Metrosphere Vol. 35 | Issue 2 by Met Media

METROFEAR

SPECIAL EDITION

Open if you dare p. 26 Vol. 35 | Issue 2

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR

as well as fabulous feature stories, from Victoria Edstedt’s Seen and Heard about one young boy living with autism, to Alysha Prieto’s “Tastemaker: Nadeen Ibrahim” about one woman’s experience with wearing a hijab. Yet, as you turn the page after Cassie Reid’s preview of the Telluride Horror Show things take a different, darker turn. Welcome to this year’s special edition of Metrofear: Obsession, a collection of chilling poems and prose with haunting artwork to match. From Nick Thomas’ Niña Diabólica to Kelsey Nelson’s Horrors in Morestel, this year’s Metrofear is sure to leave you sleeping with the lights on. If the submissions you see inspire you, then be sure to send some of yours our way. Metrosphere’s year-end arts and lit edition in April is another opportunity for student and alumni writers, artists and designers to be seen and heard across campus and beyond. While I may be beyond trick-or-treating and my bonnet no longer fits, my love for all things October lives on in these pages. So, order up your favorite autumn-flavored latte, pop up some popcorn and please enjoy.

– DEANNA HIRSCH

Photo by J. Renae Davidson

h, October. For some, it signals the start of all things pumpkin spice, colorful leaves and cozy sweaters. For others, October still means one thing and one thing only, Halloween. I can still remember my first trick-or-treat. Dressed as Holly Hobbie, with a bonnet bigger than my head, I couldn’t wait to knock from door-to-door, fi lling up my pillow case with all the candy I could carry along the way. Bundled up, with mom and dad in tow, I bounced from house to house with glee. When I scored my first full-size Hershey bar, it was like getting the Golden Ticket and equally hard to part with. Whereas I was grateful to give my mom all my Good & Plenty. Thirty years later, I still haven’t acquired a taste for licorice, but chocolate is forever. Taking my daughter trick-or-treating, I see not much has changed. Bags of peanut M&Ms are good, bags of toothpaste and floss from the neighborhood dentist are bad. No kid cares about oral health come Halloween. What kids do care about, from my little one, to the big kids on campus come this time of year, is the thrill of the chill. No matter how old you get, there’s nothing quite like curling up with a scary movie and big bowl of popcorn, or if you’re like us here at Metrosphere, curling up with the October Metrofear edition. Inside this issue you’ll still find the sections you’re starting to look forward to like METRO and THREADS,

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STAFF EDITOR-IN-CHIEF DEANNA HIRSCH dhirsch6@msudenver.edu ASSOCIATE EDITOR PACIFIC OBADIAH pobadiah@msudenver.edu METRO EDITOR TERESA DIAZ-SORIANO tdiazsor@msudenver.edu INTERSECTION EDITOR CHEYENNE DECHRISTOPHER cdechris@msudenver.edu TECHNOSPHERE EDITOR HAYES MADSEN hmadsen3@msudenver.edu THREADS EDITOR ALYSHA PRIETO aprieto4@msudenver.edu PHOTO EDITOR CARL GLENN PAYNE cpayne16@msudenver.edu PR ASSOCIATE PRESTON MORSE pmorse3@msudenver.edu

WORDS DANIELLE MEYER GABRIELA RODRIGUEZ VICTORIA EDSTEDT KATE LAUER JACQUELYNE MIDO GOLVER GARDELL NEAL JR. CASSIE REID KELSEY NELSON NICHOLAS THOMAS COURTNEY SULLIVAN DANIEL ROTTENBERG PHOTOS MICHELLE RISINGER SARA HERTWIG VICTORIA EDSTEDT BRANDON N. SANCHEZ MICHAEL ORTIZ ART COVER IVY LINDSTROM ILLUSTRATIONS ELVA PARGA METROFEAR KRISTEN MORRISON

No part of this book may be used or reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without prior permission of Met Media, except in the context of reviews. 2

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COPY EDITING KARLA ESTRADA ADDITIONAL REPORTING DAYNA HIMOT MET MEDIA

STEVE HAIGH, DIRECTOR RONAN Oâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;SHEA, ASSISTANT DIRECTOR KATHLEEN JEWBY, PRODUCTION MANAGER ELIZABETH NORBERG, OFFICE MANAGER Met Media P.O. Box 173362, CB57 Denver, CO 80217-3362

Printed by Frederic Printing

CONTENTS

METRO MY FIRST TIME WITH THE PHANTOM P. 7 FRANKS AND BEATS P. 8 INTERSECTION SEEN AND HEARD P. 10 COLORADO SPRINGS UNLIKELY CANDIDATE P. 14 HOW TO DATE A FEMINIST: A GUIDE P. 16 IMBUE ARTS AND CLASS P. 18 STICKS AND CONES P. 20 FESTIVAL SLASHES HORROR TROPES P. 23 METROFEAR HORRORS IN MORESTEL P. 28 NIÑA DIABÓLICA P. 32 BUS BOY P. 38 LIONGRASS P. 42 TECHNOSPHERE LISA HAAS CONNECTS P. 46 TALK TECH TO ME P. 48 THREADS TASTEMAKER: NADEEN IBRAHIM P. 50 BRANDED: ORENDA LOU P. 53 ABOUT TOWN P. 56

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Denver msuMSU denver BFA Thesis Exhibitions FALL 2016 BFA THESIS EXHIBITION FALL 2016

The work The of graduating studio artists andartists communication designers designers. work of graduating studio and communication

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A Colorado reporter investigates the costumes on display in the Temple Buell Theater lobby before the opening night of the Phantom of the Opera Aug. 26, 2016 6

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Photos by Michelle Risinger

METROFEAR

METRO

My first time with the Phantom BY DANIELLE MEYER

Photos by Michelle Risinger

’m late, as usual. I scramble out of the car trying to grab everything I thought I’d need for the event: a notebook, jacket, water, and some power bars. It feels like I’m going on a hike, not to the theater. I’ve never been to a Broadway show, or the Denver Center for the Performing Arts, so I don’t know where to go or what to expect. When I finally arrive and get to the elevators, I press the button at least 27 times before it moves. I try to look cool, calm and collected as I run-walk up to the check-in table. A vibrant looking blonde fiercely scans her finger across lines of names, and highlights mine as she hands me my media pass and ticket Taking a deep breath, fi xing my hair and straightening my outfit, I squeeze through the crowd of people bee-lining to what I think is some kind of a dress. I stop inches away from a mannequin wearing the most elegant, detailed piece of clothing I have ever seen. Pastel shades of blue, pink and purple, with elegant, but also adorable, white ruffles, hang from the sleeves. I creep down the catwalk of mannequins studying the intricate work of Maria Bjornson, a Tony-award winning seamstress. Her embroidery in the collar of the Phantom’s cape, the array of colors in the dress worn by the character Christine, are just a few of the jaw-dropping displays. What I’m most blown away by is the weight of the dresses. I couldn’t imagine acting in that for hours. I was sweating in my leggings and a blouse just standing there. Around 7:15 p.m. the doors open for us to all pile into the 3,000-seat Buell Theatre. I am not really paying attention to where my seat is, I just

follow the crowd. As I creep closer and closer to the stage, I realize I’m in the orchestra seating, 10 rows from the stage. This performance is a completely new production created by Cameron Mackintosh, with a reinvented stage and the most beautiful set design. With a cast and orchestra of 52, it is the largest production on tour in Northern America. I am beyond excited, but terrified at the same time. I sit alone, but I’m not lonely. Everyone sitting around me A DCPA stagehand rigs the 1-ton chandelier makes it a point to for the premiere performance. include me in their experience. I learn this night that I couldn’t have picked a better theater is community, both on and off opportunity to experience my first the stage. Broadway show. I don’t want to say it The show was nothing I expected changed my life, but in a way it did. and a roller coaster of emotions. I Next time I’ll be early. laughed when Don Attilio tried to dance. I jumped with fright when the 1-ton chandelier dropped 10 feet above my head. And I cried during the iconic “Music of the Night” performance. I have the utmost respect for all of the actors, stage managers, directors and understudies, who devote their lives to entertaining strangers and making them feel like family, one song at a time. Metrosphere Vol 35 | Issue 2 | 7

METRO

Franks and beats BY GABRIELA RODRIGUEZ

went up to the Biker Jim's Gourmet Dogs cart on campus for the first time and asked for an all-natural beef hotdog. “That’s it?” asked Jerry Cass, the man behind the cart. “That’s just the same weiner from King Soopers.” “Oh, OK,” I responded, a bit disoriented. “German Veil Brat?” “There you go,” Cass said, and went on jamming to the old school hiphop that was playing on his stereo. I appreciated Cass’ critique, as he saved me from paying for an overpriced weiner and introduced me to the delicious adventure of exotic street meat. The Biker Jim’s cart is stationed in the courtyard between the Tivoli and the P.E. Events Center, but the smoky aroma can grace you all the way from the King Center. The cart’s in service Monday through Thursday during the campus rush hours. Visiting the cart is like stopping by a block party. There’s a sense of community among the customers, facilitated by the uplifting old school rap, rock, soul, hip-hop or jazz music playing. Cass and the music have been on Auraria Campus for more than two years. He enjoys this location because of the atmosphere and pace of the campus. Previously, his cart was stationed on the 16th Street Mall. “It seems everybody here has got some focus, they know what they want in the world,” Cass said. Students often sit behind Cass’ cart on the P.E. steps like spectators at a sporting event, getting a behindthe-scenes look at his grilling form. Cass puts on a good show, fearlessly twirls sausages, while simultaneously handling a shot killet fi lled with glazing onions. Little do the spectators

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know that Cass is more than just a hot dog man. When 6 p.m. rolls around, Cass packs up his dogs, closes his cart, and heads down to the recording studio to bust out some vocals for his funk-rockrap band, White Fudge. Cass has been a vocalist for White Fudge for the past 11 years. Before that, he played in numerous punk rock bands. “I was a punk rock kid. That’s when I got 90 percent of [my] tattoos. Now

“So many people, even when you’re a kid, want to be a rock star. Out of the thousands of people that are going to try to do that, so few ﬁnd real success in it.” -Jerry Cass I’m a dad, and I don’t regret getting any tattoos, but I haven’t gotten any in about 10 years,” Cass said. White Fudge has rocked Colorado shows alongside performers like Snoop Dogg, Warren G, Nappy Roots, Slikk Rikk, Lyrics Born and many more. “I’ve always said that being a musician is kind of like playing the lottery for a living,” Cass said about his musical career. “So many people, even when you’re a kid, want to be a rock star. Out of the thousands of people that are going to try to do that, so few find real success in it.”

Now, as a husband and father of two daughters, balancing a music career is not easy. “It can be very tricky,” Cass said. “My wife is a stay-at-home mom, and that helps because every Monday night I have to go to the studio all night. And at least one weekend a month we are playing shows, so I definitely couldn’t do it without her.” The band released an album last year titled, “The People Vs. White Fudge.” Cass credits performing with other musicians as a form of inspiration and growth. His favorite musician is a Japanese rapper out of Oakland called Lyrics Born, who stands out because of his use of horns and organs. “For years White Fudge was just a three-piece hip-hop show; it never really evolved past that until we played with Lyrics Born,” Cass said. “We played with him at the Oriental and he brought a full band and he had backup singers and dancers, and we were like, that’s what we need.” Although his band takes off for that monthly show, Cass is generally solo, selling dogs and rocking the boom box that sits loyally by the condiment bar. Cass takes customer service as seriously as he takes music. When someone walks up to his cart, Cass looks over and smiles, making sure to acknowledge them and ensuring that they are in the right line. His favorite type of customers are the ones who value his opinion. "The ones that say, 'Give me what’s good,' because every time I go out to eat, I ask the waiter, ‘What’s good here?’” Cass said. “Because I figure the guy that has to eat that food knows what to get.”

Jerry Cass performs at the Oriental Theater with his band, White Fudge, on Aug. 13, 2016.

Photos by Sara Hertwig

Jerry Cass

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Ramon and Tina

METROFEAR

Seen and heard WORDS AND PHOTOS BY VICTORIA EDSTEDT

There are 1,000 8-year-olds living in Colorado who have been identified as autistic. This is one boyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s story. 10 | Metrosphere Vol 35 | Issue 2

hat night Ramon had dinner at McDonald’s. He ate so fast, you would think he had never eaten before. He made himself sick. That was Ramon’s first night with his new family. His mother and father couldn’t take care of him anymore. Ramon’s parents lacked the money and the capacity to invest in their child’s development. His mother is an alcoholic, and his father was charged with a sexual offense against a minor, for which he served time in jail. As a result, Ramon came into Kaylene and her partner Tina’s life unexpectedly. About three years ago they received a phone call saying that Ramon’s mother had been arrested and that if nobody took him, Social Services would put Ramon in foster care. “We were like, ‘What are you talking about?’” said Kaylene, Ramon’s great-aunt. “We didn’t know the situation. His dad doesn’t really want to be involved in his life, so he was staying with his step-sister’s grandmother, who was not biological to him, and she didn’t want to take care of him either.” Kaylene has 32 nieces and nephews. Some live in unfit housing. “I didn’t want to let another kid in my family go into the system, so we decided we are going to take him.” It was a turning point for everyone because Ramon is not just any child from an unstable home. Ramon is autistic.

Breaking the cycle

When Kaylene and Tina agreed to be Ramon’s legal guardians, they didn’t know much about his condition. “I went to a family meeting with Denver Human Services and they didn’t give us any information,” Tina said. “We knew he was autistic, and

that’s all we knew.” There is a possibility that the disorder Ramon suffers from is more of a mental block than a physical illness. “Unfortunately, that’s something we are not 100 percent clear on,” Tina said. “He does have the ability to speak. Nothing is wrong with him physically, so some people say it’s selective mutism.” However, one of the major autism characteristics is a difficulty to interact verbally and this is one of a few signs Ramon shows. Kaylene said that her extended family remembers Ramon talking when he was little, but a traumatic event left him mute. “There was a big argument: windows broken, police showed up – things like that,” Kaylene said. “They think that’s why he stopped talking. There was a lot of neglect too.”

Between two worlds

Kaylene and Tina work at the Denver 911 Emergency Communications Center. Kaylene is an operator and Tina dispatches the police. Metrosphere has withheld last names at Kaylene and Tina’s request Neither has ever had a childe of her own. Raising Ramon is something they’re learning as they go, especially adjusting to his specific needs and strengthening their two-way communication. “When he came to live with us at 6, he never slept through the night,” Tina said. “He had never slept in his own bed, couldn’t zip his jacket and would hug you sideways.” In addition, Kaylene said that Ramon couldn’t hold his attention for very long. He didn’t like to watch movies and had a hard time concentrating. “He is just now starting to develop some sort of language and comprehension because he didn’t have

any therapy before,” Tina said. “There is a communication barrier, obviously,” Kaylene agreed. “He doesn’t verbalize back, but if I’ll tell him to go brush his teeth, he’ll go brush his teeth. So he understands us – we just can’t understand him.” For now, Ramon uses a talking device that has software called TalkChat. It was designed specifically for people who have difficulty speaking and communicating. The talker can be pre-programmed with

“I like to see him prove people wrong.” Tina words and pictures, so when you touch one of them it speaks out loud for you. “This is a very intuitive type of system,” Tina said. “You have to find your way through it and it all requires programming.” Ramon can articulate wants and needs, but he is still struggling with indicating feelings. “Talker can be customized, but you have to figure out how to customize it. When he doesn’t talk, you have only got a best guess.” Ramon attends regular school and spends mornings in a focused classroom, where assignments are modified so they make sense to him, but Tina and Kaylene don’t like it. They are afraid that Ramon will pick up bad habits from others lower on the spectrum. “They just place them all in one classroom,” Kaylene continued. “There is not enough resources.” She also said that when they were looking for individual programs it was hard to find anything. “I hate to say it, but it’s because we both work,” Tina said. “Here is a crazy thing,” Kaylene continued. “They go

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METRO

Ramon and his speech therapist Molly use his “talker” to add new phrases Ramon has just learned. Even though it’s an intuitive type of system, algorithms often fail to convey his exact meaning.

by household income and we make way too much money to qualify for those programs. Insurance covers speech therapy. That’s it.”

The power of love and trust Although resources for the family are limited, Ramon has made progress living with Kaylene and Tina. He just turned 9 and he can do all kinds of things. He can spell out his name, read small books, focus on a program, and tie his shoes – but most importantly, Ramon has become more social. “When he’ll meet you, he’ll hug you, or he’ll shake your hand immediately, and most autistic kids wouldn’t do that,” Kaylene said. In his free time, Ramon watches “Goosebumps” and “Alvin and the 12 | Metrosphere Vol 35 | Issue 2

Chipmunks” – those are his two favorite shows. He is also a talented artist. Kaylene and Tina have seen him draw with perspective – stuff you would not expect from an 8 -or 9-yearold. However, it’s hard for them to track Ramon’s progress because most of the time he draws on the magnetic board and doesn’t like his art to be seen. Despite these small peculiarities, Ramon is getting better at socializing and expressing himself. “He’ll throw attitude when he doesn’t want to do something. He’ll get mad,” said Kaylene, laughing. “He’s starting to show emotions.” A lot of what Tina and Kaylene had to do with Ramon is build trust.

They are supportive of his desire for independence and are proud of every step he makes. “I like to see him prove people wrong,” Tina said. “Where everyone looks at him as being a retard, and I watch him blowing their minds.” Ramon sees his biological mother, who gets to visit him from time to time, but he knows that at the end of the day he’ll come back to his other moms, where he is safe, where he is home. “He is a normal kid who can’t speak,” Kaylene said, “and he is behind because he can’t speak. But that’s about it.”

Tina, Ramon and Kaylene Metrosphere Vol 35 | Issue 2 | 13

INTERSECTION

Colorado Springs unlikely candidate BY CHEYENNE DECHRISTOPHER

he boom that was Sen. Bernie Sanders political revolution ended like a monstrous bonfire, consuming too much fuel and burning itself out. Yet, despite its resolution, the David and Goliath narrative remains prevalent in the minds of Sanders supporters. For supporter Misty Plowright, the love for these kinds of tales was kindled so much so that she decided to literally follow his example and run for national office. Plowright is running as a Democrat for the congressional seat to represent Colorado’s Fift h District. This district in the center of the state includes Colorado Springs as well as suburbs like Cimarron, Hills and Fort Carson. Plowright’s opponent is Republican incumbent, Rep. Doug Lamborn, who’s held the seat for the past five terms. While Plowright has no previous experience, nor university education, she plans to unseat Lamborn with her philosophy of respect and mutual understanding. “Even when people disagree with me vehemently on certain issues or ideologically, I can reach them in one fashion or another and get them on my side,” Plowright said. As a newcomer to the political world, Plowright must learn as she goes, as there is not much of an example for her to follow. Plowright is also one of two openly transgender people in the United States running for national office. In running as not just a proud trans woman, but also as a person in a loving, polyamorous relationship, Plowright intends to bring visibility to these marginalized communities.

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“My hope would be that someone else who is trans can see that it doesn’t have to prevent them from succeeding,” Plowright said. Despite this message of acceptance, Dr. Michael J. McNeal from MSU Denver’s Department of Political Science worries that these identities will not be accepted in Plowrights conservative district. “I don’t, however, know how amenable voters will be to her campaign, at least this go-around, particularly given prejudices that exist toward transgender individuals,” McNeal said. He notes that if the demographics of Plowrights district changed into something more closely resembling liberal Denver’s Second District, she would have less of an uphill battle. Mathlan Lumley, program assistant at the LGBTQ Student Resource Center at Auraria, is drawn to Plowright’s campaign because of the significance of what it represents. “Bringing in alternative lifestyles is always important for visibility because there’s a lot of misconceptions around non-monogamy and polyamorous relationships. So, having someone who is in a respectable position could help dispel some of those misconceptions,” Lumely said. Alhough Plowright’s campaign was picked up by the media because of her being a trans women in politics, she does not want to be pigeonholed into being just the LGBT candidate. An issue incredibly important for Plowright is her commitment to veterans, as she herself served in the Army. “I don’t want to take up the VA’s time on me because my needs are

very minor in the grand scheme of things,” said Plowright, who never experienced combat during her time in the military. One of Plowright’s main goals is to allow veterans in Colorado Springs to be able to use services close to their home and without having to travel around to find larger or better equipped VA hospitals. Another term for Lamborn “would mean vets continued to get screwed,” Plowright said. Despite her unique position in the political world, Lamborn has experience and is well supported in his conservative district. Lamborn and his campaign were unreachable for comment. As Plowright prepares for the battle against Lamborn come Nov. 8, she anticipates attacks based on her gender identity and sexual orientation. For some in her conservative, religious district, polyamory is considered sinful and may cost her votes. Yet, Plowright remains hopeful. “We’re all people, and we deserve the same dignity, respect, protection of the law and application of the law,” Plowright said. Though Lumley doesn’t live within Plowright’s district, he said she’d have his vote, based on all that she represents and all that her opponent does not. “I don’t think that she’s going to win that election,” Lumley said, “But that doesn’t mean that she’s not going to succeed, because she’s gotten into the public eye and established herself as a political candidate.”

Misty Plowright

Strength is not always measured in terms of physical ability. Here on the Auraria campus, individuals experiencing life with the identity of being undocumented youth, find the strength and courage within themselves to pursue their education goals, despite the obstacles they face as undocumented people. Wendy Paola Galan-Ayala is a junior with a Human Nutrition/ Dietetics major at MSU Denver. At just three-years-old, she and her family emigrated from Guadalajara, Jalisco to a small town in Colorado called Granada. Like most immigrants, Galan-Ayala’s family was looking for a better life, hoping to achieve the American Dream and escape corruption in Mexico. At the tender age of six, GalanAyala’s family decided that they could no longer put up with the discrimination and limitations they faced as undocumented people. Limitations could be seen in some instances like driving, because they did not have driver’s licenses, and they often had to be silent about being undocumented due to fear of deportation. The Galan-Ayala family made the decision to return to Mexico, but a turn of unfortunate events led them to stay. Galan-Ayala herself was diagnosed with cancer after a bump appeared on her head, and the family decided it would be best for her to be treated in Colorado. Today, a cancer survivor and an undocumented student, Galan-Ayala continues to face a number of obstacles as she continues on her journey to be the first in her family to graduate from college. Throughout her Misty Plowright poses for a photo college career, Galan-Ayala had to outside City Hall in Coloradohas Springs, work 2, multiple Sept. 2016. jobs to afford rent and

tuition. “[Working multiple jobs] has affected me academically, my first semester I was working up to 70 hours. I had to choose to sleep for 4 hours or stay up and do my homework”, Galan-Ayala said. Looking back at her journey, Galan-Ayala mentioned the number of times she felt like giving up. “At one point you say, why did I have to be this? You compare yourself to the white folks who have these privileges that they take for granted,” said Galan-Ayala. Even with all the odds stacked against her, Galan-Ayala continues to fight and work towards fulfilling her dream of graduating college. Her brother, Erick Raul Galan-Ayala admires his sister for her strength and dedication. “She has to pay out of her pocket, but that doesn’t push her to drop out, that’s why she’s strong,” he said. “Everything’s possible and if you work hard enough and keep trying it pays off, I’ve learned from her to never give up.” This reality is one that many undocumented students face due to the fact that they are not eligible for financial aid and government assistance. Galan-Ayala is just one of many undocumented students here at MSU Denver that struggle to keep up with their studies and make ends meet. In 2012 President Obama used executive action to pass the DACA, Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals policy. DACA is an immigration policy that allows certain undocumented individuals who entered the country before their 16th birthday and before June 2007 to

receive a renewable two-year work permit and exemption from deportation. With the help of DACA, GalanAyala has been able to obtain a driver’s license, a work permits and continue to fund her education at in-state tuition rates. Long time friend and current boyfriend, Emmanuel Chavez, recognizes the privileges that come with citizenship, “I didn’t have to experience being undocumented. Since I’ve known Wendy, I’ve realized it’s difficult, it makes it harder to complete her dreams, you don’t have the same rights [being undocumented]. It’s not easy being undocumented. She works very hard. It’s made her really strong,” Chavez said. As she continues on her journey, Galan-Ayala is working on accepting her identity as an undocumented student and hopes to encourage others to stay strong and continue fighting. “I feel like I’ve learned a lot. If I had a message to all these undocumented students on this campus right now, I’d say to never give up, it’s gonna get better, just hold on to faith and hope. I’m learning to accept and love who I am, because I’m not gonna magically change and be somebody else. I am who I am and that’s all there is. Period. That’s me, and I’m proud to be who I am,” Galan-Ayala said.

Photo by Sara Hertwig

Metrosphere Vol 35 | Issue 2 | 15

INTERSECTION

How to date a feminist: A guide BY KATE LAUER

Photo provided by author

Jake and Kate enjoy the adventure of being together.

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y boyfriend is awesome. He is supportive and kind, the best cuddler in the world, and his sleepy morning rambles are on par with Daoist philosophy. My boyfriend is awesome, but I honestly believe myself and my feminism, that is, my belief in the equality of all genders, races, sexualities, abilities, etc., flummoxes him sometimes. It can’t be easy to date a woman who constantly pushes you to question your privilege — nor is it easy to romance a partner who really likes to yell about reproductive freedom at the Capitol. Worst of all is the meetthe-parents-experience in which I enthusiastically explain why I am super passionate about domestic violence. Dating a feminist can be hard, especially for those who didn’t grow up identifying as such. My boyfriend, hereafter referred to as Jake, doesn’t readily identify as a feminist — enter me. I’m by far the most “radical” woman he’s ever dated, and by the third date I’d already gone off on a tangent about intersectionality. Jake is fully aware that to romance me is to romance feminism and he’s jumped in without complaint, though he probably wishes he had a how-to manual at the time. So, in the spirit of his courage, I present to you a guide for dating a feminist. Granted, this is a data point of one and would probably be better titled, “How to date this particular feminist,” but I’d like to think some of these points are universal.

Ask questions.

Feminists can be confusing. We use funny words like “egalitarian,” “intersectionality” and “tintinnabulation” (that last one may be just me). Moreover, the lingo is a living organism that is ever changing as words are set aside and taken up again as we examine how language affects marginalized groups. It can be hard to keep up, which is why everyone who dates a feminist absolutely must ask questions. There is no shame in admitting you don’t know something; there is, however, shame in thinking tintinnabulation is a new wave of feminism (for those who are wondering tintinnabulation is the ringing of bells — yes, I am a giantword nerd).

Argue with us

Feminists are used to being argued with — it is one of our favorite pasttimes. Everyone gets a voice in feminism, even if we don’t like what that voice has to say. The sharing and debating of ideas is what allows for a diverse array of experiences to be told. So, if you honestly think that cat-calling is not as bad as we’re making it out to be, argue with us! We will gladly listen before countering. Feminists, as a group, are very likely to allow for our points of view to be changed. We just ask that you be as open-minded as well.

Punch up your jokes

I cannot tell a joke. I can’t do it. Jake on the other hand is a master of

the set-’em-up, knock-’em-down art of one-liners. He also understands my boundaries about jokes. He will poke fun at my feminism, but all the jokes always “punch up” at patriarchy as opposed to “punching down” at women. When he makes jokes, the real butt of the joke is the misogynists who perpetuate gender roles and not the women fighting for equality. And he NEVER jokes about the two topics I have declared offlimits: rape and domestic violence. It’s not because he can’t think of rape jokes, it’s because he respects my boundaries and also understands why those jokes are not OK.

and how he could be contributing to it, it’s a huge thing. Jake may not always understand how his privilege is affecting his experience, but he’s very open to listening and educating himself as to why it’s important that he does so.

This should not deter you from wanting to date a feminist—we are super fun and we come equipped with passion, a voice we never hesitate to use, and many fun buttons with which you can decorate your favorite vest.

Check your privilege

Jake texted one day, worried that the shirt he had chosen to wear was offensive, and I swooned over his uncertainty about appropriation. Some people know it’s true love when their partner remembers their favorite flower or candy bar. Feminists know it’s true love when their partner begins to check their own privilege without provocation. Checking privilege is rarely ever fun, and as a white woman I personally still have a long way to go. For someone like Jake, who never had to think about appropriation, oppression and intersectionality before

Buy us doughnuts when we’re sick Strawberry-iced from Dunkin Donuts are preferred. Dating a feminist isn’t that much different from dating anyone else; we have likes, dislikes and weird behaviors that we find charming, but others find off-putting, just like the rest of the world. The only difference is we are not going to subscribe to antiquated notions of gender roles within our relationships. This should not deter you from wanting to date a feminist — we are super fun and we come equipped with passion, a voice we never hesitate to use, and many fun buttons with which you can decorate your favorite vest.

Kate Lauer is a double major at MSU Denver in social work and women’s studies. As president of MSU’s Feminist Alliance, she battles patriarchy on a daily basis, but also finds the time to be a giant dork who obsesses way too much about pop culture and fandom. Her monthly column, “Vaulting Without Poles,” will focus on navigating the difficult, empowering and sometimes hilarious waters of being a third wave feminist in the modern age. Metrosphere Vol 35 | Issue 2 | 17

IMBUE

Arts and class BY JACQUELYNE MIDO GLOVER

tudents at Downtown Aurora Visual Arts, known as DAVA, are surrounded by more than just paints and brushes, but a sense of purpose as well. Founded in 1993 by Susan Jenson, DAVA is part of a broader movement known as creative youth development. The program employs professional artists like Viviane Le Courtois, Rudi Monterroso and Luzia Ornelas, giving students the opportunity to work with talented professionals who are passionate about art. DAVA’s core principles are artistic excellence, sustained programming and a focus on social justice. Additionally, through their wholesome snack program, DAVA seeks to teach children about eating healthy. In 2014, Executive Director Jenson and student Boris Cochajil shared a stage with First Lady Michelle Obama as they accepted the National Humanities Youth Program Award. DAVA offers a variety of programs that support youth development through artistic learning. These programs include the Family Arts Program, Oasis Studio, and the Job Training in the arts. Family Arts is an intergenerational initiative available to students ages 3-6 and their parents. Wednesdays and Fridays from 10 a.m until 12 p.m. Family Arts offers a place for children to develop their motor skills, school readiness and creativity in a neighborhood with few preschools, while bonding with their parents. Oasis Studio is an afterschool dropin art studio where children can come to learn a variety of media, including ceramics, printmaking, painting and sculpture. It is available for all students

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7-17, and during the school year the studio is open to all interested students from 2:30-5:00 p.m. Oasis Studio is the point of entry for most students and offers older high school students an opportunity to learn valuable life skills as junior staff, assisting younger students in the creation of art projects. Job Training in the Arts is specifically available for middle school students and requires a commitment to show up on time two days a week. The program prepares students for jobs later in life. Job Training in the Arts students can choose computer arts or studio arts. Through this program, students learn marketable graphic design skills like the use of Adobe Photoshop, Illustrator and Anima. In the summertime, students have the chance to learn fi lm production skills as well, as DAVA teams up with the Colorado Film School at the Community College of Aurora to create short fi lms. “Here at DAVA, we try to listen to our students and find out what they want to learn,” Jenson said. She emphasized the importance of student involvement in the program; this was a place for their voices to be heard. Every eight weeks, the students choose a theme, which directs the creation of their art projects. The most recent theme, “peace,” inspired several students to research and create posters of such figures as Malala Yousafzai, Mahatma Gandhi and Ang San Suu Kyi. Beside the posters are several enormous, life-size paintings of figures gazing thoughtfully through barbed wire, while in other paintings they hold books, symbols of peace. Local artist Ariella Asher was invited to do a live painting on the

opening night of the exhibition, giving students the opportunity to see an artist within their own community producing beautiful, socially engaged work. Currently, the students are working with the theme of “transportation” which features prominently in the fi lms from the summer fi lm school, along with a prompt given by the White House: “The world I want to live in.” Middle school student Sergio created a stand-out fi lm. The story follows a homeless man, played by Sergio, who, while digging through a dumpster for a meal, finds a flyer advertising a marathon with a cash prize of $40,000. In a heart-wrenching scene, Sergio fi lls out an application, leaving the address line blank. The following sequence features the marathon itself, fi lled with excitement and suspense as Sergio helps the fallen front-runner to his feet, only to later be pushed down and lose the race to the front-runner whom he helped. In a surprise turn of events, the winner offers to share his check with the downtrodden Sergio. In Sergio’s marathon, feet are the means by which the characters transport themselves into a world where, rather than pushing down our fellow competitors, we recognize their humanity and raise them up to the same position as ourselves.

Photo by Brandon N. Sanchez

Daniel Benitez, 11, holds the painted cloth that is shared by artist Daisy Quezada, at Downtown Aurora Visual Arts located in Aurora on Aug. 10, 2016. Metrosphere Vol 35 | Issue 2 | 19

IMBUE METROFEAR

Kwiatkowski turns triffic cones into works of art.

Sticks and cones BY GARDELL NEAL JR.

rank Kwiatkowski should be dead. Dealing with a potentially fatal disease, the odds for survival have been stacked against him since he was 8 years old. But sitting across from the man, now 41, I realize that even though he has found a way to overcome an illness so purposeful in its decimation, his presence is very much alive, and merely skims the surface regarding his own purpose to survive and remain. A street-artist in the truest sense of its meaning, Kwiatkowski’s purpose literally reveals itself through the very products that form the makeup of his environment. As our interview begins, Kwiatkowski takes out a few pieces of

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his work along with a small carving tool and begins to dig into a rubbery plastic material that is his canvas. He is oblivious to me at first and is only concerned and concentrating on the shape and design of the cheekbones for one of the three subjects that adorn his latest creation. They are friends of his, he tells me, without looking up to answer and before reaching into his bag on the floor and retrieving more items. After a moment I notice that the next items he places on the table aren’t necessarily tools, but rather are fundamental to his existence. Raising his head from those now strong, well-crafted cheekbones, he tells me about the why and the how of his continued existence. The first

reason becomes evident once he opens the items newly placed on the table, within it a blood sugar monitor and plastic bag full of what looks to be Skittles. He informs me his sugar is low and proceeds to place a handful of the small rainbow candies into his mouth. The life of a type-1 diabetic does not halt for an interview or anything else for that matter. Once the candy has clears his palate I am shocked to learn that the rubbery, plastic material he has been carving his tool into is actually a traffic cone. As he wipes away a few small carved out plastic shavings, it hits me that the term “street art” has taken on a whole new meaning. Cones that simply signal construction to

“The pedicab is what I do to feed my body’s hunger, but the art is what feeds my soul.” -Frank Kwiatkowski most people are the very “meat and potatoes” Kwiatkowski employs to create his distinct artistic vision. The city does not just give cones away, so if it means snatching them up or manipulating the system, as he refers to it, by rummaging through architectural recycle bins for design paper and discarded, but still useful design tools, then so be it. His immense respect for the work and the art is mirrored by his desire to do whatever it takes to create it. The ways and modes of the accumulation of materials are a function of purpose in his mind, and like any artist, the

ratio between cost to create and profit rarely if ever champions the side of the latter. As much as an artist wishes for their work to be acknowledged, it would be nice to turn a profit on said acknowledgment if at all possible. “Selling art is a waste of time,” he says. You have to learn to make money in other ways to support your dreams. Kwiatkowski has dismissed the idea that art and creation can be profitable. Besides, he remarks, “I don’t do this for the money. The pedicab is what I do to feed my body’s hunger, but the art is what feeds my soul.” Being a pedicab driver since 2008 has not just allowed Kwiatkowski to survive, but to also advertise his artwork to passengers and passersby. Kwiatkowski’s pedicab is plastered with original pieces. The distinct symbol that appears prominently throughout the majority of his work is that of the syringe. That “taboo” – according to him – object

that can provide, depending the user, both life or death. The diabetic who needs it or the heroin addict who craves it. He views the syringe as a sort of gateway between that of his world, the streets, and that of worlds he is not familiar with, and vice versa. The power of the syringe, in his mind, is evident. Kwiatkowski believes that it is this common link in which different worlds can be brought together. This is all just a part of the purpose that was injected into Kwiatkowski at a very early age. A part of the “selfish enjoyment” he attains from peddling his craft. All in a day’s work for a starving artist who ironically is serving up heaping amounts of food for thought in the form of cone-cut art in an effort to feed what he declares an ideological and intellectually malnourished society.

Photos by Brandon N. Sanchez

Frank Kwiatkowski

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IMBUE

Photos by Daniel Chowen

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Festival slashes horror tropes

BY CASSIE REID

wo eyes peered out from beneath a rolled up sleeve with an eerie moth in place of a mouth. “I generally fall for the horror girls,” said Travis Volz, publicity director of the Telluride Horror Show. “Clarice’s courage to get through the fear to find the truth, from the start of the film where she’s

struggling to run the course. All the odds were stacked against her but she knew she had a purpose. You find characters you can empathize with.” Volz’s tattoo of the iconic poster from “Silence of the Lambs” is only a part of how horror has sewn itself into his daily life. The annual horror fi lm festival Volz promotes

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IMBUE in remote Telluride, Colorado has, as of early September, fewer than 70 passes remaining until it sells out for its run, Oct 14-16. Selling tickets, while part of Volz’s job, is eased by one simple philosophy. “The festival has no awards and, since we have a shorter festival, we’ve trimmed the fat. It’s the cream of the crop, an ability to say, ‘I saw it fi rst in Telluride,’” Volz said. “It’s about celebrating a genre. We don’t have a convention approach, no merch stores, not three things going on at once.” As a genre, horror seems to mainly be associated with big baddies chasing teens in their underwear with the occasional jump now and then; that or gore-heavy fare such as the “Saw” franchise. Ted Wilson, founder of the festival, fights such pigeon holing with the three-day event. “In the heyday of slasher flicks, it all felt taboo and was largely aimed at a teen audience,” Wilson said. “Now you see more adult treatment. You’re given the chance to laugh, to cringe, and – of course – to scream.” The Wilkinson Public Library will be the latest locale to screen some of the most outstanding, smaller budget productions. The festival schedule allows for plenty of chances to break bread and chit chat, without missing a movie. “The festival is about joining a community,” Wilson said. “It’s one thing to experience horror on your couch. When you roll into this gorgeous mountain town, meet

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the fi lmmakers and gather, in the middle of October, in a remote town, in a theater, it’s something special.” Since the community continues to grow and the programming (generally) runs smoothly, the real work comes in the months before the festival in which fi lms are submitted from around the world. “We’ve seen 700 submissions thus far, but we take applicants until the last minute,” Wilson said. “We put in a larger amount of work picking the shorts, these productions with little budget that can tell a story as well as any feature, than the bigger, starrier productions.” Several of the productions, big and small, have made their way into one streaming platform or another. Netflix alone features several THS selections, including “The Babadook,” “Darling,” “Tucker and Dale vs. Evil” and “Baskin.” “I think people are paying attention to how smart these fi lms are because of the digital age,” Volz said. “It’s not a threat; it just gives people the chance to take in the new layers these fi lms are reaching.” All of this, though, is the admittedly well-planned, atmospheric wrapping around the core element. Being that the core of the genre is death, fear of death, encroaching death, even bizarrely comical death (Wilson’s favorite genre being horror-comedy). Horror seems a macabre theme to unite hundreds of people in a pilgrimage up the steep slopes, but Volz argues that’s kind of the point.

Metrosphere Vol 35 | Issue 2 | 25

ou look around, the lights in the library have started to go out. You’ve been here too long. You start to gather your things, you think you saw someone out of the corner of your eye. “Hello?” You turn, the library is empty. A chill runs down your spine. You’re all alone, there’s nobody around. With an urgency in your

steps, you walk towards the door. Something’s not right. That’s when you spot it. You turn on your heels, running the opposite direction. You need to get out of here. You pull the doors, they stay in place. You press your back against the door, you can hear it coming. Before you know there it is. This year, MetroFear spares no reader. We give you a glimpse

of horrors, nightmares, and the monstrosities that fester inside us all. From deep obsession, to a cursed child – from killer plants to a true account of the horrors that have lurked too long, MetroFear will take you to the edge of nightmares.

Open if you dare.

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METROFEAR

Horrors in Morestel KELSEY NELSON

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A small rope hung from the ceiling that was so low I could almost touch it. Nicolas reached up and put the key in the ceiling, turned it and pulled the rope. A small attic ladder folded down.

he clock in the bell tower chimed three times when I rolled onto the photo of his dead wife. My nails had pieces of brick underneath them from trying to open the attic stairs beneath me, but no luck. I had never seen one that could lock from below, and I wondered if someone had done that on purpose. This wasn’t comforting. Cool air whipped in from the cracks on the walls of the silo and howled when it did. I wrapped myself in the afghan and sat with the photo on the floor next to the bed. I didn’t want to fall asleep again, though I thought I was likely the only person that would be able to fall asleep in a haunted house. I had been at a party with my friend Charlotte in the most remote village I had ever seen. Morestel, France, had crumbling castle

structures and silos that people called homes. Nicolas held an old brass key in his hand, and we walked along like drunken soldiers, scared but giddy from the liquor. We shuffled in the dark and he spoke quickly, stopped now and then by screams from the girls in our group. Charlotte loosely translated where she could, but it probably sounded more terrifying the way Nicolas was telling it. He had a lot of property, so much it seemed like he owned his own tiny country. He said that there was an old building where a husband and wife used to live, sitting on the area where their property met his families property. The husband was incredibly paranoid and hated when she left the house. He moved them far away, but it didn’t quench his suspicion. He obsessed over it. That thought. The

thought that she was going to leave him. It drove him to the edge, and so he killed her, and then himself. Nicolas and his family waited and waited, but no one ever came to claim the house. Eventually the old brass key made its way to him. We walked in the dark for what seemed like an hour. As we approached, a building cut its way into the night, tall and narrow like a grain silo. Sharp and sudden, I didn’t see it coming in the open field. Maybe it was the moonlight. Standing in the heavy summer air, I thought about earlier in the night. We had been exploring the more populated part of Morestel just after dark when we came across an old prison. It was in the furthest state of decay. There were bars on the ground level windows, but the rain had eroded the earth so the metal

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METROFEAR

looked like slides tipping down into the depths hell. One of the windows had a gaping openings in the bars and a piece of wood over it. There was writing on it that Charlotte translated. It said ‘abandon all hope, those who enter. Pass through here and give your soul to the devil. Cross in and you give your life.’ The group laughed and edged closer, jokingly pushing one after another while I inched down the dirt toward it. I jokingly stuck my hand in it and screamed. Everyone in the group screamed and ran. I pulled my hand out slowly and ran to join the group. Walking up to the silo now, I shuddered at the little cloak of bad luck that hovered over me. Nicolas walked up to the door and took the lock from his pocket. I half hoped it wouldn’t work, but the door opened. The electricity had long stopped working, so he pulled a lighter from his pocket. He walked in first and found a candle. The rest of our group would not enter. The candle reflected in Nicolas’ eyes and I stepped into the silo. I wanted to look braver than I felt. My recently acquired friend Olivier followed behind me.

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The house looked lived in except for the layer of dust on everything. A small rope hung from the ceiling that was so low I could almost touch it. Nicolas reached up and put the key in the ceiling, turned it and pulled the rope. A small attic ladder folded down. “Dare you,” he said quietly. “Dare you, I close it,” he said, pointing at me to go up. I took out my phone, which didn’t service but I had been using it for pictures, and shined the flashlight up there. It was a bedroom. I had this urge to keep up my ruse. I figured I could scare them way worse than the prison. And I was curious, so I ascended. He folded the staircase up beneath me. I walked toward the bed, hands shaking a little. I shined my light on it. A handmade afghan draped the twin bed. It looked so small, I didn’t believe two people had lived here. Then I saw the photo on the bed. I started to back away when I heard the sound of a lock turning behind me. They had locked the attic. I rushed over and banged on the floor. “Bonne nuit!” he yelled. They all laughed and the girls screamed a little, high pitched and eerie. Charlotte yelled my name once. The thick brick made it

sound like I was underwater. I grabbed a chair and hauled it over to the small window. I peeked out and Nicolas was pulling her away, laughing. The little candle got smaller in the night. I realized the dare wasn’t to go up. It was to spend the night there. I started to hyperventilate. I hated being stuck in a small space. The photo on the bed might have been put there as a joke, but it was dusty too. It was a photo of a man and a woman, but it was ripped in half. A gonging sound made me drop the pieces and my knees gave out. It took me a minute to realize there was a clock above me. One a.m. if it was right. I began to regret sticking my hand in the hole of the prison and tried to control my breathing. If I panicked I was screwed. I sat for a minute on the floor, not moving and not breathing. I didn’t hear anything. I didn’t think they were coming back. I pulled the flask out of my backpack and drank, trying to stay calm. I flipped the photo of the man upside down on the floor and sat on the bed. I was exhausted. I imagined her, living in this tiny house so far from everyone with the man with the

angry eyes. I felt sad and put her photo next to me on the bed. I pointed my flashlight up toward the ceiling. The gong sound woke me up, one, two, three. I rolled and the photo crumbled under my weight. I heard laughing and shot off the bed, tangling in the afghan and falling. I looked to see Nicolas, camera in hand, beaming and climbing up the ladder. I ran over, pushed him aside and raced down the shaking ladder and past her pots and pans and life and out the door. When I got far enough away, I felt guilty. I wanted to go back for her picture, but I couldn’t remember the way. Nicolas caught up with me, and he was yelling “Brave brave American girl! Brave brave American girl!” I got caught up in his drunken skipping and moved further from the house. I didn’t think he’d understand if I asked to go back, so I left her photo in the silo-like house. I comforted myself knowing that it was probably made up, and if it wasn’t, at least the photo of the man was face down on the old floor, and his angry eyes couldn’t reach her.

Walking up to the silo now, I shuddered at the little cloak of bad luck that hovered over me.

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METROFEAR

Niña Diabólica NICHOLAS THOMAS

ome time ago, in a small village in Mexico there lived a poor woman named Eugenia. Eugenia struggled her entire life to make ends meet. She was a very caring woman, she did whatever she could to help those who were closest to her. One day Eugenia’s brother had come to her for help. He had accepted money from the local cartel and now they had come back to collect. He pleaded to her for help, in fear that they would take his life. She wept, she knew that there was nothing she could do to save her brother’s life. Legends dictate that she had called upon the devil himself. “El Diablo, hear my words! Whatever I have is yours, you can take what you wish. I only ask that you help my brother – so that he may live to see

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another day. Hear my words, for what I speak is sincere and true. Help me please, I beg!” She screamed into the raging winds. She fell to her knees and wept into her hands. She knew that this was a lost cause. Moments later the wind had stopped completely. She raised her head from her hands and saw a large man in a black cloak standing in front of her. She held her breath in an effort to keep from trembling. “These words you speak are true?” He spoke with a low growl. “I will help your brother on one condition…” She could not speak, let alone breath, but she responded with a subtle nod of her head. “I wish for you to bare me a son. Do this for me, and your brother will live,” he extended his hand.

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Reluctantly, she took his hand, knowing that it was the only way. No person in the village could describe the noise, the horror, that had come from her small hut that night. Some locals had even fled the village, in fear of what was to come. Months had passed. Eugenia was pregnant and showing. Nobody would talk to her, or even so much as look at her. Even her brother turned a blind eye toward the cursed woman. Rumors had spread quickly. Local citizens contemplated what to do. Many locals insisted that she be burnt, in order to rid the village of this plague. Others had insisted that El Diablo would reign terror upon the village for tampering with his son. Nobody dared have any contact with her.

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One particularly stormy night, Eugenia knew that her time had come. She lied on her bed and prayed that everything would be alright. Instead of The Lord, or an angel, the dark figure had appeared in front of her. “I am here for what is mine,” he said with a smile. Eugenia did not survive her conception. The screams that followed purged horror across the village. The young baby’s cries pierced the villager’s souls. What happened next could not have been predicted by anyone or anything. El Diablo studied the child and screamed in rage. The ground shook. The child that the poor woman had conceived was not the son that he had expected. It was a small baby girl.

El Diablo placed the baby in a small manger that the woman had prepared. He smashed through the door of the neighboring hut and found Eugenia’s brother. He took a large breath inward as the man’s eyes grew pale. His body fell limp on the floor. In a fit of rage, El Diablo grabbed the baby, manger and all, and chucked the child as hard as he could across a nearby field. El Diablo was never seen or heard from again. The people of the village were glad to be relieved of this curse. They never spoke of these events again, in fear that it would bring the curse upon them once more. Nobody had seen quite where the baby had landed, but nobody seemed to care. That is,except for one person. A poor old homeless woman named

“El Diablo, hear my words! Whatever I have is yours, you can take what you wish. I only ask that you help my brother—so that he may live to see another day. Hear my words, for what I speak is sincere and true. Help me please, I beg!”

Guadalupe saw the entire thing. Once the coast was clear, and the eyes stopped peeping from the windows, she set out to find the young child, who was left for dead. She had known Eugenia, who had helped her with food before. She knew that she would have wanted her to help the young child. After searching for hours, she found the manger alongside a ditch, miles from the village. She looked down and peered at the baby. Aside from a scar under the child’s left ear, the newborn baby seemed to be unscathed. The child whimpered as she looked back up at the poor woman. Guadalupe looked back at the child with a smile as she noticed that she had her mother’s eyes.

Guadalupe cradled the child into her arms. Guadalupe always wanted a child of her own, but never had one. She swore to raise the child as her own. She knew that the villagers would never accept the young child, so she set out with the baby and ventured across the Mexican landscape in search of a safe place to raise the child. Time had passed and the young girl had grown. Guadalupe and the young girl settled in an abandoned hut a few miles outside of a small city. The old woman could never settle on a name, so she simply called her, “Mi Pequeña”, or “My little one”. The old woman did her best to raise the young child to be an honest and loving girl. In many ways, she

could see parts of her mother, bleeding out in the young child’s personality. In many ways she could also see the Child’s father’s personality creeping into the young girl’s heart. The child grew more and more curious of the nearby city, as she ventured closer and closer. She knew that nobody could see her, as Guadalupe had warned her not to let people know that they were living nearby. The girl grew curious as she watched the local children playing with dogs, or stroking the small cat’s backs. People within the city said that they could hear the roaring laughter of the small girl in the wind. She would snatch up small cats and dogs during the night and take them home. Instead of playing with the small animals, like

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METROFEAR

the other children, she would torture and tease the animals back at her small hut. Sometimes she would cover them in thorns and laugh as they scurried around the surrounding countryside, sometimes she would set fire to their fur. The acts of carnage grew worse and worse, as her obsession grew more and more. The few animals that made it back to the city were never the same. The patrons of the city grew weary of what lurked beyond the city. Rumors had spread that the child of the devil was living just outside of their city. They called her, “Niña diabólica”, or “Little Devil Girl”. People gathered torches and pitchforks. They had to stop this young demon girl before things got out of hand.

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The mob of people found the small hut. They smashed in the door, anticipating the worst. They looked around as they saw their pets, maimed and positioned in various poses. They saw the old woman hanging from a rafter in the middle of the room. To this day, nobody knows if this was an act of suicide, or the next step in the young girl s obsession. They never saw, or heard from the girl again. Legends suggest that the girl fled to the United States. As time pressed on, she grew into a woman. Her endless beauty and her sharp wits helped her to survive and adapt in this new culture. She goes by many different names. People say that she finds well off men,

marries them, and then kills them, making it look like a suicide or an accident. She leaves with all of their money before anybody can question her about what had happened. She is very hard to identify. It is told that, being the daughter of the devil, she can change the tone of her skin. Sometimes it appears dark, and at others it is lighter. Changing the color of her hair, the only way to really identify her is through her mother’s beautiful eyes, her father’s dominant chin, or the small scar below her left ear. Most people who have lived to see another day are too afraid to tell her story. These few witnesses would not dare to trust any woman, for there is a chance, a very small chance, that the woman might be Niña diabólica.

The ground shook.

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METROFEAR

Bus Boy COURTNEY SULLIVAN

“W 38

e met on the bus,” I would say to people with a slight smirk on my face. House parties, public places – wherever we’d go I’d have to explain the cute story of how we met. People just couldn’t take their eyes off | Metrosphere Vol 35 | Issue 2 of us. We were perfect.

“Let’s get out of here,” he’d say to me at a houseparty. With a look he knew I agreed. We walked back to my place, hands intertwined. I’d be giggling at his charismatic charm – content as long as I knew we’d be together. He’d find a vacated alleyway and pull me into

it and take refuge. He’d push me up against the building. He’d stare hard into my eyes just before our lips would meet. Electricity would run through my body as we were the only two people in the world. I’d tell him to take me, but he’d only respond with “not here.” We’d

The faint sound came from my basement door. Although it was only a whisper to us, there’s no mistaking that we both heard it.

walk back to my house, a sense of urgency in our steps. As soon as I could get the door open, I turned to him to tell him to ignore the mess, but before I could finish, he’d already have me pushed up against the closed door. A mess of clothes trailed our way to the couch. I would open my eyes for nothing. And then we heard it. We both stopped, seeing on each other’s faces that the other one had heard it too. We were silent. Daring the sound to happen again. “Help.” The faint sound came from my basement door. Although it was only a whisper to us, there’s no mistaking that we both heard it. He stared at me and asked, “What the hell was that?” “Nothing. Probably just our ears playing tricks on us.” “You know it wasn’t.” “Please, let’s just finish this first,” I said pulling him into me. “Cut it out,” he said as he pushed me away. He got off the couch and found his boxers. “No, baby please wait.” “No, I’m out of here.”

And just like that, he disappeared. My eyes were open, but I couldn’t see anything. A rage took over me, and knocked out my vision. My head was pulsating. My clenched fists knocked a lamp off of my side table. I walked over to the basement door where the strange noise came from and started pounding. Just a little at first, but then my firsts were bloody. My entire being fed off of it. With every muscle I had, I was beating this door. Behind it was the very cause of my distress. It fueled my anger. It was everything that was wrong with the world. “Just once will you let me have my moment!” After one last bang against the door, I stumbled into my kitchen and found the two things I needed. I took the small handful of Zoloft and put it in my mouth, making sleep come easier. When I woke up, everything was wrong. Everyone was wrong. I was not in my home. I was in a strange place with strange people who were telling me strange things. It was all wrong. Something about it made me want to laugh hysterically, but I held it in. There were doctors. I was in a hospital. Metrosphere Vol 35 | Issue 2 | 39

METROFEAR

A hospital? Was I in a car accident? There were also people in suits, saying things to me – about me. They were wrong. There was a man about 6’2, wearing slacks, a button up, and nice dress shoes. He had a gun on his hip. He was black. I had never thought about dating a black man before. God, was he handsome. I think he was talking to me. “Lacy. Did you understand what I just said?” “What, baby?” “Lacy Admore. You’re under arrest for the attempted murder of Chris Russel.” I had to laugh now. “What?” “You are under arrest. Anything you say can and will be held…..” His voice trailed. I noticed I was handcuffed to the hospital bed. This was all a huge misunderstanding. I spent the next few weeks telling many individuals about the events that had happened leading up to waking up in the hospital. I had no problem telling them about the wonderful night I had had with the bus boy. How he grabbed me, how his cheeks felt brushing up against mine. I left out no detail and even gleamed as I explained the mysterious noise that came from the basement. It was still a beautiful memory, because it contained him. The lawyers and investigators I talked to were jealous. Their wedding rings they wore were a

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lie. I could tell just by their weathered faces that they were depraved. Then came the trial. I sat in a courtroom while people in suits lied about me. They spoke about a number of men whose bodies were found in a lake by my house, and pointed at me when they spoke of “justice.” People I didn’t care about were talking to me. My mother was there, crying. I didn’t care about any of it. I just wanted one thing. And that’s when I saw him. I started to stand up as he entered the courtroom, but a lady in a suit next to me, made me sit back down. I watched as my lover made his way to the stand. His blonde hair and blue eyes radiated the room. I didn’t want anyone else to be looking at him. He was beautiful. But there was something different about him. As he was saying his oath, his face turned ever so slightly to reveal a deep scar on his neck. It was sexy. I wondered what the scar would feel like against my lips. I wanted so badly for him to turn and look at me but he wouldn’t look up from the ground. When he stated his name, I realized that this was the guy all these suited people were talking about. I could now imagine myself as a Mrs. Russell. “Chris Russell. Tell us what happened on the day of May 8th.” I didn’t hear anything that he said. I just stared deeply into his eyes, hoping he would notice me and wink at me, like he always would. The

prosecutor kept pointing and looking at me, because he was probably interested, but he wasn’t really my type. I was getting awfully bored when I heard something that wasn’t right. “So you’re saying that before the night she attempted to slit your throat, you had never encountered Ms. Lacy Admore before,” the prosecutor asked. “Yes,” Chris Russell said. He lied. He was lying in front of all of these people. We had something special. We met on the bus and it grew from there. It was a really cute story. It was real. “So you didn’t share any memories of attending parties or engaging in sexual intercourse?” The man in the suit pleaded. “No. I gave her my seat on the bus once and that same day she had followed me to my car and stuck a syringe in my back before kidnapping me. She cut my throat when I tried to escape. That was my one and only terrifying encounter with Lacy Admore.” No. That wasn’t true. Why would he lie? We rode the same bus together.

We met on the bus. We met on the bus. We met on the bus! It was a cute story. The suited man began asking another question but I needed to hear the truth. I stood up before the woman next to me could stop me. “We met on the bus!” I screamed. I shouted in his direction and banged my fist into the table. The entire room was looking at me, but I was only looking at him. He stared at me, but didn’t correct himself. “We met on the bus! We met on the bus! We met on the bus! We met on the bus!” I was in handcuffs now and they were taking me out of the courtroom. But that didn’t change what I knew in my heart. Our love kindled on the bus.

I was in handcuﬀs now and they were taking me out of the courtroom. But that didn’t change what I knew in my heart. Our love kindled on the bus.

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METROFEAR

Liongrass DANIEL ROTTENBERG

t can start with something as simple as building a bike jump up the street. Pete Sweeney and Jake Norton were at the top of North Forest Circle. North Forest and South Forest were never conjoined; there was supposed to be a big housing development to connect them, but that was never finished. All that was at the top of North Forest and South Forest was a big empty lot and three wide drainage ditches for when the mud and water spilled down from the surrounding hills. To the owner’s’ credit, they had demolished the old BMX track and erected two gates, one at each cul-desac for North Forest and South Forest. There were two dirt roads that looped up one of the hills. The lower road just ended. It shored up halfway to the summit at a ridge of dirt and then abandoned any trace of civilization, leading off to dense, spindly thickets of pines and dead trees, so close together the deer wouldn’t even touch them. The other road made it all the way up, cresting at an abandoned space that sunflowers had taken up. They had a funny way of looking beautiful if you tilted your head high enough to only see the flowers. If you didn’t, you’d

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see the cracking dry dirt with tall, spiny, green stalks jutting skywards, crowned with a leering yellow mane around a spotty, staring eye. At eleven, Jake didn’t like to look at those sunflowers on top of the hill. Pete was twelve, and he didn’t mind so much. He actually liked them. “I’m sure glad we aren’t going up to the lot today,” Jake tried to say casually, huffing as he pushed his bike past the gate. They had to pass some sunflowers in one of the drainage ditches, and Jake had made no effort to hide the fact that he had looked away. Because I thought I saw… no. No way. “Don’t be such a baby, Jakey,” Pete said, grinning wildly. Jake’s irrational fear tickled him to death. “That ol’ liongrass ain’t gonna bite you.” Liongrass. That was what Pete had called the sunflowers since he was seven, when he first noticed how much of a resemblance to lion heads impaled onto grass they possessed. If he had read Lord of the Flies, he may have thought that they were kin of the eponymous pig’s head. He and Jake were neighbors, but Jake wouldn’t go up the hill all of the time with him. Sometimes Pete would take a book up to the top and lie down in the

Because I thought I sawâ&#x20AC;¦ no. No way.

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METROFEAR dirt, reading beneath the liongrass. He liked to see the big yellow faces, which were warm to him in the hot Colorado summers. The feelings they gave him warmed him up from his neck down, trickling over his shoulders and under his bare armpits. They rushed through his chest and made him smile, thinking of picnics from when he was younger. He could have spent every summer in that lot, if not for what had happened on July ninth, when he and Jake took their bikes up to the construction site behind the two cul-de-sacs. Along with their bikes, the two boys brought a shovel and a jug of water. This was to wet down the dry dirt so that it could pack nice and hard, Pete had explained. They led

their bikes off the lower dirt road and made for the biggest drainage ditch, the one right in the center of the lot. They’d resolved to build their jump on the southern side of the ditch over a five-foot-wide ridge. There was a long runway that they had been working on for the previous two days, clearing weeds, filling holes, and smoothing out the dirt, and now it was time to build the jump itself. On the other side of the ridge was a slope that they’d cleared out while plowing the runway. It wasn’t as smooth as their runway had been, but there weren’t any big plants to smack them or rocks to flip their bikes in the way. They laid down their bikes at the top of the runway and brought the shovel and the jug down to the ridge. Further in the

“Don’t be such a baby, Jakey,” Pete said, grinning wildly. Jake’s irrational fear tickled him to death. “That ol’ liongrass ain’t gonna bite you.”

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drainage ditch, they dug up dirt and began piling it. They had started in the morning, and kept digging until that afternoon, piling dirt at the lip of the ridge, pouring out water from the jug carefully over the dirt, packing it down, and then adding more dirt. When they figured the jump was high enough, they dragged the flathead of the shovel over it, and patted it until it was good and hard. Pete tested the jump first. “I don’t want to case it,” he told Jake warily. “I’m just going to go as fast as I can.” “What if you crash?” Asked Jake. He was worried about his friend, but more worried that Pete would do fine and then he would have to pedal hard to the jump. He was mildly scared of

heights, especially if he was going fast. He could already feel the pit in his stomach beginning to form. “Then I’ll crash.” Pete put on his helmet (safety first) and sat on his bike at the top of the runway. His hands were sweating on the handlebars, but it was with excitement, not fear. He steeled his gaze at the lip and took his fingers off of the brakes. In no time he was flying down the runway (it was bumpier than he had anticipated) and zipping across the ditch toward their jump. He stood on his pedals as he went up the jump and yanked the handlebars. “Woooo!” He whooped as he effortlessly cleared the ridge. Pete landed roughly on the landing, but didn’t crash. He made a sweeping turn and then yelled back to Jake, “Your turn, asshole!” “Do you want to try it again first?” Called back Jake, nervously. All at once, the five feet between the lip of the jump and the landing seemed as an interminable gap. He swallowed hard, and his throat and mouth dried up like he’d been eating dirt. “Don’t be a baby! I did it, now you!” Yelled Pete. He wouldn’t let him get out of this. Jake put on his helmet and stared at the jump, his heart pounding out of his chest. He felt his hands sweating on the handlebars and knew that it was out of anxiety, not thrill.

His teeth chattered like they did in the winter when he had to walk to school. He squeezed the slippery handlebars as tight as he could to steady himself. Okay, I can do this. I can’t do this. I can do this. He started to let go of the brakes when— “Hey, Jake, didn’t the liongrass only used to grow in that other ditch and on the hill?” Pete hollered. Jake felt ice shoot down his spine from his forehead and his ears got hot. He turned around and saw what he thought that he had seen earlier. There were three sunflowers. They were behind some branches. He couldn’t see them entirely, but they were there, hiding (stalking) beyond the twisted trees. They definitely had not been there before. He would have seen them the past few days when they worked on the runway. Hell, he would have seen them that day while they built the jump. But they weren’t really sunflowers. They were far too big. The three flowers pressed together like a three-eyed monster, its sickly yellow eyelashes staring out at him. “I’m coming back up, Jake,” he heard Pete from behind him, but he sounded so far away. Jake’s eyes were fi xed on the sunflowers. He peered closer and realized that there weren’t three separate stalks. It was exactly what he had seen that morning: a

green, spiny, twisted clump with three great slimy flowers poking up. But that wasn’t what scared him earlier. The ray flowers rippled, but the disk flowers across the receptacle blinked. Three great big eyes. He worked his mouth to scream but a choked sound gurgled up and the veins in his neck bulged. The branches snapped aside and a green, spiny, writhing mass rolled out, snapping its jaws with thorns for teeth. It pounced, but Jake was dead before the thing began to devour him. Pete came up too quickly to see the horror that was unfolding on Jake. He took a couple looks at the (lion grass) sunflowers but didn’t pay much attention. By the time he got to the top of the runway, Jake’s head had been torn clean off. Pete froze. The thing turned toward him and blinked. He would have run, but his legs turned to jelly. The thing was on him before he had time to even scream by instinct. His last image was of three sunflowers beaming down at him, the blue sky behind them. He was at a picnic.

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TECHNOSPHERE

Lisa Haas connects WORDS AND PHOTO BY VICTORIA EDSTEDT

s social media community rapidly grows, companies start seeking opportunities to do business online and develop a new level of connection with their clients. But who are social media coordinators and what do they do exactly? “I read a book called 'The Thank You Economy' by Gary Vaynerchuk, and I realized it could potentially help change the world, if I adopt it and begin to empower people on how to use technology to sell to one another based on relationships – not just pushing a product down people’s throats,” said Actuate Social president Lisa Haas. Haas is truly a pioneer in the social media business. She was born in Aberdeen, South Dakota, and started her career working for a newspaper. Haas worked on the radio, did some graphic design and then general sales for years, but one day she realized this was something she no longer enjoyed. “I remembered that I had a dream when I was 15 to start my own company, so I quit corporate America.” Haas had no idea what she was going to do, but she knew her passions: technology, writing, marketing and connecting people. “I went out to the marketplace and said, ‘I’m for sale!’ and six people signed up to pay me a little bit of money to do something for them.” On a temporary basis, Haas built marketing plans and databases for different companies, while she discovered what it was that she wanted to dedicate herself to. “Every person that I have worked with at that time kept asking me if I knew anything about Facebook or LinkedIn,” Haas said. It was 2009 and these networks had been on the scene

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for a very short period, so Haas had noticed a high interest toward social media platforms in business. She said that there is one basic economic factor: If you see a demand on the market for something specific, you can create a supply for it. And she did. “I stood up and said, ‘OK, I’ll create a supply.” Haas was certified in social media through Splash Media University and began learning how it works and how it can be measured. “Very little knowledge was available because it was a brand new industry that was being invented and, in fact, is still being invented today,” she said. Haas soaked up as much information as she could and established a social media company called Actuate Social. “Here we are six years later,” said Haas proudly, “where we train people on social media, coordinate for one another, and strategize, and continue to be a thought leader, and observer, and influencer in the industry.” Actuate Social is all about two-way communication and empowerment in personal and business life. It was created to be a channel through which companies and individuals can find and share their voices, build trustworthy, beneficial relationships and hopefully succeed together. The Actuate Social team not only manages social media accounts, but also helps to maintain networking within local communities. “I speak to people on a national level and there is a struggle with having a legitimacy around what a social media person is,” Haas explained. “People think, ‘Oh, you are just posting on Facebook,’ and nobody understands that there is knowledge behind grabbing the kind of content

we think is engaging and then tracking that content.” On top of the normal business challenges such as finance and branding, Haas has to fight stereotypes around being a woman and running a social media company. “The technology industry has been and continues to be very male-dominated and can be very anti-feminine,” said Haas’ assistant Jay Eick. “There may be a little bit of resistance of people accepting her as an expert simply because she is a woman. What can she know about technology?” However, Actuate Social is growing, and Haas’ core idea, “It’s not ‘media’ – it’s communication,” keeps transforming local businesses’ paths. All this has a lot to do with her personality. “Lisa is extremely hard working, extremely knowledgeable, extremely conscientious,” Jay said. “Even though you may see her complaining sometimes, I also see the fi les that got changed at 1 or 2 in the morning that may or may not be a part of our job.” Social media is a field that dares you as a professional. You have to be creative, open-minded and fast in order to adjust to a constantly shifting online environment. You also have to remember about your clients’ best interests and remain honest and transparent at the same time. “It’s cool. I get to change stuff every day. I get to invent stuff every day,” Haas said.

Lisa Haas shared her success story and gave away tips on the use of social media in business. Breckenridge, CO. June 10, 2016

d dia in 2016 Metrosphere Vol 35 | Issue 2 | 47

TECHNOSPHERE

Talk Tech to Me:

mage from cnet.com

Image from cnet.com

Pokemon Go – the app that became a worldwide sensation BY HAYES MADSEN

okemon Go needs no introduction after taking the world by storm in July. Everyone was talking about it, playing it, the news was covering it, and it almost seemed like you couldn’t escape the hype. It’s true that Pokemon Go has lost a large amount of its player base, but it’s still an experience that we need to reflect back on, and take time to appreciate the monumental achievement this single app created. Pokemon Go brought people together like nothing I’ve ever seen before and validated so many people’s passion and hobby, including my own. I spend my life playing and writing about video games, but the act of playing them has always put me as a bit of an outlier. It’s true that people assume certain things about you when you call yourself a “gamer.” Not everyone, of course, but there are certain traits like laziness and social awkwardness that unfairly get lumped onto many people who own the title. This is just one of the reasons Pokemon Go was so astounding to see. People who never played video games were out walking. Pokemon fans were out walking. Gamers were out walking. The first day the app was

out, I was at the Met Media office with a few of the other staffers. Amid server issues we decided to walk outside and see what might be down by the parking lot. Two hours later, we’d walked across the entire campus and back, catching Pokemon all the way, and making plans to go downtown the next week. As I walked home that night by Sloan’s Lake, and over the next few days, I could easily spot people playing

17. Passionate players were organizing these events all over the world, and some of them had thousands turn out. I decided to head out to the meetup on the 17th, and just see what happened and what I could experience. There were three different meetup locations based on your team in the game, one at Cheeseman Park for Instinct, City Park for Mystic and Washington Park for Valor. I settled on Washington Park, and when I arrived there were nearly 100 people waiting for the event to start. The Poke Go Denver Group had taken volunteers and organized the entire thing impeccably well. They were splitting players into different groups at each of the parks, who would then go on a route and hit businesses that had partnered with the group, and were giving out things like free food or drinks. It was a startlingly large event, and people had turned out for it, some in costume and everything. There was a final destination in mind, as each group would converge at Mile High Station on First Street. I chose a group to follow and we headed out on a route around the park, then winding through the streets of Denver, all the way down by the convention center. It was a

Pokemon Go brought people together like nothing I’ve ever seen before and validated so many people’s passion and hobby, including my own.

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the game. The trademark looking at their phone, holding it up and then swiping to throw a Pokeball. Groups of people were walking around laughing with each other, and I even ran into a few strangers on my walks, starting up conversation. People came together, finding the best places for Pokemon and figuring out just how the app worked since it told players very little. Near the beginning of July, I caught wind of a Pokemon Go Denver meetup that was happening on July

fascinating thing to see, this group of 30-40 people all following the leader of the group, stopping occasionally when a valuable Pokemon was spotted or a Gym was nearby. Conversations naturally developed as we walked. People talked about their favorite Pokemon or other topics, as many of us had quite a bit in common. During our three-hour trek, there were even a fair amount of passers-by who would look at us for a second and then ask, “Are you guys playing Pokemon Go?” Sometimes, even more conversations would pop up from that. One man fi lling his car at a gas station was incredibly excited when he saw us walk by, saying, “Oh man! You’re playing Pokemon Go? I’ve been playing that damn game all day!” As we started to hit some of the restaurants and other stops, we’d run into other teams, and of course people would start arguing about which one

was the best. I even met other writers, and a YouTuber trying to capture some footage of the whole event. I went home that night feeling richer from the experience, and surprisingly happy with how something I love had brought people together that day. Pokemon fans and people who had just jumped on the bandwagon had a great day in downtown Denver on July 17. Besides my own conversations, I heard others excitedly talking, meeting new people, and in some cases exchanging numbers or information. Truth be told, Pokemon Go isn’t an incredibly complex video game. You walk the world to catch Pokemon, train them at Gyms and of course try to catch ’em all. The design of the game is surprisingly light, but for some reason people just can’t get enough of the pocket monsters. Millennials and every generation after grew up with the series so it’s

no surprise there, but Pokemon Go literally took over the world for a short period of time. Businesses were scrambling to promote things, the internet was ablaze with information and discussion on the game, and it quickly became the most downloaded and played app of all time. My experience was more than enough to show me this, but Pokemon Go should be a shining example that we look to for the positive power that things like video games and other entertainment can have in our culture. Gamers have always felt a sort of camaraderie with each other, but for the first time we saw that represented in the mainstream. Hopefully this isn’t the last time we see an entertainment property bring people together, and get them out exploring their environment in new and fun ways.

SOMETIMES THE LIBRARY CAN BE A LITTLE TOO QUIET...

STUDENT & FACULTY DISCOUNT!

With your valid ID. (Happy Hour excluded) Metrosphere Vol 35 | Issue 2 | 49

Tastemaker: Nadeen Ibrahim

BY ALYSHA PRIETO

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Photos by Sara Hertwig

THREADS

Photos by Sara Hertwig

adeen Ibrahim will celebrate her third anniversary of wearing the hijab this year. It was at 20 years old, during her second year as president of the Muslim Student Association at CU Denver, that she made the intention. Since then, she has learned that while the statement “you are what you wear” can be true, and in her case is, it is rarely the whole truth. “When you ask me to describe myself in three words, I say I am a Muslim, Palestinian Woman. Those are three strong identities of who I am and the hijab allows me to express that physically, that I am a Muslim. And it allows me to uphold that part of my faith and be very proud of it,” Ibrahim said. She is also a public health student, LGBTQ advocate and feminist – titles the general public doesn’t often see as synonymous with her religious beliefs and visual expression of those beliefs. She attributes this to the confusion between the principles of Islam and the culture that each individual believer of the faith comes from, and the thought that the culture is a product of the religion. “The culture might have some gender inequity that happens, but the religion of Islam itself, it was presented in such a beautiful way that it was in a sense to give women the right to get an education, to give women the right to inherit, to give women the right to own property,” she said. Though band T-shirts and football jerseys can hint at a wearer’s interests, we hardly determine the totality of that person based on their visually expressed affection for say The Beatles. Why then is this the case for a religious garb like the hijab? “When I started having women asking me, ‘Did your father force you to wear this?’ I immediately knew that they were giving off this assumption that I was being oppressed as a

Muslim woman. When in all reality, they really didn’t understand what the hijab meant to women,” she said. The overall concept of the Muslim dress code is to ensure modesty, Ibrahim said, not to oppress. Islam gave women the freedom of choice in areas like marriage and work, and the dress code gave them a chance to express themselves in a way that didn’t directly relate to their appearance and exterior beauty. “Islam came in and brought the idea that the woman’s body is highly sacred and it’s something that she should not be judged upon. It’s something that she should consider private for herself. And instead of judging a woman on that basis and things of that nature, you would judge her on the character of who she is,” Ibrahim said. The right to not just wear a hijab, but also feel comfortable and accepted while doing so, is not exclusively a religious issue. Instances

express themselves fully, clothed or unclothed, that it’s completely their choice. She feels the same way about the recent burkini controversy. “You take a look at what’s happening now in France and how they’re banning the burkini. That makes me really upset because we’re defining an image for women. And when we’re feminists and we’re fighting for gender equality, we’re fighting for women to express themselves as they please and how they choose,” she said. Ibrahim’s belief in women’s rights and her inclusion in the gender conversation has been the norm since she was a kid. Growing up, her father always emphasized that women were equal to men and could accomplish anything that they worked hard at. She has personally experienced both sides of the discrimination that women in the Muslim community can endure from those who don’t have the same views.

“When I started having women asking me, ‘Did your father force you to wear this?’ I immediately knew that they were giving oﬀ this assumption that I was being oppressed as a Muslim woman. When in all reality, they really didn’t understand what the hijab meant to women,” she said. -Nadeen Ibrahim like the surprise that came along with Nada Meawad and Dooa Elghobashy’s decision to stay covered from head to toe during the 2016 Olympics has proved further that it’s a women’s issue as well. When referring to this shock, Ibrahim isn’t sure what all of the fuss is about. She believes that women can

When she initially took over as president of the Muslim Student Association, she hadn’t made the choice to wear a hijab yet. Some thought that because of this, she wasn’t a good representative of the Muslim community and what the ideal Muslim woman should be. For Ibrahim even then, it all went back to Metrosphere Vol 35 | Issue 2 | 51

THREADS

CU Denver student Nadeen Ibrahim on Auraria Campus, Aug.17, 2016.

Photos by Sara Hertwig

the intentions. To her, if the choice to wear the hijab didn’t come from an honest place, then there was no point. She needed to come to the decision through her faith rather than to appease critics. She has had to deal with her fair share of discrimination since putting on the hijab outside of prayer. But even after instances where strangers have avoided her, assumed that she didn’t speak English, or flat out told her that she was oppressed because of her choice of headwear, she has found

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that the practice has been invaluable in allowing her to continue to uncover her beliefs and convictions. She has also found that, though it is so much more than a fashion statement, incorporating the hijab into her wardrobe could be a source of fun. She owns more than 50 and has built her collection with pieces from H&M, gifts brought home from Palestine, and just about everywhere in between. Her favorites are colorful and elaborate, which can be the trickiest to style, but she’s never let a little bit of

a challenge stand in her way, fashion dilemmas included. Ibrahim may look a little different from the child wearing a Powerpuff Girl shirt in her U.S. citizenship photo and that’s because she is. Wearing the hijab doesn’t have everything to do with the strong and thoughtful leader she has become, but it has brought Ibrahim closer to her faith and in turn closer to her community. ADDITIONAL REPORTING BY DAYNA HIMOT

Branded: Orenda Lou BY ALYSHA PRIETO

elsey Lundie and Keesha Scheel's website for Orenda Lou is something of a diary. It chiefly serves as a marketplace for the duo's vintage and resale shop, but also documents the long-time best friends' blossoming collaborations and interest in all things beautiful. The gals have used fashion to connect to the world since they were kids. Scheel's style and penchant for African-inspired wrap skirts was one of the first things Lundie noticed about her 21 years ago when they were just 5 years old. “We lived in the same neighborhood, so we'd just stare at

each other. Kind of love at first sight as a child,” Lundie said. After stealing glances at each other in local grocery stores and gas stations around town, they wound up in the same first grade class, where on the playground Lundie gathered up the courage to ask Scheel to be her best friend. They've been inseparable ever since, following each other around Wisconsin during their teen years and eventually to Colorado as young adults. It was in Colorado that they used their love for fashion and background in buy, sell, trade retail to start Orenda Lou.

Orenda is an Iroqouis term that is used to describe the spiritual force that pushes the accomplishment of dreams and goals. The girls take it as a challenge to manifest their passions at whatever cost. “Orenda represents our feminine side, and if you look at our style, it's a mash-up between feminine and masculine. It's the balance of the two. So Lou represents our masculine side. And Lou happens to be both of our mom's middle names,” Scheel said. Sartorially and holistically, they consider their mothers as sources of inspiration. Scheel's mom is a seamstress and the piles of beautiful

Photos by Michelle Risinger

Keesha Scheel (right) and Kelsey Lundie (left), founders of styling and resale clothing company Orenda Lou, snatch up their favorite pieces of clothing. All their pieces are thrifted and second-hand.

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THREADS days were spent digging through inventory and biking around town to sell their finds. After about two years they decided that for all of the hard work and miles spent behind their handlebars, they weren't getting back as much as they'd like in return. Branching out on their own led them to Etsy, styling as a career path, Sammy Keller — their photographer — and the countless friends they have made through their work. These days, searching through stuffed racks of clothing is still a passion for the girls. So is laundry. “Our house is filled with hangdrying clothes—our porches, it's just a thing. You drive by our house and there's just clothes hanging everywhere,” Lundie laughed. If washing clothes and taking measurements are two of the least glamorous parts of the job, then styling and photo shoots are the most

creatively fulfilling and fun. Orenda Lou's signature aesthetic is a blend of '90's nostalgia and of-the-moment cool, but because they are featuring creatives, artists and musicians with varying styles, they keep each individual in mind when designing the shoot. “We make sure we do our research when we're styling a person,” Lundie said. Knowing the subjects day-to-day vibes and navigating beyond that in a comfortable way, keep the look books from coming across gimmicky or too trendy. Both Lundie and Scheel emphasize how important it is to know who you are as a brand. When they were first starting out, before they found their style and their individual dressing niche, it was hard advice to follow. “We tried to be hippie chicks, biker chicks, mountain chicks — like

Photos by Michelle Risinger

fabrics left around the house made the young girls eager to create and experiment with textiles too. As a former marathon runner, Lundie's mom's thoughtfulness toward health brought them to herbalism and nutrition, a passion that they share outside of their fashion ventures. The title of muse is not strictly reserved for their parents. The women and men whom the duo style and capture in their look books are Denver creatives who influence and stir their love for work and play. They have dubbed the relationship they have with each other and their collaborators as “an untouchable force field.” It's a mantra that you can find strewn throughout their site. Before selling through OrendaLou.com, Scheel and Lundie took their thrift store treasures to local boutiques and resale shops around Denver and Boulder. Whole

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Photos by Michelle Risinger

OK, who are we? We love the '90's. We love hip-hop. We love colors. We're tomboys at heart but dress up sometimes. Let's stem off of that,” Lundie said. Inspirations like '90's superstars Aaliyah and TLC are visible in the oversized fits and athletic wear they gravitate to. A trip to Africa in 2012 can be seen in their appreciation for color and their openness toward the human body. Look books don't shy away from garments that could be controversial, such as the Miley Cyrus staple of pasties. “The feminine body is beautiful. And especially being in Ghana, women could freely breastfeed in public, and here everything is so sexualized. It's ridiculous. So I don't think with that (featuring pasties in their Manifested You look book), we gave it any thought. We were like this is fun. This is sexy. This is who these girls are,” Scheel said.

NOW OPEN

Scheel and Lundie hope to use Orenda Lou to celebrate the feminine mind, body and soul beyond the garments they sell, lookbooks they shoot and content they post. They are currently tweaking the details of hosting a pop-up shop in the next few months. It will celebrate their website launch and will incorporate the women who have joined forces with them along the way. “We really want to have an event with all these lovely people that we've been working with, just kind of with music and art and fashion. A girl power zone where everyone can come together,” Lundie said. This is just the beginning when it comes to their dreams of moving their community from a digital space and into the physical world. A permanent home for both Orenda Lou and their growing passions is the aim. “We're both really into nutrition

and holistic healing and that path so that's why with Orenda Lou — we didn't want it (the name) to be “something vintage,” because we really wanted Orenda Lou to be something we grow with. It could be our brand for life. We want to incorporate our passions outside of fashion,” Lundie said. Scheel continued, “We've talked about down the road having some sort of, I don't want to say venue, just a place where people can come to share their creative energies with each other, whether that be singing or cooking or herbalism or art or yoga. Anything that is people's driving force.” To snag a one-of-a-kind piece or stay connected to what Scheel and Lundie are lusting over and even listening to, visit OrendaLou.com.

HOME BASE OF DENVER FASHION TRUCK

Come on by! Denver Fashion Truck now has a brick and mortar — but don’t worry, we’re still a mobile shop too! Stop by during shop hours: Tuesday–Friday 11a.m.–6p.m. Saturday 10a.m.–6p.m. Sunday 10a.m.–4p.m.

Shop

Local, Art, Fashion, Handmade, Upcycled, Lifestyle and Vintage

www.denverfashiontruck.com

2343 W 44th Avenue Denver, Colorado 80211

@denverfashiontruck

Metrosphere Vol 35 | Issue 2 | 55

THREADS

Photos by Michael Ortiz

Auraria Street Style

About Town About Town

METROFEAR

56 | Metrosphere Vol 35 | Issue 2

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Reformation noun ref·or·ma·tion /refərˈmāSH(ə)n/

1. The action or process of reforming an institution or practice.

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