that inspires many a Facebook post, tweet, and maybe even the occasional WTF text. It’s one that all upperclassmen secretly look forward to each fall, not only because we get to sit and revel in their awkwardness, but also because once we get over how obnoxious their extremely conspicuous presence on campus is, they fascinate us.

For whatever reason, perhaps because they don’t know you as Wheelchair Girl yet, or as That Guy Who Made Out With a Sandwich, we can’t fight the allure of an entire class of unadulterated, impressionable high school grads ready to make their first college mistakes.

Given the size of Ithaca College’s campus, it’s fairly certain that by your third year of alcohol-induced errors, someone you are barely acquainted with will know something unforgivably embarrassing about you. In this sense there is an undeniable excitement in knowing that the hot freshman next to you in Bio still thinks you’re hot shit and not That Chick Who Puked Out a Car Window Last Weekend.

Exciting as it may be, this naïveté can be the source of internal conflict; although we want to hate them because they

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walk so fucking slowly through campus discussing subject matters related, and only related, to their hometown, major, or “that awesome kegger on Prospect last night” (OMG alcohol!), we remember that it was not so long ago that we were in their same position. Since we’ve somehow learned to walk with a little pep, maybe they’ll turn out all right after all. More likely, however, we catch a glimpse of their not-yet-corrupted-by-fournights-a-week-of-Keystone abs or their I-took-high-school-sportsreally-seriously ass and suddenly that glacially-paced stride isn’t so bothersome.

Nevertheless, that excitement is often undermined by the realization of an age difference. Two or three years may seem insignificant, but they are years characterized by pregames, professors, and parental independence rather than school dances, gym teachers, and curfews. There is undeniably a critical period

Whatever happened to the idea of the cougar and why isn’t she allowed to exist in college life?

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of maturation that occurs post-freshman year, sometimes even post-first semester. Whether it’s mastering important life skills like how to avoid that dude from last weekend, which day of the week is best to beg parents to send baked goods and/or money, how to make our own decisions, or how to keep ourselves sane while still enjoying our newfound freedom, there are serious lessons in growing up that we learn during those first years away from home. Regardless of how independent you come into school, I don’t think there has ever existed a freshman who remained unchanged throughout college. That said, there will inevitably be ways in which we are mentally differentiated from our younger peers.

Even so, how much importance should be placed on those differences? Depending on the interaction, potentially a lot, and potentially very little. Personally, if I had to write a 20-page research paper with a freshman classmate, I must admit I would be a bit concerned about any discrepancy in social or academic

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I’m supposed to check IDs before getting too close to those pecs?

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I will find myself a wig and my own Ashton Kutcher circa 1993.

But in all seriousness, why are men allowed to transcend the age difference and satisfy their freshman fetish while I’m supposed to check IDs before getting too close to those pecs? I think that this is a legitimate double standard that cannot simply be justified by some bullshit excuse about how women mature faster than men, and I refuse to accept it.

Now, I’m not saying that we should all go out and deflower the freshman class (I don’t want to pay for those therapy bills), but there are some serious consequences to consider before pursuing these kids. One particularly salient example is, exactly how old are they? I don’t want anyone getting charged for statutory rape. I have a friend who is still wondering whether her pre-frosh hook up was in fact eighteen. Life as a potential sex offender is not something any of us are rooting for. Let’s remember that not all freshmen should indulge in upperclassmen experience either. Some may be ready for a few spooning sessions, but not all can handle that first 9 a.m. walk of shame. Regardless of gender, we should all take into consideration our fetish’s feelings—and age—before proceeding with our freshman fantasy.

I’m calling for a revolution in hook-up culture. I challenge you to take a stroll through campus center and see if anything decidedly “untouchable” catches your fancy. Or perhaps, hit up the quads some Friday night and see if something calls to you.

Maybe it will, maybe it won’t, but I want to be allowed to look (and touch) if I want. I say it’s time to rebel! Freshman for all and for all a good night! ◊

maturity level. Post-9 p.m. on a Saturday, however, I would be exponentially less concerned that he still refers to our bio professor as “my teacher, Mr. Smith,” and types his papers in Helvetica font. Overlooking the fact that he had to ask me four times what street we are on, I’m curious to see what he has to offer to the college world. If that happens to be some impressive dance moves and a six-foot frame, who am I not to give him a chance?

While I’ve heard male friends compete vehemently to be “that blonde freshman’s first mistake,” I’ve been chided for coming a little too close to some underclass action, and to “hang out with people my own age.” Furthermore, despite the fact that these incidents occurred several weeks ago, whenever I come within twenty feet of a freshman quad, my friends still feel the need to advise me against getting too close to any attractive younger men. The tendency of guys at parties seems to be to hightail it to the corner brimming with eagerly awaiting young coeds when they find out the girl they’re talking to isn’t a freshman. If I find out I’m talking to a peer two or three years my junior, I’m expected to hightail it to those dudes discussing the ramifications of outsourcing to China. As a result, while I’m trying to avoid gaining a freshman hook-up reputation like the plague, my male friends assess their prospects at doing just that with every coming weekend.

In this environment, it seems that (heteronormatively speaking) older women are supposed to be hot, but unattainable, while scoring older men/younger women is a jackpot (assuming it’s something you want to have scored in the first place).

However, this has certainly not always been the case, as anyone familiar with the acronym MILF can attest. That said, whatever happened to the idea of the cougar, and why isn’t she allowed to exist in college life? If it’s only acceptable if you’re Demi Moore,

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Petrune:

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Classic Clothing

for the

21

D

st

Century

COURTNEY MAYSZAK

omenica Brockman is a tough woman to find. She spends her days rooting through wardrobes of the past, from elegant gowns of the 1940s to 19th century historical finds for Petrune, her vintage clothing shop on the Ithaca Commons.

Petrune’s clothing is the antithesis of “fashion,” or ultratrendy, mass-produced goods that are disposable by the season. Instead, Petrune’s clothing represents “slow fashion” that ages gracefully. The shop carries timeless, classic pieces intended to last generations and transcend ever-changing fashion crazes. “What’s the best thing in your closet, that you’ve worn for years, that you never get tired of, that you pull

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layout by LANNY HUANG

out every time you have a good party to go to? Everyone has something like that,” Brockman said.

The store opened five years ago when Brockman began selling vintage clothing out of Ithaca’s now defunct antique mall. “I had worked in art galleries. I was less interested in the art of living artists, and more interested in [that of ] dead artists. And then my interests sort of evolved to just beautiful objects… so I went from working in an art gallery to working in an antique gallery.”

When the antique mall suddenly closed, she was left with a large inventory of vintage pieces and no place in which to sell them. She rented a

Petrune’s clothing represents “slow fashion” that ages gracefully.

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art by LAURA VAN WINKLE

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The building was not our business, the inventory wasn’t our business, it’s us and our ideas that are our business.

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storefront on South Cayuga Street and was able to expand her inventory to include “classic clothing from every decade.” Three years later, Brockman bought the property at 126 East State Street, and Petrune was born.

Petrune operates under the principle that pieces of clothing that stick around do so for a reason. Any regular Petrune customer can vouch for Brockman and her stylish staff ’s dedication to the curation and sale of quality goods. “When you can find something that was made 50 years ago, and it’s been worn 100 times, and it still looks great and new, that’s quality. That’s what excites me,” says Brockman.

Since opening, Petrune’s inventory has continued to grow in variety and quantity. The shop now carries “classic new clothes that won’t go out of style,” according to Brockman. Choosing which contemporary lines to carry, however, has been a challenge. “New clothing is a lot more expensive, especially if you’re trying to get quality comparable to vintage clothing. It’s really hard to find good stuff– stuff that’s good enough and doesn’t look out of place pricewise.”

Indeed, as the old adage goes, they don’t make ‘em like they used to. Petrune has recently taken the initiative to change that. “No one knows yet that we’re in the process of developing our own line. We’re producing a 44-piece collection of clothes inspired by the best clothing ever made in history,” Brockman said. “We’re working with a local designer… and partnering with a factory in China that can do the quality we need, which is really key.” This line of dresses and coats, called Petrunia, will hit Petrune’s racks in September of 2012.

Petrunia will take from and recreate the past. “We’re kind of curating the collection; we’re not designing it,” Brockman said.

“We’re basing the dresses on actual vintage dresses that we found and we love and that look great on a lot of body shapes.”

This new line is a giant leap forward for Petrune, and a milestone in the shop’s recovery from a fire that destroyed most of their inventory and devastated the building. “The lesson I learned from it was that the building was not our business, the inventory wasn’t our business, it’s us and our ideas that are our business,” she says. Although the store essentially had to start anew, Brockman and her staff never lost focus. “We’re always out looking, we’re always finding amazing things, and as long as we can do that, we’ll always be in business.”

Brockman isn’t exaggerating when she says that she’s always out looking. She usually relies on her staff to run the shop while she’s sifting through the thrift stores, searching for estate sales and attending auctions. She’s not out looking for just anything either. “I don’t want anything that was sold in a store in Ithaca in the last 20 years.” The selection process is far more complex than just avoiding “old stuff.” “You have a sort of repertoire in your brain of what you want. If I’m looking at a rack of sweaters, I’ll be looking for 100% wool or cashmere. I can see it from across the room now. Hidden in the rack, I can see it. It’s like when you do anything a lot. You get good at it,” Brockman said.

Ithaca’s rich history makes the selection process all the more interesting. The Erie Canal was extended into the Finger Lakes during the Victorian era, allowing farmers to efficiently export their goods. Ithaca flourished, and as a result, the area is teeming with hidden Victorian gems.

“

We’re always out looking, we’re always finding amazing things, and as long as we can do that, we’ll always be in business.

”

Brockman’s keen eye for classics is also careful to keep things current. “There’s a way to get stuck in a retro trend or look,” she explained. “I don’t necessarily want to be considered a store that is too much of the past.” She follows the current designer trends within vintage parameters. “If Marc Jacobs is saying, ‘Okay, this season I’m doing silver pumps that look vintage,’ I’ll run out and find some silver pumps that actually are vintage.”

One needs only to glance at the storefront window to realize that Petrune is certainly not “too much of the past.” The shop itself evokes the same quirk, charm and impeccable attention to detail as the clothing for sale. As long as there is classic clothing, and hip people to find it, Petrune will stay this way. ◊

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zooming in

Secrets of Cornell

Frat Houses What you miss when you’re looking for the bathroom...

REBECCA OCHS

W

e all know and love (or hate) the great rooms of the frats at Cornell. The stickiness of the floors, the source of which one can never quite know (I personally choose to believe it is beer), the crowded path to the bathroom and, if you’re lucky enough to get a brother to make you a quesadilla, that industrial-strength kitchen open at all hours of the night. Since we tend to only see the fraternities of Cornell in this type of setting, it is easy to forget that each structure has a history, and that many, while often abused, are architectural marvels that date back over one hundred years. During that time, the fraternity houses experienced publicized additions, renovations, fires, and refurbishments, but what escaped the headlines? What was revealed in the numerous construction projects, and what was concealed, pushed underground as the years passed? Several of the frat houses at Cornell contain mysteries, rather odd architectural features, and rooms full of stolen objects that remained hidden for years. Among these are Theta Delta Chi, Alpha Delta Phi, and Sigma Phi. Built during the era of Prohibition, the Beta Charge of Theta Delta Chi, better known to Cornellians as Thumpty, did not leave brothers hanging out to dry. The architect of the house, located at 800 University Avenue, was Waldo Franklin “Ag” Tobey, a former brother of the Beta Charge rumored to have made his fortune as the lawyer defending the infamous Al Capone. In addition to the fine physical attributes of the house, Tobey included a special and important feature: a speakeasy. Hidden behind a wooden panel in the stairway to the basement, the Thumpty speakeasy has facilitated years of debauchery. Although no longer forced underground by Prohibition, the brothers of Thumpty still enjoy having a drink or two in their speakeasy, just as their predecessors did.

If you have walked through frat row along McGraw Place not too far from Thumpty, you have most likely seen a strange shaped building between Sig Ep and Alpha Delt. This window-

20

less and door-less building is Alpha Delta Phi’s Goat House, and has been used in the fraternity’s rituals since 1903. Dedicated to the memory of Hiram Murray Little, class of 1900, its contents are a secret of the brotherhood; however, kitsch was able to dig up some information on the details of access to and the contents of the building.

Given that there are no windows or doors, entry to the Goat House has long been shrouded in mystery. Although not widely spoken of today, it has been confirmed that there is a tunnel connecting the Goat House to Alpha Delt’s chapter house. According to an October 2, 1903, issue of The Cornell Daily Sun describing the construction of three new buildings at Cornell, “About a hundred feet in the rear of the [Alpha Delta Phi] chapter house is the mosque shaped lodge building which is connected by an underground passage with the other structure.” Although the first Alpha Delta Phi house burned down in the early 20th century, the Goat House remained unscathed, and a tunnel still connects it to the new chapter house. It is even rumored that a man delivering a pizza to Alpha Delt called the individual that had placed the order to inform him the pizza had arrived, at which point a student emerged from a manhole between the chapter house and the Goat House, paid for the pizza, and returned into the ground, to the astonishment of the delivery man.

The name of this building has also inspired many rumors as to its origin and what it suggests about events that occur within its walls. The Goat Room, according to Alfred H. Holt (author of “Phrase Origins”), was a “nineteenth- and early-twentieth century term for a meeting room, appearing in the title of the fraternity gossip section of the 1922 Aegis ‘Heard at the Goat Room Keyhole.’” The term is characteristic of fraternities and derives from scapegoat. However, none of this seems to clear up any of the mystery surrounding which rituals do in fact take place inside the Goat House. Since so much of what truly does exist inside the Goat House is still known only to brothers, I challenge someone to find that manhole and unveil this secret.

Although Sigma Phi has no star-shaped mausoleum or speakeasy, the brothers kept a secret hidden in the house’s basement for more than half a century. It is uncertain when the tradition began, but after a break-in by a rival fraternity pledge,

police discovered a long history of thievery by Sigma Phi brothers in a room full of their stolen treasures.

In March of 1994, Theta Delta Chi pledges received a tip from an angry Sigma Phi brother regarding a secret room in the Sigma Phi house containing several stolen items from Theta Delta Chi. In an attempt to reclaim these items, pledges from Theta Delta Chi gained access to the secret room with the combination provided to them. Having the chance to look around, the sole pledge brave enough to enter discovered a plethora of odd items stolen over the course of many years from other fraternities and University buildings. According to a March 31, 1994 article of The Cornell Daily Sun, the room contained intriguing items including: “two hanging skeletons dressed as pirates, at least twenty blindfolded animal heads nailed to the walls, a stage in the back of the room adorned with paintings of Jesus and a [real] coffin, a stack of sorority composites with derogatory names next to many of the sisters’ photographs and a jar of rat heads.” Somehow managing to navigate this very interesting scene, the pledge was also able to recover two items from Theta Delta Chi. Absorbed in his surroundings, the pledge was unaware that in opening the door to the secret room, he had set off a security alarm installed to protect its contents, thereby alerting Sigma Phi brothers of his presence. In defense of their precious stolen booty, Sigma Phi brothers mounted a resistance movement despite the fact that it was 4 a.m., shutting the heavy steel door the pledge had entered through. This forced the pledge to make a narrow escape through another door, which the brothers had attempted to barricade with a table. A high-speed foot chase ensued; the Theta Delta Chi pledge fled the scene, repossessed items in tow, and closely followed by two irate Sigma Phi’s brandishing hockey sticks in their fury. Unable to hold out any longer, the pledge was tackled by the two Sigma Phi brothers on Kappa Alpha Theta’s lawn, and soon after was arrested by police.

This event, however, prompted Theta Delta Chi pledges to report what they had found in the room at Sigma Phi to police, eventually leading to a search warrant and a following raid at the Sigma Phi house. The police raid ultimately resulted in the discovery of over 180 stolen items reflecting over 50 years of thievery, including 19th century hands from the clock tower and missing parts of the Goldwin Smith sundial, among other, stranger items previously mentioned. Some of the items were valued at several thousand dollars, including two billiard lamps returned to Delta Chi fraternity worth over $10,000. With the help of Cornell and Ithaca police, almost all of the stolen items were eventually returned to their rightful owners.

The discovery of this “cornucopia” of stolen goods, as referred to by a 1994 article in The New York Times, resulted in great speculation regarding how long the tradition had existed and who knew about the underground room. It is believed that prominent alumni of Sigma Phi, such as Ezra Cornell IV, knew about the room and may have even taken part in the tradition of theft. Further speculation of how many other fraternities had storehouses such as this one also followed.

While this mystery, along with that of the Thumpty speakeasy and Alpha Delt Goat House, have all been unveiled to an extent, how many others remain hidden, kept secret to outsiders and passed down by countless brothers over the years? The many secret rooms, passageways, and items that have been revealed in the fraternities only leads me to wonder what else may be lurking in those houses, concealed beneath the beer-soaked floors.◊

art by ZAC KINKADE layout by LAURA VAN WINKLE

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zooming in

HEX

The Quidditch players of Ithaca College RODRIGO UGARTE

A

s the team gathers outside the Ithaca College Fitness Center, the players put all of their gear on the wet grass and start shedding their coats. Co-captains Caitlin Ghegan and Tom Aroune apparate with all of the necessary equipment: balls, hoops, poles, and brooms. In the real world, Quidditch is a sport that brings all kinds of people together, and pushes the players’ athletic prowess beyond their expectations. A fiery devotion to Harry Potter, to the wizarding world, and a commitment to play are the only requirements for joining Hex. Despite resembling a mere game, the team plays with as much heart as the players of any other sport.

Quidditch first started as a real-life sport at Middlebury College, Vermont, where friends Alex Benepe and Xander Manshel, tired of playing bocce all the time (a tradition at Middlebury, apparently), decided to play the wizards’ sport instead. Soon Middlebury started scrimmaging with Vassar, played in the first World Cup, and by the second Cup, the game had entered the international arena with the Canadian McGill University’s participation. Five years later, the game has taken off on college and school campuses around the world, all sharing the same passion for the Harry Potter series and the sport.

Quidditch landed at Ithaca College in the fall of 2009, when Aroune and his friend, Euris Sanchez, were watching YouTube videos one lazy afternoon. “It was sort of the first ‘televised’ Quidditch game, on the Internet, and I was like, ‘Yeah this is Quidditch and it’s a real thing and people actually play it in college,’” Aroune explained. “We wanted to start it because we wanted to play. We didn’t want to be in charge… we started it to play Quidditch.”

“

Many team members have rechristened themselves with names from or inspired by the Harry Potter series. Aroune’s team nickname is Tom Riddle, or just Riddle. Ghegan’s orange-red hair earned her the nickname Ginny Weasley, but now that she has taken over the club’s managerial duties, she goes by Molly Weasley, or just “Mom.” Other nicknames range from Dobby, the courageous house elf, to Fawkes, Professor Dumbledore’s phoenix that saves the day in “Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.” The game closely follows the content of the books, and the players follow the game as closely.

“Like Oliver Wood said, ‘Quidditch is very easy to understand,’” Ghegan recited. It certainly is for seasoned chasers and beaters, or for those who grew up bewitched by J.K. Rowling’s wizarding world, but it can be a bit confusing for those not familiar with the series.

Here are the basics: each team has seven players on the pitch—three chasers, two beaters, one keeper and one seeker.

There are five balls in play at all times, one quaffle and three bludgers, for which a slightly deflated volleyball and three dodgeballs stand in, plus the snitch. The quaffle, which is used to score points, is treated much like the quaffle in the written series, but the ball can remain in play if it’s dropped. However, because magic (sadly) isn’t a reality, the players can’t enjoy the incessant attacks of belligerent flying bludgers. Instead, they have to endure dodgeball hits.

“The snitch and the seekers are, just like in the books, the most interesting part of the game. It’s what makes Quidditch quirky, besides the fact that we are running around on brooms,”

The snitch and the seekers are, just like in the books, the most interesting part of the game.

It’s what makes quidditch quirky, besides the fact that we are running around on brooms.

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”

“

You can’t really not have fun running around like an idiot on a broom… it’s just impossible. -Tom Aroune

”

Aroune said.

The snitch in real-life is made up of two parts; there is the snitch itself, a tennis ball inside a long tube sock, and the snitch runner, to whom the tube sock is attached. The snitch runner, usually a cross-country runner, wears a gold spandex body suit and doesn’t belong to either team. He runs within his designated space, determined before the game, and can do as he pleases to avoid capture by the seekers. Snitch runners have been known to hijack the occasional bike or skateboard.

The first portion of most Hex practices is spent doing drills. Gheghan blows her whistle, piercing the cold air and silencing the players’ clamoring and horsing around. Once the team groups together, Aroune interjects and announces that they’ll be practicing tackling. Anthony DeVito (a.k.a. Ron Weasley, another redhead on the team), who also plays rugby, steps forward to teach the art of a safe tackle. Apart from DeVito and a few others, Hex is comprised not of serious athletes, but of serious Harry Potter aficionados, who see this as their sport.

“I’m a Harry Potter nerd, but I actually don’t think that much

“

about it when I’m on the field. I think of it as a sport… I think the best element of it is that anyone can play. I played hockey in high school, sure, but I’m not the most athletic person and I manage to play,” Ghegan said.

After practice, the entire team is covered, from their faces and hair to their shirts and sweatpants, in mud. Despite the freezing cold South Hill temperatures, practice proves successful. Hex is all smiles while they catch their breath, cool down, and examine themselves for fresh bruises. According to Mika Milliren, one of Hex’s beaters, something all players suffer through is “broom burn,” or scratches on the backs of the players’ thighs.

“In the books it’s a very cutthroat sport and that’s starting to show in the [real] sport nowadays. It can’t be as rough as rugby because we don’t wear pads. The most protection that you’re allowed to have, by the rules, are a mouth guard and a cup for guys, which is very advisable,” Aroune said.

The team’s main objective is to have fun. They’re all eagerly awaiting the Fifth Quidditch World Cup, which will be held in New York City on November 12—they could care less about missing the Cortaca Jug game.

The Quidditch World Cup brings teams from schools all over the country together for two days of Quidditch matches and other wizarding shenanigans.

“Quidditch is a cool sport, but it’s not the ‘cool’ sport,” said Aroune. “No matter who you are, you can play Quidditch and you’ll be accepted. You can’t really not have fun running around like an idiot on a broom… it’s just impossible.” ◊

Something all players suffer through is

broom burn

”

art by LAURA VAN WINKLE layout by JENNY ZHAO

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zooming out

watch & listen

zooming in

24

25

Best Kept of Ithaca

Bars

&

Dives

Photographs by Lanny Huang, Maddie McCann, and Norah Sweeney Text by Maddie McCann, Ariel Lawrence, and Norah Sweeney

Dunbar’s 409 Eddy There is no place quite like Dunbar’s. This literal hole-in-the-wall is an odd meeting of London’s abandoned punk rock dungeons, a Cornell frat party, and the namesake watering hole from Cheers.

Countless nicknames, proclamations of love for long-forgotten girlfriends and Sharpie tributes to favorite bands cover every inch of the bar—even inside the shade of the lone light fixture. The ceiling is covered in colorful, painted squares devoted to Dunbar’s greatest devotees, which apparently include Cornell’s architecture school, countless fraternities and sororities, and students who live within walking distance on Eddy Street or College Avenue.

No old school Collegetown bar would be complete without a free popcorn machine. No less than five minutes after the bar starts to get crowded at around 10:30 p.m., there is a serious popcorn shortage. The bar’s patrons, mostly college students who wouldn’t dare turn down free food, shovel down popcorn and become increasingly thirsty for the bar’s fortunately inexpensive drinks.

The best part of the beautifully dingy Dunbar’s experience (apart from Group Therapy Wednesdays and Long Island Iced Tea Thursdays) is the giant clinker of a jukebox. The same ten songs are played on a continuous loop, but it doesn’t seem to matter. The whole crowd willingly belts out “Sweet Caroline” and “Bohemian Rhapsody,” among other classic sing-along songs, in their entirety each time.

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Hens and roosters of every size and art medium cover The Chanticleer’s walls and knick-knack shelves. A proud, silver fellow is mounted on the wall near the bar, and a brood of ceramic hens cluck away behind a glass display case. The calendar features twelve portraits of cockerels by long forgotten American naturalist painters who, for one reason or another, got their kicks painting poultry. On the wallpaper, hundreds of strangely drawn chickens listlessly strut, much like the bar’s patrons.

But the biggest rooster, all decked out in neon, sits atop the entrance to the bar, located at 101 W. State Street. According to Spike, a bartender who has worked at the Chanticleer for more than a decade, the massive neon rooster is grandfathered into the City of Ithaca’s neon ordinances. Current local law prohibits businesses from having neon signs of its size, but The Chanticleer, the oldest bar in Ithaca, is an institution exempt from such limitations.

The Chanti (the regulars’ term of endearment) has always been a haven for the unsung social phyla. These days, a small but aggressively devoted group of townies and in-the-know graduate students comprise the regular crew. Members of this cult following occasionally bring mix CD offerings to be considered for addition to the coveted jukebox, an institution within the institution. The most recent contribution is a mix called “Popular Songs for Unpopular People,” and is the undisputed soundtrack of this lonely, yet conspicuous, bar.

The Chanticleer 101 West State

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The Rhine House 632 West Seneca

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When you first walk into the Rhine House there is an unmistakable feeling that you have been there before.

With Old Milwaukee and Genesee posters on the wall, the spinning crystal Pabst Blue Ribbon lamp, and the familiar sight of pint glasses catching the dim green light above cracking eight balls, this “super cool tavern” reminds patrons of what a bar should look like. This realization does, of course, conflict with the “bubble”, “oxygen”, “tiki”, and whatever the hell else bar that has overgrown from the imagination of bored twentysomethings these days. In a college town, where every hole in the wall is just a shot glass and a gimmick away from being the latest distraction, the Rhine House brings people back with its dedication to being a great place to drink a beer and chill.

There is something about the tavern-like sensibilities of the place that really speaks to customers. For beer drinkers, rotating drafts that range from Dogfish Head to Ommegang and Yuengling bridge the gap between craft and comfort. With a pay-for-play jukebox that blasts anything from Jay Z’s “99 Problems” to Billy Idol’s “Rebel Yell,” a cozy terrarium to catch a smoke around back, and weekly “Sunday Funday’s” pulled pork sandwiches, The Rhine House is a place to see the people you like, instead of uncomfortably bumping elbows with the people whose names you forgot. For the local, grad student, or almost-townie undergrad that needs a Friday night without blaring strobe lights and a Brittany Spears dubstep remix, The Rhine House is the oasis in a desert of bars and dives.

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Culture Shock is a haven for the gluten intolerant, the lactose finicky, and green food fanatics. Just a few steps from the Commons on South Cayuga, the health-conscious restaurant/bar/café/ice cream parlor/playpen/local art venue began developing its reputation as a place for the young-at-heart with the ball-pit that used to fill the windows. The ball pit is gone, but the youthful spirit is very much alive at Culture Shock.

Kombucha is used to mix elaborate cocktails, such as the “Dark and Devoted”—a Dark and Stormy with Kombucha, which is a natural liver detox—just what drinking calls for. The bar is stocked with local wine and gluten free beer. Culture Shock boasts a simple, healthful menu of mainly salads, frozen yogurt made with grass-fed local dairy or a remarkably good vegan version made with milk alternatives like almond and rice, and vegan baked goods that are all as deliciously indulgent as they are nice to look at.

Nights at Culture Shock feel more like a birthday party than a bar scene. The people are friendly and act as if they’ve known each other for years. There are often balloons scattered festively about, dated and comfortingly simplistic board games are normally being played, and people are eating, drinking, and dancing.

Gluten-free pretzels line the bar and tables. The stage welcomes local musicians. The walls display local art.

Tuesday night is World Groove Night, when the beats are right for dancing. Culture Shock is a guaranteed good time.

Culture Shock 109 South Cayuga 30

Moonshadow Tavern 114 The Commons When one hears the name Moonshadow Tavern, the mind immediately wanders to velvet purple curtains, kombucha, and Cat Stevens taking a Zen approach to losing his mouth (all his teeth, north and south).

Moonshadow Tavern’s inconspicuous location on the Commons, near the Jabberwockies head shop, lends to this illusion.

But this fanciful description doesn’t quite fit the Tavern’s skin-tight dress bill. “Moonies” is a cross between a club and a dive bar, attracts a mostly Ithaca College clientele, and employs an owl logo that may or may not be based on that of Hooters. After having your ID briefly checked by one of the attractive, mesomorphic bouncers, you step into a sticky, crowded mess of disco lights and blaring dance music, which is often accompanied by bartenders banging on the beer taps in time with (Insert Biggest Pop Song of the Moment Here).

Sure, it sounds terrifying; but the fact is, it’s exactly what a stressed college student needs on a weekend.

Sure, there are those in the college population who claim to need nothing but a few friends and stimulating conversation. Those people have never stayed until last call at Moonies, nor experienced the collective (and admittedly slightly Orwellian, in an alcohol-drenched-shitty-rap-music sort of way) joy of rapping the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air theme song with one hundred of their closest friends/complete strangers.

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art and layout by CHARLES WANG

Cipher

scribbler

soldier

spy

MEAGHAN MCSORLEY

W

hen I was thirteen, “The Da Vinci Code” came out, and at the time I didn’t have a hell of a lot going on in the Middle of Nowhere, NY, so I, like so many others, wasted months delving into cryptography, conspiracy theories, and the Masons.

I know, I’m cringing too. I actually managed to avert the bulk of the “Da Vinci” mania, as I thought the codes were the coolest part, which instead led to an obsession with spy novels and Egyptian tombs, among other things.

However, my interest in all things coded, mysterious and spy-related has remained (if faint and perhaps only roused when called), and when I saw a recent New York Times article that reported how linguists were able to use “statistics-based translation techniques” to decrypt the Copiale Cipher, I had to dig a little deeper. For non-cryptography-enthusiasts, this means that the linguists were able to use the same sort of technology seen in Google Translate to decode a previously unsolvable 105-page manuscript, which dates to the late 18th century.

It was coded in 90 different characters, including Roman

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and Greek letters, symbols, and diacritical marks. The linguists originally assumed that the Greek and Roman letters were the code, but after trying to match it to 80 different languages, they realized that the letters were all nulls (to distract those who try to decode it from the real message), and that the symbols were the text. They also discovered that a semicolon denoted the doubling of a consonant, which contributed greatly to their efforts. From here, the linguists were able to use techniques like expected word frequency to determine what these symbols would correspond to in German, the language they had deduced the original message had been encoded from. In an incredible feat of technology and originality, the linguists were able to decipher the code: a description of a creepy initiation rite involving eye surgery from an unknown secret society…

Which is sort of anticlimactic.

However, in terms of historical significance, breaking the Copiale Cipher is an important milestone in the study of the spread of political ideas. During the 17th and 18th centuries,

secret societies were all the rage in many European countries, and this meant that many coded books were written to describe their rituals, membership, and ideals. The Copiale Cipher was relatively unknown to most people prior to the announcement that it had been solved this past April. It still requires much more expert analysis before it can be fully utilized in academic fields.

However, this cipher already looks set to become extremely useful—the New York Times reported that at the end of the cipher there was a political commentary on the natural rights of man, which would make it one of the earliest discovered of this sort.

Political theory aside, cracking this cipher could also lead to the decryption of many other previously unintelligible manuscripts.

So, using our substitution key above, and then transposing the message: ILOV EKIT STCH

→

#Q%G @R#H JHYT

→

#@JQ RH%# YGHT

Still following? At this point, your message is pretty well hidden.

However, your recipient must know how to read the message!

So, to decode, you basically do all of that in reverse. Starting with: #RY@HGJ%HQ#T First, we write it in columns (vertical) instead of rows (horizontal) to go backwards. When the letters don’t form a perfect square, it’s difficult to know how many letters to put in each column or row; this is the reason that transpositions are usually messages of 9, 16, or 25 letters—perfect squares, in terms of numbers of letters. At this point, we can check it against the substitution key that we have to see if we have unwound the code enough, and if not, we re-write the letters once again in columns instead of rows.

W

hile unintelligible manuscripts are certainly beyond the reach of my (minimal) code breaking skills, I can code and decode short messages using simple encryption and decryption techniques. So in this spirit, I thought a little how-to was in order. We all have messages that we want to hide from prying eyes. Although these days technology has—debatably—helped to make this process easier, codes are a sure way to keep your message secret—unless of course those “prying eyes” happen to belong to a cryptography-enthusiast, at which point, I can’t help you, sorry.

For starters, substitutions: this is probably the sort of code you solved on the back of a cereal box or with a code-ring. You just match up the letters of the alphabet with a corresponding letter or symbol. This can be interesting with letters from other alphabets, like Greek or Russian.

A B C D E F G H IJ K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z ! Z Y X @ W V T #S R Q P N % M L K J H ^ G F D C B This is a pretty simple substitution method; other times, the consonants will be transposed (see below) and then matched up. However, substitutions alone are really not enough—your message will not be safe if the pattern is detected! Therefore, we move on to transpositions. The easiest way to transpose your message is to write it in rows (horizontal), and then re-write the columns (vertical): ILOV EKIT STCH

IESLKTOICVTH

#@JQ RH%# YGHT

→

IESL KTOI CVTH

→

ILOV EKIT STCH

Armed with all of this information, I charge you, kitsch readers, to decipher the message below and tweet @kitschmag or post on the Facebook group wall when you have deciphered it. If you are really stumped, you can ask for more clues on Twitter or Facebook, too! The first correct answer wins a free copy of the first season of Sherlock, the fantastic BBC series featuring a modernized, sexually ambiguous Holmes and his blogging buddy Watson.

Some clues and tips: - For the substitution key, there is a 5x4 cipher involved (rows x columns).

- Write in columns to go backwards.

- Start by trying to figure out the substitution key—it’s hard, but not impossible, and some things are obvious.

- Punctuation has no substitution (one exception to this rule, but it’s not hard to figure out).

- Look through this article for more clues if you get stuck!

SVS6F2 P2J42K 23P5N1 HL3J;D FKF4—2 41HDB! Happy decrypting! ◊

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Bigis Brother zooming out

watch & listen

zooming in

Watching You

The dissolution of privacy in the digital age RENEE TORNATORE

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ho are we without the Internet? To the baby boomer generation, using the web to construct one’s own identity may seem absurd and exploitative. Yet to us, it has become a crucial part in who we are and how we portray ourselves. We willingly give out our personal information—birthdays, addresses, phone and social security numbers, religious beliefs, sexual proclivities, etc.—in complete and trusting faith in the machine that takes it. However, we don’t realize that as we give our personal information to the Internet, we ultimately work towards the construction of an increasingly transparent, hauntingly accessible universal community that’s available at the press of a laptop key.

Although the Internet has been around since the 50s and 60s, when it began with point-to-point communication between mainframe computers and terminals, Internet law is still a very gray and undefined realm. Laws that apply to the physical world do not necessarily govern the digital world in the same way. The U.S. Supreme Court has taken a mostly hands-off approach to regulating the Internet and online privacy, for fear of violating the freedom of speech. There are currently no federal laws governing Internet surveillance or guaranteeing certain personal privacies. Nonetheless, the federal government is con-

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art and layout by LANNY HUANG

tinually trying to bolster more definitive privacy policies on the Internet, although there hasn’t been a significant amount of concrete progress.

Without substantial federal laws governing Internet privacy, the web has become free for all—there is little restricted content to anyone with a broadband connection. Anyone that’s Gen Y knows the basic tenets of Facebook stalking, and those who are a little more tech-savvy know how to hack information pretty effortlessly. This is basic knowledge, but the web has functions and abilities that can be crippling to one’s personal online identity, which is becoming increasingly important in terms of job searching and higher education applications. Job recruiters routinely do background Internet checks of their prospective employees to make sure they’re not bringing in bad blood to tarnish the image of their companies. There are also plenty of horror stories regarding termination due to Internet surveillance. Ashley Payne, a high school English teacher in Georgia, was recently fired for having a glass of wine in one of her Facebook pictures.

Cocoon, a website plug-in that claims to make the Internet a better place by eliminating viruses, putting an end to spam, and protecting overall privacy, issued a list of the Top Ten Internet

Privacy Threats as of October 2011. Their compilation consists of a number of invasive websites and functions that will make your skin crawl.

Facebook, the omnipotent social networking site that is becoming highly controversial in its data collecting practices, has mastered “stealth digital surveillance” through the creation of Facebook timelines. It has honed a surveillance apparatus that tracks, analyzes, and then acts on the information one chooses to put on Facebook. Ever looked at your timeline? It’s a permanent reminder of your personal maturation (or lack thereof ) for everyone to see. That graphic (albeit joking) comment you left on your best friend’s wall in 2006 will forever be attached to your name. We now have to think carefully about what we say in Facebook chat, as it is archived—so save the details of your drunken collegiate escapades for an in-person encounter.

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The web has functions and abilities that can be crippling to one’s personal online identity...

user information with at least four other websites. At least 45% of the top 185 most-visited websites share user information like “user ID’s” with another website. For example, Facebook recently granted third-party developers access to user addresses and phone numbers, adding to the social media giant’s growing number of suspicious behaviors. The study also concluded that more personal information, such as gender, age, zip code, etc., is being shared through referrer websites. And yet Internet users have no idea that their personal information is constantly being shared between countless websites.

These are only a few of the data-mining strategies that are frequently used today to hack into databases and garner private and financial information from innocent users. Websites such as Spokeo, described as “not your grandmother’s white pages,” harvest comprehensive profiles of data from all of your online information. Features include your salary, a detailed family tree, and sometimes a Google Maps image of your residence. And that’s offered to unregistered users—imagine the privileges of being a Spokeo member. (I’d actually rather not.)

Although you may feel helpless to the power of a Big Brother-esque creature always watching over you, you have the ultimate agency in deciding whether you are targeted and abused

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In addition, other social networking sites store information remotely and are the weakest data links on the Internet. Our dependency on the sites’ default privacy settings and our willingness to share our own personal information make us susceptible to identity thieves, scammers, hackers, debt collectors, corporations, data miners, government organizations and job recruiters.

Behavioral advertising is an aspect of cyberspace that is impossible to avoid. As long as you use your computer, smartphone, or your television within the course of your average day, customized advertising has a way of stalking you mercilessly through the use of HTTP cookies and HTML5 local storage, which are ways to track online users. Your Facebook visits and Google searches build a behavioral profile that consists of your online habits, preferences, and purchase patterns. Think of it this way—your computer uses you, not the other way around.

Creepier still, the innovation of facial recognition technology began with law enforcement and security functions, but is now being used for apps such as SceneTap and Facebook. As many probably know, Facebook has the ability to recognize your face (although it is sometimes faulty). With a little bit of tweaking, the social networking site will eventually be able to search for people by just using a picture. Anonymity will cease to exist.

Accompanying that lack of anonymity is the lack of having a secure hiding place. GEOtags can be used to track anyone that uses digital media, anywhere. Every time you take a photo or video with a digital camera, laptop, or smartphone (all GPSequipped devices) a GEOtag is embedded within the photo, containing the exact longitude and latitude of where it was taken—in other words, a stalker’s delight.

To top off this sundae of a cyber nightmare, personal information distribution is one of its most invasive developments yet.

A new study, conducted by a Stanford law and computer science graduate student, shows that many top websites share personal

Your computer uses you, not the other way around.

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by data-miners, scammers, and stalkers alike. Being informed and aware of the ways that the Internet carefully tracks, analyzes, and acts on the information you put into it will prompt you to be more tactful about what you post and purchase. Understanding that all of your actions online contribute to a complete and comprehensive behavioral and informational profile will help you self-monitor and self-regulate, so that you can still feel some element of control and choice in an age of insufficient privacy.

If you really have trouble understanding what’s appropriate or not to make accessible on the Internet, use resources such as Reputation.com, a website created by a Harvard grad that helps manage your online identity and personal brand through eliminating negative or invasive content attached to your name. Until there are more stringent federal laws regarding online privacy, be cognizant and wary of the ever-developing surveillance technologies that are readily accessible by all. ◊

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zooming out art by ALLIE RIGGS layout by JAMES FAIRBROTHER

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g n i t Ea a c i r e m A

The evolution of food culture, with a cha-cha dancing cephalopod

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f you haven’t already noticed, Americans are obsessed with food. The obesity epidemic, eating disorders, debates about factory farms and genetically modified foods, and the push for environmentally-conscious, locally-sourced foods abound. As food-culture more readily imitates pop culture, it becomes more difficult to separate the fads from true innovators and trailblazers that are saucing their way to Olympian food glory. Peeling back the layers that make up this complex metaphorical artichoke (because artichokes are pointed and polarizing, unlike onions), we have the heart of the matter; disregarding all social pretense, what do we want to eat?

The answer to this ever-evolving question ebbs and flows much in the way trends in fashion can vary from season to season, albeit not as quickly. Perhaps the oldest and most traditional view of haute cuisine is that from France. The introduction of French cooking to the general American palate is synonymous with Julia Child. While not the first cooking show to be broadcast in America, The French Chef was certainly one of the most successful initial attempts to broaden the public’s knowledge of cooking in an era when generic convenience and bland consistency were considered important qualities of domestic bliss.

Suddenly, it was okay for middle class Americans to explore and experiment with the food privileges normally associated with the rich and famous from the comfort of their own kitchens.

From then on, more instructional cooking programs began to appear, bringing ethnic flair to the everyday home. Granted, “ethnic” food of the 1960s Middle America pales in comparison to today’s standards (think Italian versus Ethiopian). But it was a start.

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JAMES FAIRBROTHER Today, there are not only multiple cooking series, but also multiple channels devoted entirely to the culinary arts. Food Network has diverse programs made to fit any lifestyle, from the simple and time-constrained (30 Minute Meals, Five Ingredient Fix) to the elaborate and expensive (Barefoot Contessa), as well as a myriad of programs that explore restaurants, food processing, and even food chemistry. As the interest in food has grown, so has the infiltration of media and America’s penchant for instant gratification and sensationalized entertainment within the industry.

Even cooking programs are not immune to the mire of reality TV drama. With the originally-Japanese Iron Chef leading the way, competitive cooking shows have risen to prominence in primetime lineups. Rivalries burn as hot as the industrial strength stoves on Top Chef, joined by the impossible time constraints of Chopped and the edibles that borderline fine art on Food Network Challenge. Fans pay rapt attention to every tension-building minute as dishes are plated, and fan favorites quickly emerge as tempers flare. Media outlets have capitalized on this intense viewer reaction, and influential food blogs such as Seriouseats.com and New York magazine’s Grub Street post recaps and reviews of each episode within a day, if not hours.

Americans are beginning to consume food-related media much in the way they consume episodes of Gossip Girl and issues of People magazine.

This rise of food-as-pop-culture has resulted in the creation of the celebrity chef. Names like Eric Ripert and Tom Colicchio, which for the longest time were known only to those who were knowledgeable of the restaurant and service circuit, have be-

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come as recognized as Kim Kardashian and Britney Spears. Famed restaurateurs and chefs now have Twitter accounts and live followers that tweet back.

Many of these celebrity chefs have multiple restaurants and, while the standards for quality should be maintained at all times, those chefs are not always in the kitchen cooking the food themselves.

Even celebrities like Justin Timberlake and Eva Longoria own restaurants now. With the passing of well-known Elaine Kaufman (owner of Elaine’s in Manhattan) in late 2010, New York Times writer Sam Sifton lamented the decline of the owner as the host of a restaurant. Sifton remembers the time when the owner and the chef were not one and the same, when the personality of the owner served as that extra touch that brought patrons back day after day. It did not matter who was in the kitchen, and most didn’t care or even know the chef’s name. The visibility of fine dining has changed this and raised the standards that Americans expect of their food. City-dwellers now demand grass-fed, humanely-raised beef prepared sous vide (a technique involving a vacuum sealed bag cooked in low temperature water), and once-respected terminology is continually being diluted on a daily basis.

As the demand for higher quality and specialty food has gained traction, the term “artisan” has taken the largest hit with regards to its prestige. While the phrase “artisanal” conveys a meaning of handcrafted, traditional products made with the freshest of authentic ingredients and loving care, the term has been bastardized in recent history. Starbucks has its artisan sandwiches (at least the brand image is that of high-quality mass marketing), Fannie May has hand-painted artisan chocolates, and now Domino’s has its Artisan Pizza. The most recent addition to the Domino’s line of products has spurred significant backlash among many prominent food columns, all concerned with the deterioration of a word that used to mean something.

By calling their pizza “artisan,” Domino’s has essentially committed the folly of an inexpensive California winery calling its crappy chardonnay Chablis (I’m looking at you, Franzia). Working at Murray’s Cheese in Manhattan this past summer, I can assure you that Domino’s has not once considered putting an imported mozzarella di bufala or a divinely salted and paper-thin slice of prosciutto di San Daniele on any of its pizzas.

But when chain restaurants can’t deliver their promises and top-tier celebrity owned restaurants have lost some of their luster, what do those poor souls that would die to experience a canard à la presse (pressed duck) do to satisfy their cravings? That’s where the rec e n t popularity of innovation and cuisine with shock

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For a dessert that ostentatious, it better have the word “opulence” in the title...

value come into play. The success of the Big Gay Ice Cream truck in New York, with its non-traditional toppings such as bacon marmalade, toasted curried coconut, and sriracha, serves as a prime example of the public’s hunger for new and exciting foods. A traditional French or Italian meal, when cooked perfectly, can cause a true foodie to experience emotions that border on transcendence or are normally reserved for intimate nights with a lover. The everyday European or even Latin American or Asian meal, however, no longer holds the daring reputation it once did. Now, there are five-course tasting dinners created with insects and other bugs as the central protein, with events like this popping up regularly across the country. An ice cream parlor in the UK was recently ordered by the health department to stop production of Baby Gaga, an ice cream made with milk from nursing, human mothers. The epitome of food serving as entertainment, the Japanese dish odori-don (literally translated as “dancing squid rice bowl”) is a bowl of rice with the just killed and still intact body and tentacles of a squid placed on top. As soy sauce is poured over the top of the squid’s body, the sodium ions in the soy sauce trigger the still active synapses present in the tentacles, making them dance as if the severed creature was still alive. It gives new meaning to the phrase “dinner and a show.”

While food items such as these have become wildly popular, if not to taste then to look at (the first result for “dancing squid bowl” on YouTube has over two million views), this newfound popularity begs to question the notion that boredom with common food is the only reason for such fascination with adventurous eating. All of the aforementioned dishes have a certain voyeuristic quality to them. Yes, they must taste good in order to sell and be profitable, but there is also a prestige and status factor that must be taken into account. How many people would attend the bug dinner for reasons other than having a good story to tell their friends over drinks the next night? Everyone is constantly trying to differentiate him or herself in a world where technology can desensitize the individual to virtually anything.

One way to do so is to be “that friend who ate a dancing squid” or “that crazy person who paid $22 for a scoop of breast-milk ice cream.” That desire to see and be seen is not lost on even the best restaurants or the very wealthy. Serendipity, the shop famous for its sundaes and milkshakes, created the Grand Opulence Sundae in 2007. Costing $1,000, it is covered in 23k worth of edible gold leaf and topped with truffles and caviar, among other eatable rarities. For a dessert that ostentatious, it better have the word “opulence” in the title, and there better be at least two-dozen onlookers with their noses pressed against the glass windowpane as I eat it.

Given the rapid proliferation of what could be considered an ongoing revolution in the way we think of food, trends are becoming important in ways that they never used to be. After sitting in Introduction to Wines with the guest lecturer Steven Olson, one of the foremost beverage consultants in the country, I’ll be sure to pay attention to Spanish cuisine (the “new” French according to him) and wine made with the godello varietal of grapes. It’s certainly unclear where the growing fascination with gastronomic endeavors will lead, but I plan to enjoy the ride, down to every last bite. ◊

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Hidden

in the

Matrix Easter eggs in digital media

CHARLES WANG

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he first Easter egg in digital media is credited to Warren Robinett, who included a secret room in his 1979 Atari game Adventure. This room was only accessible by first acquiring a hidden one-pixel object which was the same color as the background, and therefore invisible; upon entering the room the player would see the message, “Created by Warren Robinett.” The Atari execs coined the term “Easter egg” as a reference to an intentionally hidden message or joke, when they compared it to an actual Easter egg hunt. While there are prior examples of games with hidden bonuses, the innovative gameplay of Adventure, combined with its widespread commercial success, brought the Easter egg to the forefront of gaming and forever cemented it as an element of game design.

Of course, the concept of the Easter egg is nothing new.

Artists through history have hidden messages in their paintings.

Michelangelo’s “The Creation of Adam” contains a famous example; God’s entourage is not just randomly floating around, but

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rather forms a near perfect cross-section of a human brain. “The Last Supper,” by Leonardo da Vinci, has a number of curiously placed rolls of bread. If a musical staff is drawn over the painting, the rolls form a sequence of notes that are too harmonious to be simple coincidence.

Modern Easter eggs started off simple in form, and usually were intended to credit the programmers who worked on the game. In Donkey Kong, for example, if a player successfully fulfills a number of requirements, including setting a particular high score and losing the final life by falling, the next time the main screen appears the programmer’s initials are displayed at the bottom. Over time, eggs became more and more sophisticated, sometimes offering bonus features and other times just providing a laugh.

In the WaveRage racing game, entering the correct sequence of button presses in the options menu unlocks a new announcer audio track that makes sarcastic comments at the player, instead of the usual words of encouragement. In SimCity 2000, if a player types “moo,” the player is rewarded with a picture of a few

If a musical staff is drawn over the painting, the rolls form a sequence of notes...

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cows on a road. Star Wars Rebel Assault 2 has a stage where, if the word “act” is typed at the end of a stage, players see a modified version of the normal cutscene, with a regiment of stormtroopers dancing in the background. Blizzard’s Diablo 2 is well known for its unlockable cow level, which can be accessed by finding a number of rare items and combining them; later, when Blizzard released Starcraft, one of the cheat codes allowed a player to instantly win a level by typing “there is no cow level.” Even Microsoft hid a few eggs in Office; Excel 95 has an entire minigame hidden in the program, The Hall of Tortured Souls, which is a Doom-like game whose only purpose is to display a few photos of the programming team.

Not all Easter eggs are code-based unlockables like the above examples. The Metroid series is famous for including a number of skill-based Easter eggs. In all the games, different victory images are awarded depending on the percent completion and the time it took the player to beat the game. Metroid Fusion has a hidden cutscene which is accessible only by successfully executing a series of complex sprints and jumps to run through an entire area without stopping or getting hit by an enemy. In true meta fashion, games in the Grand Theft Auto series have a literal egg hidden somewhere (with the exception of San Andreas, which holds a secret room that rather rudely informs the player that there is no Easter egg to be found). In Psychonauts, a programmer hid a photo of his girlfriend in one stage, which is visible only by climbing to the top of a building and forcing the camera into a corner. Valve Studios is fond of referencing their own games; Left 4 Dead 2 contains a jukebox which plays “Still Alive,” which fans

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will recognize as GLaDOS’s song at the end of Portal.

Musicians have been known to occasionally hide Easter eggs in albums as well. Radiohead hid a secret booklet under the CD tray in their album “Kid A,” which contained snippets of lyrics from songs that wouldn’t be released until later albums.

Richard D. James, founder of Aphex Twin, actually hid his face in a song; one section sounds like just white noise, but when it is run through a spectrograph, the output shows an image of James grinning rather creepily.

Easter eggs like these are becoming increasingly mainstream to the point where it can be taken for granted that a major video game release will probably contain at least a few. These eggs run the gamut from fun little inside jokes, to bonus behind-the-scenes content, to full-on unlockable characters and equipment. They are a large part of what keeps a lot of games feeling fresh, especially with increasing complaints that many games are too similar in gameplay. Regardless, one thing is certain: when Starcraft 2: Heart of the Swarm comes out, this writer will be clicking on all the new units repeatedly just to hear what funny little quotes they say. ◊

When Blizzard released Starcraft, one of the cheat codes allowed a player to instantly win a level by typing “there is no cow level.”

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art and layout by CHARLES WANG

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art by ALLIE RIGGS layout by CHARLES WANG

zooming in

Cult Classics SHAYE TORRES

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hat makes a movie cultish? For a lot of people, it’s about the thrill of discovery—because these films traditionally don’t do well in the box office, they end up hidden in unlikely places, like small art theaters, late-night television, or listed in Netflix’s more eccentric genres (e.g. “psycho-dramas with a strong female lead”, or “campy horror films set in outer space”).

The “found” nature of a cult film makes the viewer feel that, in discovering it, he or she has unearthed a cinematic gem too fringe for the mainstream viewer to ever understand.

This self-proclaimed separation from the movie-going masses adds the viewer by default to the film’s “cult,” or what is perceived to be the small group of people who are also cognizant of its splendor.

Although it explains the appeal of cult film to individual viewers, this characterization of the movies themselves is problematic. The vast majority of these works are, in fact, part of a critically acclaimed cinematic canon—award-winning works include Pulp Fiction, Apocalypse Now, The Shawshank Redemption, and many others—that revolutionized American cinema

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and yet maintained an essentially “cult” flavor. Furthermore, a lot of film theorists claim that this “cinephile elitism” is impossible in the digital age, since any person basically has access to any film ever made, eliminating the exclusive nature of cult viewing. Thus, the essence of these movies is less about their actual obscurity, and more about the audience’s perception of that obscurity. The cult aspect transforms the audience members from voyeurs into active participants, a traditional show into an interactive spectacle.

The essential thematic thread that connects cult films is their departure from a traditional narrative structure.

Office Space, a movie about the vengeance of disgruntled IT workers at a software company, is an iconic cult satire, in which the characters represent a sub-culture of disillusioned college grads in the 90s tech industry. This film and many others also feature unlikely heroes like Marge Henderson, the pregnant Police Chief with a heavy Minnesotan accent in Fargo, or Veronica, the girl who murders the bitchy popular crowd in the black comedy Heathers. Other movies like Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction re-invented filmic genre itself, in his case by using film noir aesthetics and

This self-proclaimed separation from the movie-going masses adds the viewer by default to the film’s “cult...”

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There’s also the “so-bad-it’s-funny” camp...enjoyed by cult audiences in irony and scorn.

the fact that they were being accosted by a pack of dominatrixlooking cast members armed with tubes of red lipstick. We attempted to sneak into the line, but alas, a tall muscular man in leather hot pants and a pink dog collar found us and asked, “Are you girls virgins?” My friends and I eyed each other, puzzled. He sighed and said, “What I mean is, have you been to a live production of the Show?” Unsure of the consequences, we lied; the man went on to paint large “V’s” in lipstick on unsuspecting “virgins” in front of us. Once we got inside, things only got more bizarre.

A cast of performers dressed as the characters in the film performed exactly what was playing on the screen, and the movie was often paused so that they could do elaborate, even raunchy dance routines. The audience, too, was a part of the spectacle; people had dressed up as their favorite characters, brought rice to throw during the wedding scene, and sprayed squirt guns to simulate the weather in the film.

Rocky Horror, however, is just one of many films that inspire interactive screenings attended by dedicated cult fans. Another famous example is the Sound of Music Sing-Along at the Hollywood Bowl, where thousands of fans bust out their lederhosen and habits for the pre-show parade. Lebowski Fest, a cult gathering that takes place nationally, entails one night where participants view the Coen brothers classic The Big Lebowski, and another where everyone goes out bowling (a hobby of the film’s protagonist). These examples just skim the surface of an immense subculture of cult tradition and performance resembling more a kooky cabaret than a night at the movies.

Most people go to the movies to view the action from a safe distance, with the comfort that the reality on screen will not interfere with the reality outside the theater. The cult relationship, however, defies this traditional mode of viewing by reaching into the film with both hands. By re-creating the action off-screen, these viewers can mingle reality with fiction in crazy, entertaining ways.

Unlike the average movie-goer, the cult viewer creates the film experience, just as much as the film crew did in shooting it.

Cult fans take the experience from one of a viewer to one of romance; they rally together to worship the untouchable, and transform their realities into the alternate ones presented on the silver screen. The movie that they’ve “found” is their lover, and they are movie-lovers in turn. It takes a special kind of person to be okay with such a one-sided relationship, but if you consider the pay-off—a group of fellow fans just as obsessed and ready to discuss, an identity, a way to live or dress or talk, something to keep you company—it might be a relationship worth trying. ◊

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a postmodernist plot structure to create a unique “neo-noir” style. There’s also the “so-bad-it’s-funny” camp, in which films like Glitter and The Room are enjoyed by cult audiences in irony and scorn. All of these characteristics make for a more intensive viewing experience, via either a connection to an anti-hero, an introduction to revolutionary cinematic style, or a unique humor.

The cult relationship itself is a strange thing, primarily marked by a theatrical obsession that transcends the usual filmviewer relationship. The most prevalent manifestation of cult worship lies in the audience members who not only know all the lines, but insist upon speaking in sync with actors during the movie and/or singing during musical numbers. Cult audiences also have a penchant for costuming—we’ve all heard of the Trekkies who attend comic book conventions decked out in full Spock regalia, not to mention the explosion of “Vote for Pedro” T-shirts, pins, lunch boxes, etc. in the wake of the Napoleon Dynamite craze.

One notable feature of cult movies and their fan-bases is their audience-centric mass viewings, as in my Rocky Horror experience.

A few years ago, my high school friends and I drove up to Santa Monica for a midnight showing of the Rocky Horror Picture Show, a campy musical that parodies 50s horror flicks.

(Cornell also does a showing at Risley every fall.) Going into it, we thought we were pretty hardcore—not only were we seeing the show at the NuArt Theatre (a famous art theatre in L.A., which we thought was edgy), but we had also memorized the lyrics to every musical number. I felt ready to join the Rocky Horror cult—all I needed was to meet the other members.

Upon arrival at the theater, the most noticeable (and terrifying) thing was not the enormous line of scantily clad fans, but

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The cult relationship, however, defies this traditional mode of viewing by reaching into the film with both hands.

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the

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zooming in

Dark Side of

Disney Mental conditioning for life

KAITLYN TIFFANY

Don’t get me wrong; even during the peak of its relevance, Disney had flaws. The company did its fair share of plagiarizing in the early days—ripping off the Grimm brothers, Hans Christian art by ZAC KINKADE Anderson, Victor Hugo, Shakespeare, and the like, and turning layout by GREGORY MANIS them into adorable ninety-minute sequences of animation. But for all the violence and darkness, Disney movies were already hen it comes to Disney animated classics, our genera- watered-down versions of the story. It was okay for children tion, the babies of the early 90s, have a tell-tale soft spot: to watch terrifying death scenes (Ursula getting impaled and we look back on these movies as the golden age of children’s en- electrocuted simultaneously), fratricide (The Lion King), drugtertainment. Why is this? It’s proven that adrenaline can solidify induced hallucination (Alice in Wonderland) and blatant sexism (along the lines of, “if a man saves your ass, it belongs to him”), and amplify memory. What causes adrenaline rushes? but Disney did know where to draw the line. There is a short and Fear.

Disney classics were scary. And I mean legitimately scary select list of things our wee ones could be exposed to that went to a small child. However, this is a good thing. Children’s movies a little too far. In the Grimm Brothers’ original version of “Sleepof late have been completely devoid of any element of mortal ing Beauty,” her own father rapes the sleeping princess repeatfear. I don’t want to sound like a raging psychopath here, but edly. In Daniel P. Mannix’s “Fox and the Hound,” the hound’s lovshouldn’t children know that there are bad guys? Personally, I ing owner goes senile and shoots him in the face at the end of wasn’t buying the cookie-cutter turn-around by the bad guy in the book. In the original “Snow White” the queen requests Snow White’s lungs and liver, as well Meet the Robinsons, and I don’t as her heart. To eat. “Hunchthink I liked the message it sent to twelve-year-olds: that I am genuinely flattered by how back of Notre Dame” by Victor Hugo is a real peach of a story; they are morally obligated to much mental stimulation the Esmeralda is not sentenced to personally reform any creepily thin, hunchback man they early Disney movies thought burn at the stake (that particular piece of violence is just a bit might find in a bowler hat, sans that kids deserved... of Disney magic), but rather to dental insurance. Does the be hung. After she dies, Quamessage of every movie really simodo crawls down into her have to be that no one is truly mean? Mean people exist and you can’t always fix them with grave and curls up around her until he dies of starvation. So a can-do attitude. The old Disney Corporation used to have a there you have it—incest, dementia, cannibalism, and necrodedication to teaching us this, mentally conditioning us for life. philia—the list of everything you are never to tell your children I’m not asking every bad guy to drop down into the fiery pits of about.

And sure, early on, the blatant racism was pretty worrisome.

Hell à la Frollo in Hunchback of Notre Dame; I’m just suggesting a return to the era in which bad guys got at least some of what Walt Disney once said, “All cartoon characters must be exaggerawas coming to them, the good guys had to actually do some tion, caricatures. It is the very nature of fantasy and fable.” But in work, and we all got to celebrate with an Oscar-winning musical all honesty, it may not have been necessary to name the leader of the black crows in Dumbo “Jim.” The crows are also voiced by number.

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white actors, who do their best parodies of Ebonics. The Native Americans in Peter Pan, the Middle-Eastern merchants in Aladdin and the jive-talking monkeys in The Jungle Book are enough to make anyone squirm. Song of the South was deemed bad enough that we aren’t even allowed to reflect on it. But Disney has done its best to rectify these mistakes. After all, Rapunzel of 2010’s Tangled was the first white Disney princess since Belle in 1991’s Beauty and the Beast. In the meantime we’ve had Middle-Eastern Jasmine, Gypsy/ethnically-ambiguous Esmeralda, Native-American Pocahontas, Chinese Mulan, African-American Tiana, and a whole lot of left-wing guilt.

Despite their valiant stab at “editing,” Disney never really held much back. In hindsight, I am genuinely flattered by how much mental stimulation the early Disney movies thought that kids deserved, usually exactly as much as adults deserve from their movies. 101 Dalmatians warrants some snaps for being the children’s version of Silence of the Lambs. The Lion King is reminiscent of “Hamlet,” with slightly less death. And the lack of a Gertrude element, we can safely assume, is due to the fact that if it were acceptable to be attracted to a cartoon cat, Scar would be our absolute last choice (or second to last, right ahead of Snagglepuss). “Hamlet” is one of the most highly praised and complex stories of all time, and I watched it in cartoon form at age four.

Aside from mental stimulation, there are also a lot of enduring truths you can pick up from Disney movies. Any given Disney movie has underlying themes of empowerment, standing up for what you believe in, and making your own fate. No one in a Disney movie sits on his or her butt waiting for life to come to them. Characters do what they have to and are consistently rebelling against injustice. If you watch A Bug’s Life, you can’t sit comfortably without yelling out some kind of angry epithet. Power to the people! Down with feudalism! It’s inspiring, and more than a little communist. Another valuable lesson: sometimes, righteous anger does condone violence. It’s okay for Hercules to punch the bejeezus out of Hades’ face because he’s a terrible person and he was asking for it. No one is disturbed by Shan-Yu exploding in a firework display and children cheering as hunks of burning villain fall from the sky at the end of Mulan because he had the world’s scariest voice, eyes, and haircut and he just plain deserved it. Scar can be eaten alive by his own hyena minions because this is both satisfying and scientifically accurate. Hyena teeth can crush bone.

The last ten years of Disney animation have been severely lacking in the characteristic frankness, complex plots, and necessary violence of the early years. Bolt, Wall-E, and Cars were mind numbing with meager-atbest attempts at messages of “Wow! Miley Cyrus,” “ador-

able robot love,” and “what inanimate object have we not made talk yet?” Not to say that there haven’t been moments of promise. The Princess and the Frog was a triumphant return to the old Disney princess plot line, with some nice pro-feminist undertones and a solid disparagement of voodoo witchcraft. Kudos, Disney, for giving satanic dealings some real consequences this time. And Toy Story 3 was a high point as well, featuring surprisingly legitimate plot-twists and satisfying comeuppance. The best of the recent batch is Up. It drew us in with an adorable old man and an endearingly overweight child. Then, it made everyone cry and left us asking, “Wait, was that guy going to murder a kid? For real? This is a Disney movie!”

Yeah, it is. Additionally, it warned us: be nice to old people, for members of the Boy Scout cult are getting written into more wills every single day. Scout’s honor, I drove my grandmother to the grocery store the very next day.

The last Disney movie I saw in theaters was the new Winnie the Pooh. The nostalgia made it a tear-jerker but the plot did not. There was no conflict, and at the end instead of a rewarding and adrenaline-fueled fight scene, there was a cute song about honey and lots of hugging. Hopefully this was a fluke, and the previously mentioned bright spots are the trend. I’m glad you nixed the racism and sexism, Disney, but can we get back some edge? I don’t want to have to buy Disney classics on the black market in fifteen years so that my kids don’t have mush-brains, but I’m prepared to do what I have to. Just like you taught me. ◊

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watch & listen

zooming in

the

awkward truth

Issa Rae and the rise of the awkward black chick ARIEL LAWRENCE

I

cannot remember the exact moment that strong black women disappeared from television, but somewhere between Living Single and Flavor of Love, things went terribly, terribly wrong.

Now it seems we are in a stalemate, almost polarized. On your average prime-time medical or legal drama, you can’t tell the one token black female character from the lamp standing next to her. On reality television there seems to be an endless supply of strippers and aspiring actresses with attitude problems that would make Rosie Perez uncomfortable. Ultimately, when I open my laptop or turn on my television, there is no one that acts like any black woman I know.

It’s not that I want a television show about my life, but simply one with a woman of color that I can relate to; one that speaks to women who can quote Back to the Future and Boyz in the Hood. Women who cannot dance but can do an early 90s Puff Daddy impression. Women who like Toro y Moi as much as Nicki Minaj. Women who are real, who are complex and, of course, awkward.

Luckily, Issa Rae, a 26-year-old independent writer and selfproclaimed “messtalker,” feels the exact same way. A graduate of Stanford University who has studied film at UCLA and the New York Film Academy, she has gained a strong following over the past year for her wildly successful web series “The Mis-Adventures of Awkward Black Girl,” (ABG). The series follows the social and romantic missteps of J, a black woman in her twenties working a job she hates with coworkers she cannot stand, all the while trying to get the man she loves to notice her—and

44

did I mention that she is also completely, undeniably, and undoubtedly awkward?

Although J claims in the opening sequence of the pilot that being awkward and black is the worst combination for anyone to be, fans agree it is her awkwardness that gives J her charm.

According to Rae, she came up with the concept to address the lack of rounded black female characters in the media as well as the lack of quirky black comedy. “I feel like social awkwardness is universal and I thought it would be funny to portray it from the POV of an awkward black girl,” Rae said in an interview with the blog Black Girl with Long Hair (BGLH). While the occasional non-white character might stumble into an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm or It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, ABG is remixing the awkward comedy to reflect the experience of awkward black and brown people everywhere.

When my roommate’s girlfriend first introduced me to ABG, I was amazed by all the things J and I had in common. I, too, shaved my head as a result of a traumatic one-night stand and too many glasses of wine. We both have an appreciation for the allure of terribly offensive rap music and, to my greatest surprise, we both have a healthy obsession with actor/rapper/comedian Donald Glover. After the first three episodes I was convinced that Issa Rae had secretly been filming my life for writing material, but I soon discovered that I was not alone.

Tracey Casseus, recent Ithaca College graduate and internship mastermind says, “I love ABG because it is so refreshing!

[J] is a woman I can relate to because she reminds me of myself and my friends. She is smart and witty, not into drama, catfights, or sleeping around. I love that she is awkward. I love that she doesn’t always say the right thing. I love that her life isn’t glamorous and perfect.”

Alicia Williams, another IC alum, took time off from occupying Chicago to say, “ABG is a clever approach to addressing everyday or common issues African-American women deal with.

Her portrayal of her boss’s unintended offensiveness towards

“

We’re not all desperate. We’re just normal, awkward girls trying to find ourselves.

”

her employees of color (i.e. “Can I touch your hair?”) is something I have personally encountered more times than I care to remember. Her portrayal as a black woman resonated with me. I’m awkward, and I love it. ABG also shows the self-restraint women of color have to have in order to not be perceived as the stereotypical ‘angry black woman.’”

“We’re not all ugly,” Rae told The Root, “We’re not all desperate. We’re just normal, awkward girls trying to find ourselves.”

The reality is I know that girl who makes up her own rap lyrics. I have been that girl who breaks a sweat every time I pass the girl in the hall whose name I should know (but can never remember). The number of women, from all classes, races, and backgrounds that say ABG is totally about my life, stands as a testimony to its impact. It is not so much that her story is every woman’s story, but that as a woman, and especially as a black woman, J is real. For women across the board, J is simply accessible.

Now, do not be confused, awkward is not a code word for white. What attracts many fans to J is that her experience is clearly tied to her race. J isn’t awkward because she is a black woman who cannot grasp black culture. With references and allusions from The Color Purple to The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, ABG is steeped in a distinctly black pop culture tradition.

“Black people have this inherent double consciousness anyway,” Rae later told BGLH. “We’re always second guessing ourselves. We’re always wondering or assuming what people think about us…there is an insecurity [there] that makes awkward comedy.” The fact that J cannot dance, that her boss constantly finds it necessary to touch her natural hair, that her first date with a white man is to a restaurant which specializes in fried chicken, speaks to the reality of which both Rae and J belong.

They are black women living in a world that is constantly trying to define and confine that experience.

When asked by AfriPOP! what she thinks women of color in the media need to do to get their message heard, Rae said “I think we, as black women, need to just create the media ourselves…Right now, pitching your idea to a network exec or an industry liaison just isn’t working, because they have this limited perception of black women and what they think black women want to see on the screen.” In this current moment, when the critics only recognize women of color through their grotesque pain (try being the only black girl at the dinner table discussing the cinematic rawness of Mo’Nique’s performance in Precious), Issa Rae has chosen to laugh where others have chosen a depressing sigh.

It is a comedy that is as much Larry David as it is Red Fox, and, most importantly, it works. While viewers are laughing about how “bitches be trippin” over missing staplers in the work

place or that born-again Christian we are pretty sure might have been in an episode of BET’s Uncut, we are opening our mind to new intersections of comedy and culture. As women of color, laughing at ABG, we are learning new ways to find joy in what was more often annoying in past experiences.

The success of the show became apparent to Rae and her crew when fans donated almost double the requested amount for ABG’s Kickstarter campaign this past summer. Even more exciting than the success of the show is the growing success of Rae herself. In the past six months, she has been interviewed and written about by many media outlets, from NPR to the Huffington Post and even CNN. She also signed with 3Arts Entertainment and the United Talent Agency—the same group that represents comedy writers such as Tina Fey and Amy Poehler— and there is talk of trying to bring ABG from the net to the small screen. Whatever comes next, J and Rae are paving the way for all women of color to bring their stories to the forefront. She is proving that no matter your race, awkward is always funny. ◊

art and layout by LAURA VAN WINKLE

45

watch & listen

zooming in

My Little

Brony Twilight Sparkle, Doctor Whooves, and their surprising fandom

I

art by ALLIE RIGGS layout by GINA CARGAS

46

ALEXIS BOYTSOV

t’s Saturday morning and I find myself surrounded by friends, plopped down on a carpeted floor in front of the television for what feels like the first time since childhood. There are seven of us in the Risley dorm room, eagerly awaiting the top of the hour and shushing each other every few minutes upon remembering that it’s still Quiet Hours. The very fact of a roomful of college students being up and focused on anything before 9 a.m. on a Saturday is perhaps noteworthy.

The occasion? Why, the premiere of a new episode of My Little Pony, of course!

Now, let’s get one thing straight: this isn’t your older sister’s My Little Pony. So what is it then? A long-awaited high-budget sequel? A plot-heavy drama? A gritty reboot starring Daniel Craig? Well, no... As a matter of fact, the essential qualities remain the same as they’ve always been. They’re ponies. They’re little. And they apparently belong to someone, if the title is to be trusted. But what has changed is the appeal of the show.

While My Little Pony has typically been consigned to the kiddy fodder pile along with Care Bears and Barney, the franchise’s new generation (subtitled Friendship Is Magic to separate it from the original 1986 show and the 1992 My Little Pony Tales) is drawing together a surprisingly wide fandom. Since launching in 2010 on The Hub (a new channel taking the place of Discovery Kids), the show has become an Internet sensation going beyond its classic target audience of young girls to capture a large, mainly male swath of teenage and young-adult nerds. Say hello to the Bronies! The viewer demographic categories for a YouTube posting of “Return of Harmony,” the first episode of the second season, speak for themselves. The top three viewer groups showing up are “Female 13-17,” “Male 13-17,” and “Male 1824.”

What’s the appeal? The first inclination is to ascribe it to either a guilty pleasure or some kind of ironic appreciation. While those may indeed play a part, that simply doesn’t explain the fandom’s fervor. Forums and websites, such as the ag-

“

gregator Equestria Daily (which compiles all sorts of fan fiction, fan art, fan videos, and any news it can lay its hooves on) have popped up all over the web.

The pure amount of fan creativity put into the fandom is impressive. Hundreds, if not thousands of fan-written stories can be found—some incredibly true to the format and as good as any official episode—and the amount of fan art is overwhelming.

What’s even more interesting is that the show has begun to answer back in some ways as the creators seem to take every opportunity to wink at the fandom. An official promo video which debuted in May, featuring “Equestria Girls,” a parody of Katy Perry’s “California Gurls,” includes the word “brony” (originally coined on 4chan) and namedrops DJ Pon3, a fan-named character who had previously appeared in a single episode of the first season without an official name attached to her. Similarly, a colt appearing in another episode and featuring an hourglass cutie mark (the name for the image on each pony’s flank, relating to his or her talent or special ability) and a suspiciously David Tennant-esque mane was dubbed “Doctor Whooves” in reference to the British show Doctor Who. The name has since been picked up by the show’s creators. As far as pop culture at large goes, Stephen Colbert’s August 1st, 2011 show included a shoutout from him to all the bronies watching and President Bill Clinton was dubbed an honorary brony after appearing on NPR’s Wait Wait... Don’t Tell Me! and answering a series of questions about the program.

My Little Pony also has quite a pedigree. Talent working on the show includes Tara Strong, best known for voicing the characters of Timmy Turner in The Fairly OddParents and the Powerpuff Girl Bubbles, and the mastermind behind the whole operation is Lauren Faust, a director, artist, and writer on Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends and The Powerpuff Girls.

Ultimately, the things that make the show worth watching are not the winks or gimmicks but simply that it is well written, creative, and colorful with good plots, fun music, and a lovable and very relatable cast. The episodes are quite diverse in their plots; some (admittedly the less popular ones) are set up as adventure stories, others as cautionary tales or fables about lessons of friendship. A few owe a debt to musical theatre (“Art of the Dress,” the song featured in the episode “Suited for Success,” is an homage to Stephen Sondheim’s “Putting It Together”).

Upon first viewing, the characters themselves mostly seem to fit the usual personality spectrum covered by children’s TV

heroes. There’s Twilight Sparkle, the brainy one; Applejack, the earthy, honest one; Fluttershy, the quiet, sensitive one; Rainbow Dash, the tomboy; Rarity, the fashionable one; and Pinkie Pie, the big-hearted party gal always ready to burst out in song. The wonderful thing about them, however, is that the characters have so much more to them than those descriptions can capture and so much relatability. In some Internet spaces, the show has gained queer overtones.

A friend of mine, who grew up in the mid-80s and associates the franchise with the origins of commercialized heteronormativity for children, marvels at the queer pride icons that some of the characters have become for many of our friends.

There is definitely something infectious about the Ponyverse. After watching through the show a couple months ago, I had a hell of a time trying to keep words like “somepony” or “everypony” out of my vocabulary for a couple of weeks. And did I mention the puns? The magical land of Equestria contains cities such as Canterlot and Fillydelphia and Manehatan!

It is my personal theory that the Doctor Whooves character is from the planet Gallopfrey. As such, Friendship Is Magic and everyone associated with it have promising futures because, like any good kids’ show, it doesn’t just entertain kids—it has the power to turn the viewer into a kid, even if for just a little while.

All in all, however, I feel that focusing too much on the unexpected nature of My Little Pony’s newfound male-centered Internet fandom sends the wrong message. Why should the show be remarkable simply for the fact that it attracts male viewership? This fact is noteworthy but it is simply one expression of the program’s quality. Lauren Faust put it best in responding to a question asked on her deviantART account, on how she felt about her show being obsessed over by “sexually repressed manchildren:” “Honestly??

I feel that people who call them that are ignorant aholes. That’s how I feel … The belief that boys shouldn’t be interested in girl things is the main reason there’s hardly anything decent for girls in animation—or almost any media, for that matter. It’s a backwards, sexist, outdated attitude.”

The day when the word “girly” applied to children’s TV shows is seen as a compliment may still be far off, but one hopes that My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic is a step in the right direction, rather than some sort of fluke. With luck, the show will continue staying true to its original roots and intent while at the same time being able to please an ever-growing fan base. If nothing more, it is good to know that the future of children’s television may be brighter than we 90s Nickelodeon snobs like to think. ◊

They’re ponies.

They’re little. And they apparently belong to someone.

”

47

Fiction & Poetry

Nibble

(On Amy Sillman’s M&Y)

by Dorothy Chan Y, can’t I stop your every nibble from your soft teeth?

You make me dribble, stroking my white-yellow cheeks, adding those half kisses that bite my arm as if your teeth are a body, swerving in with your forearms, framing me, angling in wherever you want, until we make one supple boulder rolling around near a spaceship, intertwined, your teeth on my arm and your cheek on my lips.

You're trying to get my full lips to glide from your stubbly cheek to your mouth until our teeth nearly touch and our mouths swim in a palette, our lips mixing colors non-stop until we get mud, like our boulder that won't stop rolling. I'll give you half kisses too. It's what I want, what I please, because I can be cruel to your body.

Y, you be selfish. It's fine, because I can't stand his body, his mouth, the dialogue from his lips, calling me at midnight telling me how his day was. He wants me to grind my teeth every time he gets co-dependent on his "How do I do this?" and "I'm such a child" talk. But no kisses, his Wall Street cold demeanor to your sunful sex boy grin. His couple-like talk in the libraries—we argue playfully non-stop. "You idiot" and "Oooh here's a funny story," he tells everyone how I plunge backwards when I laugh and squint one eye when I eat.

He loves how my suspenders hug my midriff… but no kisses.

He's so worried about losing… me, my laugh, my eye, that our lips can't touch. My teeth keep grinding and I clench my fists, but you'll let me have what I want as we embrace where everyone sees us. You're some "best friend" to him, and I want this downwards feeling I get from my throat below my stomach to not stop. Around everywhere your teeth can travel and I'll let my mouth meet your fingers, but let's not have our lips touch and just stick to these weird half kisses, the dark under the sun, because he can't see this. No, not these weird half kisses.

Yes, Y, you and I can do what we want, and you can be selfish. Unlike him, I want my lips to meet your neck, close to your cologne mixed smell, but around everywhere, I can only see your body, while I miss everything that comes out of his mouth, and the smile from his teeth.

Your lips meet mine and I feel that never-ending dirty palette in this real kiss, while I just think about how cute his teeth are when he laughs. How I want these pigments to stop traveling around, but then the boulder starts and won't stop rolling our bodies down that alley.

48

Morendo

In imitation of Frank Bidart, particularly the poem “Old Man at the Wheel�

by Saeward Schillaci in the cacophony you could not be heard you had a moving line your diaphony was drowned colossal drops beating down on space itself until all was saturated drumming displaced the air you struggled to extricate yourself from the viscid mud crawling without knowing where or why in a pathless expanse you enveloped yourself with mud and garbage finally sheltered from an implacable universe.

statuary

alone, enshrouded, you returned to the aria discovered your single notes had actually belonged to mighty chords

by Corbin Dewitt usually they say carved out of marble and mean hammer & chisel all rough edges. but marble when you touch it is smooth and pale a little mysterious

( of course marble though luminous is not half so warm )

in the moonlight you are a statue oberon long-haired lover half asleep in my arms.

i want to carve you out of marble, or carve the marble out of you: sculpt through your edges the sweet fair skin the birdcage ribs until left only with your bright beating heart in my hands.

instead i press my face into your soft white shoulder and speak not a word 49

Fiction & Poetry

DSM-IV-TR #300.3 (three-hundred-point-three)

by Jenna Paulson i wipe beige? linoleum with lemon cleanser in aisle fifteen hand moves forty times side-to-side my index nail scrapes the floor a speck? but that was only thirty-eight at least i think it was but i think i forgot to lock my window? if i did a leaf might blow inside on the floor but then my floor wont be clean? if i go home now they might think im going away for ‘a long time again’ last time i think i took the twenty-two for two hours? to find the right brand of lemon cleanser but then i knew i left it under the shelf aisle seven? ive stopped at thirty eight not forty, two more right-and-left s maybe i should stack the tomato soup twenty-five oh-so-straight one of the tomatofronts was leftish getting up carefully dont soil the floor sitting first removing shoes untying laces carrying shoes to aisle four soup-and-broth? i changed the sign this morning, its different now? i forgot the lemon cleaner in aisle three the cans are now twenty i count one on the beigey linoleum, someone could get BOTULISM reaching down put the shoes in pockets so not to soil the floor specks everywhere? the can under aisle seven its still there i cant remember, the tomato soup safely removed so not to cause BOTULISM the floor might be soiled again in aisle three turn the leftish tomatofront rightish getting up carefully dont soil the floor sitting first replacing shoes retying laces carefully walk so not to soil the floor aisle four, isnt soup-and-broth? aisle fifteen, has the lemon cleanser aisle four, has the removed BOTULISM aisle seven, has the tomato soup under it still the twenty-two, leaves at three-thirty-three A.M. the leaf on the floor, if i left open the window maybe? at least i wiped side-to-side forty times and scraped the speck 50

How It Happened

by Alex Erdmann This is how it happened When the circles all stopped turning on my feet and in my head When my cellular stopped ringing and I almost gave a fuck When any lousy bastard was as good a man as I There’s something spiritual in stasis winding tight around your feet I could write about a girl who smells of tulips in the Spring That, beat back by the rain rear up at last A girl who dances like the waves who whistles while she sings Or glimmers in her dresses like the sunlight through the trees But it’s not quite her I could write about a girl so wry—a proper flirting tease A girl that wears a mini-skirt but seldom spreads her knees I could cast a girl from Hollywood A whore dressed as a nun But that wasn’t her And that’s not how it happened I felt my spiral tighten— There was nothing I could do Like God, himself was guarding my mystique of lonely hero Well that’s how it felt Who knows how it happened?

She tried to buy with borrowed words My memory Until we shall meet And change it Again We shall meet again Just like everyone else Now may the Lord Hide inside church Loath yourself and Give me rest Power and sovereignty Cameras and authority Pour out my spirit May the Lord My ruin Destruction Into you Watch me forever In lights and silent songs My face to shine upon you Until our savior comes And then Just know that you were wrong.

51

Fiction & Poetry

On My 19th Birthday

By Saeward Schillaci to write a poem about anything: not just any thing whatever thing you decide but actually about: the idea of anything don’t confuse with: everything nothing something after I wrote that last bit I realized I don’t know what anything means to write a poem about nothing: romantic in a poety way something every teenager ought to reminds me: be less responsible have more angst while I still have the chance to ignore mother feel alone feel nothingness feel a lot get felt up get fed up lost love misplaced it somewhere messy old backpack stumble through: starry stormy nightness mother doesn’t know anything (what a confusing word) maybe when I’m older knows nothing now about to write a poem about angst: nifty combination of consonants to write a poem full of angst: love and loss which any proper teenager knows: all we actually think about like D kissed K like T told B like downhill from there like D is in a relationship with M fourteen likes but seriously almost lost her found her: cliff ’s edge like she was drowning in the kiddie pool of her own eyes like in Princess Bride: Life is pain, highness. Anyone who says otherwise is selling something. anything to forget bought: new backpack emptied the old found love today I spent hours mocking myself for thinking my life is difficult: no fun at all to write something meaningful: make you smile or cry a little or think anything (there’s that stupid word again) change your life to find inspiration: listen angry music enjoy that crazy old recluse Emily Dickinson Macbeth It is but a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing try to think of something more original go for a walk and stare at the neighbor’s Turf Type Tall Fescue and try to imagine anything: fight dutifully declare my undying love angsty teenage thoughts cliché just can’t get away from that stuff rebel against clichés think about the phrase: old and disillusioned feel young and disillusioned like it’s my job to wonder if it gets worse: this is normal because nothing is new realize anything meaning something has been written looking back to rebel: write a poem about angst anyway 52

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Psst. Hey you.

Yeah, you.

Thought ya might want to know, the gnomes are coming, coming reaaaal soon like. But ya didn’t hear it from me, yeah? I didn’t tell you’s nuthin.

Just keep an eye out next issue. Or two eyes. Whatever.

Kitsch, Spring 2012.

Check it.