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Molly Pfeffer March 15, 2014 | 2:47pm EST After dizzily making my way around the second floor of the Smithsonian Institution’s National Museum of Natural History, a sign guided me though the rocks and minerals gift shop and finally to the newest temporary exhibit. Unintended Journeys, a collection of award-winning photographs journaling the life within environmental refugee locations, is ironically tucked away in the museum’s Special Exhibits Gallery. Spotlighting the rapid human displacement, environmental change and hardships resulting from climate change and natural disasters the last ten years, Unintended Journeys features photographs by Magnum Photos, a photography collaborative that strives to make the experiences of these regions reality. Dimly lit, the nook of an exhibit is organized by natural disaster – Haiti after the earthquake, desertification in East Africa, New Orleans post-Katrina, tsunami-struck Japan, and Bangladesh under coastal flooding. The quiet murmur of a few voices struck me first. Two women in their fifties intelligently pondered the photos of Japan, a young backpacked couple sat to watch a video about Katrina, and a family embarked on an unintended journey from the back entrance just to pass through. Something about the silence of the photographs’ subjects juxtaposed with the lack of much discussion in the room explained what the exhibit may attempt to portray. Everything quiet and hauntingly peaceful about the images fencing viewers into the onlookers’ reality. Whether intentional or not, each region appeared to have a theme. Japan’s was of nature versus industrialization. The photos showed urban areas drenched in concrete rubble, small mothers making camp in a school gymnasium, and a family sitting down to eat microwaved noodles. I thought about the lives of survivors. With everything collapsed around them, the people appeared to be doing their best to cope with the tragedy while still trying to live how they did pre-tsunami; to live with stuff. The Japan photos were the most surreal. Faces stood out in the photographs of Haiti. The images captured close-ups of patients in pop-up medical facilities, people holding dirt-covered dolls, and a father with his two kids. Their eyes pierced through the print. But there were smiles on many faces too, and they sadly made me smile. Thousands of war refugees trekked through the photos of desertification in East Africa’s largest refugee settlement, Dadaab. Beautiful yes, but the pictures show more than the history of a severely degraded region. I felt the most separated from the people and the place – the scenes seemed stereotypical and thus speaking to the lack of awareness museum-goers may have of the land’s severity. The photographs of Bangladesh underneath water from quick sea-level rise were vibrant and high contrast. The photographers captured a sort of natural flow between the environmental events and the adaptation of Bangladesh people. Despite the geography’s future, the people and places in these photos put the disaster into an odd, accepting perspective. And of course, the photographs of the Gulf of Mexico after Hurricane Katrina finished up the circular collection. The visuals many Americans may already have in the back of their minds about the New Orleans catastrophe are brought back to present consciousness. With all of the photographs in Unintended Journeys, comes an odd challenge to the onlookers to think about time in particular. Despite the exhibit’s smallness and thus, a perhaps unconsciously attached sense of unimportance, its size speaks to the difficulty in comprehending the tragedies that have all occurred within the last decade. Vivid in their visual development and storytelling, Unintended Journeys should be on the compass of more visitors. For its modesty, I believe, is what will make people take it to heart. Unintended Journeys runs till August 13 at the Natural History Museum, most easily accessible from the Smithsonian Metro stop on the Blue and Orange lines.

Vera Hanson March 15, 2014 | 2:58pm EST Since viewing the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston’s John Singer Sargent exhibit a few months ago, I’ve been drawn to watercolors. So, when I saw that The Phillips Collection had a new watercolors exhibit, I was eager to visit. After wandering the museum for a little while, unable to find the exhibit, I asked where the watercolors were located. I was told to head to the second floor, but I was not told that the exhibit was occupying a corner room of the museum so small that it makes a dorm room seem spacious. Within the hidden “alcove” are dozens of tiny watercolors the size of index cards. The title of the exhibit, Jean Meisel 50-65 Horizon Line, explains why it is that each painting is lined up matching the horizon lines within each watercolor. The walls of the tiny room are a deep blue and the watercolors wrap around them in a singular line. A local DC artist, Meisel’s watercolors are dreamy, despite their small-scale. The paintings range in colors from light blues and greens to richer pinks and oranges. They are especially interesting due to their tone and texture, which leaves a subtle, but beautiful impression on viewers. Because of this, the exhibit is more about the emotions the paintings evoke rather than the paintings themselves. Meisel once said, “The horizon is something that is always there, yet we take for granted. It is a steady line that is always present, yet always hides something.” In many ways this quote reflects the ambiguity and mysteriousness of the exhibit and the refinement of her paintings. Because of the small space, the dark blue walls, and the nature of the watercolors, the exhibit definitely acts as a tranquil escape for visitors. This makes the hidden exhibit peaceful, but also a bit underwhelming considering the way the museum marketed the exhibition. If you are looking for a few minutes tucked away in a calm nook of The Phillips Collection, definitely take the time to check out her work. If you are, instead, hoping for Sargent-sized watercolors and diverse subject matter, you will not find it here. That is not to say that Meisel’s paintings are not excellent, they are great. Just be mindful of the size of both her watercolors and the room they inhabit. Meisel’s work is on view through May 4th and the museum is only a quick walk from the Dupont Circle metro station on the Red line.

Denis Sgouros March 15, 2014 | 3:59pm EST I wonder what went through the ticket master’s head as he looked me in the eyes and handed me tickets to Normal with a smile and a nod. Was he looking forward to seeing me stumble out at the end of the 70 minute 1-act play? Disheveled and questioning all I had ever known? I’ll never know for certain. At the end, I was too busy lunging for the restroom to pay the ticket master any heed. You see, the volume of liquid courage I had previously soaked up that night underwent a cruel transmutation, as the play went on, into liquid hell-terror screaming for release. Set upon a small stage with sparse props the play set is seemingly as unassuming as a small beady eyed spider. However, this spider has bite that betrays its size and its venom is potent story telling. The story takes place in 1930s Dusseldorf. Peter Kurten, the Dusseldorf ripper, has been caught and must now stand trial for his crimes. Enter Dr. Justus Wehner, defense attorney for Peter Kurten, this man seeks only to prove that Kurten, despite being a monster, cannot be held accountable for his crimes pleading insanity. Kurten asks of the jury and audience alike to consider: “Do we punish murder with murder? Do we [as a society] bear monsters or do we create them?” Wehner may aim to stay Kurten’s execution but the Dusseldorf ripper has other plans for this lawyer…In a thrust of irony it becomes apparent that the Dusseldorf ripper and his wife read the left handed lawyer as easily as the yellow legal notepad he jots his case notes upon. When Kurten speaks to Wehner it is like a lion stalking his prey. When Kurten stands the metaphorical corpse of all victims lie in his shadow, blanketed in white and wearing an eerie porcelain mask. At times goofy and cartoon like, while at others terrifying and violent, what is consistent throughout this production is the terror. I’ve never had a date clutch my arm in fright before. This happened when I saw this play, and trust me, it was a perfectly Normal reaction. Showtimes are Thursday-Sunday at 7:30PM, from now until March 30th at the DCAC in Adams Morgan. Tickets are pay what you can on Thursday and $25 Friday-Sunday. Use code: fantom10 for $10 off admission thanks to Fantom Comics in Union Station! If you’re interested in further works by Molotov Theatre Company, check out their website for other upcoming events.

Kat Lukes March 2, 2014 | 4:33pm EST I’ll be honest—I had no idea what to expect from last Friday’s performance of HABITAT at the AU Katzen Museum. Composed by Steve Antosca, performed by Ross Karre, and digitally altered by William Bent, HABITAT promised to combine sound, physical space, and live computer transformation. I had seen the event unceremoniously advertised on the Katzen website, and the short explanation described it as a “concert-length percussion solo,” which instantly conjured images of a leather-clad Christopher Walken demanding his prescription for more cowbell. While the cowbell did make an appearance, HABITAT proved itself to be a complex, multi-media performance, intertwining a collection of mediums in conversation for an immersive concert that moved from station to station through the museum. When I first walked into the museum, I was a bit confused; chairs were set up at various points near Karre’s instruments, with a cluster underneath the stairs, some angled along the wall in a separate gallery, and several rows in the central rotunda. Audience members were not given much direction by the staff, and I didn’t want to choose a seat only to later find myself listening to the majority of the concert through a wall. As the concert progressed, I was confused as whether to follow Karre through the space as he moved from station to station in an awkward game of musical chairs or to stay in my seat. The chairs ultimately interrupted the audience’s freedom to explore the space and musical composition equally. Each movement of the concert was distinct, both stylistically and spatially. Moving from the rotunda to the neighboring gallery, then to the stairway and up into the second and third floors, each section mimicked its environment in tone and register. The audience was able to experience how each movement interacted with the gallery space, resonating in different ways depending on where and what Karre was performing at that moment. The effect was transformative, molding the museum’s galleries into a meditative and other-worldly space. Higher tones and sounds reminiscent of wind characterized the portions performed on the second and third floors, while the rotunda’s movement was written with wider, rounder notes. The result was beautiful musical architecture; Antosca drew up the blueprints for the gallery in his score and decorated the walls with Bent’s digital alteration. But what HABITAT did most successfully was feign naturalism. Each movement felt organic, filling up the space by its own volition. Watching Karre play on “found” instruments like clay pots and coffee tins reinforced this idea. In reality, every movement performed by Karre and Bent was calculated and predetermined, written on a score sheet in what I interpreted as brilliant detail. The entire concert was paired with video projections of twisting strings and other linear forms. Being that the other elements of the performance were so accomplished, the visuals felt like more of an after-thought than a fully integrated part of the performance (as if to say, “Here’s a really challenging and innovative piece of avant-garde percussion which explores resonance in both a traditional and spatial fashion— also here’s some twine”). More so, while there was obvious consideration for the architectural space of the AU Museum, there was not for the artwork hanging on the walls. While clumsy in some areas, HABITAT successfully immersed its audience in a three-way dialogue between percussion, computer, and space. The composition catered to the museum’s galleries and complexly dealt with the traditional conventions of music by integrating contemporary sensibilities, even though the visuals could have been fine-tuned. Antosca’s composition walked the line of conceptual and concrete—although maybe I’d recommend a little more cowbell. Special thanks to Caroline Salant.

Nolan Miller and Vera Hanson March 1, 2014 | 4:13pm EST Starting off with a sob and an uncomfortable laugh, Denmark’s “Helium” and the U.K.’s “The Voorman Problem” are the first two films in the theatrical release collection of the Oscar nominated live action shorts of 2014. They are reviewed by Nolan Miller. “Helium” introduces us to the little blonde Danish boy named Alfred who is bedridden with a crippling and life-threatening disease. Enzo, a new janitor in the hospital, becomes friends with poor Alfred who reminds him of his own brother he lost as a young boy. With each successive visit to Alfred’s room we learn piece by piece of Helium, the collection of houses suspended by balloons where sick children go when they die to “get their strength back.” As Enzo gets close to the end of his fantastic tale complete with brief scenes of Alfred’s imaginings of Helium depicted on screen, Alfred’s condition suddenly takes a turn for the worst. The short ends with Alfred, supposedly close to death, finally leaving for Helium by way of the gigantic, gold and red zeppelin called the “Helium Express.” An overly sentimental piece complete with a soundtrack oscillating back and forth between melancholy and hopeful tracks to shove its point home, “Helium” is designed to tug, no, yank violently at the heart strings of the audience. The United Kingdom’s “The Voorman Problem” lightens the mood, but only temporarily. For a film that takes place almost exclusively in a prison, the film is overall pretty light-hearted and fun, especially after the Danish sob story. The short starts with the prison warden explaining to William the pragmatic psychiatrist why he was hired: essentially to declare prisoner Voorman insane by any means necessary so the warden can have him deported to an insane asylum. The prisoner has become a huge problem for the warden because Voorman believes himself to be a god. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the constant chanting of his name heard in the background is an auditory testament to how Voorman has convinced the entire prison population of his divinity as well. During his interviews with “God,” William becomes less and less sure of Voorman’s insanity until the psychiatrist is confronted with evidence he cannot deny. Comedic, yet nonetheless extremely alarming, “The Voorman Problem” is quite a ride from reality to insanity and back again. Reviewed by Vera Hanson, the final three live action shorts come from France, Spain, and Finland. The French short, “Avant Que De Tout Perdre” (Just Before Losing Everything),tells the story of a wife struggling to escape from her abusive husband. With the help and support of her coworkers, she anxiously attempts to leave town with her two children. The film, which is 29 minutes long, does an excellent job at slowly revealing elements of the story to viewers. Everything that happens seems to occur in a rushed daze. Details are, at first, withheld from the audience as a way to build, not only confusion, but also suspense. The wife, played by Léa Drucker, captures the anxiety, hurt and fear of her character in a restrained, yet unbelievably heart-wrenching manner. The film was effective in that the moments of suspenseful silence were just as effective as the moments of rushed whispers and conversations. “Aquel No Era Yo” (That Wasn’t Me) is a raw and, at times, horrific Spanish short film telling the story of Spanish aid workers who are taken hostage in an African military compound. The story unfolds abruptly as the aid workers are forcefully taken from their vehicle at a checkpoint when the African General suspects them of kidnapping his child soldiers. From this moment on, the audience watches as countless atrocities unfold in the violent and brutal world of the soldiers and their General. Several minutes into the film comes the first switch to a present-day auditorium where one of these former child soldiers speaks to a large auditorium. It’s through these moments of reflection from the young man that the film truly takes on a whole new dimension. His insights and commentaries on what it was like to have been a child soldier offers a layer of perspective that makes the film all the more chilling. The final short comes from Finland and is titled “Pitääkö Mun Kaikki Hoitaa?” (Do I Have to Take Care of Everything?). After the undeniably somber first four films, this Finish comedy offers a sigh of relief, to say the least. Only seven minutes long, the film follows a Finish family’s morning as they rush to try and make it to a friend’s wedding. With the kind of relatable humor that seems to reach each and every one of us in unique ways, the film emphasizes the hilarity in the chaos of our day-to-day lives. Perhaps I enjoyed this film so much because it provided a light-hearted end to a series of films dealing with overwhelmingly heavy topics. Even so, the director’s impeccable choice of familial moments to portray in the race to the wedding was spot-on considering the seven-minute time frame.

Denis Sgouros March 1, 2014 | 2:46pm EST Asterios Polyp is a man haunted by the searing embers of his past; just ask the narrator, Ignazio, his still-born twin. Introduced looking broken and disheveled, Asterios lies alone on his king sized bed meant for two. He fidgets with his zippo, sounds of feminine ecstasy emanating from a television set its picture just out of frame, when a clap of thunder sparks the plot. It also sparks a fire in his apartment building. So it goes that on his 50th birthday, Asterios watches from out in the rain as all the mementos of his past go up in flames and he flees. He takes a wad of soggy $10 bills out of his wallet and purchases a greyhound ticket asking “how far would this take me?” The answer is Apogee. Formerly a renowned “paper architect,” an architect whose designs are lauded but never constructed, Asterios develops a humble life in Apogee. He tends to automobiles as a mechanic and rents the spare room in his boss’s house. However, he is still haunted by the linear outline of his dead brother’s ghost and he still wrestles with the demons of his past. His arrogance; he belittled his students and cruelly mocked them. His indifference; Asterios would abide the diminutive little conductor’s snide innuendoes towards his wife. His loss; Hana, his wife, could no longer tolerate his “holier than thou” attitude nor his unfaltering failure to defend her from the conductor’s subtle but vile advances. She leaves Asterios, burning him more than any blazing fire could. Flashbacks of Asterios’ previous life unveil his self-destructive behavior towards others. It is fitting that he was renowned as a paper architect because it becomes apparent it is not in his nature to create meaningful relationships so much as break others down. Apogee, meaning the highest point in the development of something, is the perfect place for Asterios to begin a new life because it is there that he begins to rebuild himself from the top down.

Sarah Shelton February 26, 2014 | 9:44pm EST After all the snow, class cancellations and the heart filled holiday, I took it upon myself to run way off campus to a much cooler place. I escaped to Chinatown where the National Portrait Gallery is putting famous photographs of famous people on display in the American Cool exhibit. Within the American Cool exhibit are original photographs of individuals from America’s past and present that fit into the nation’s idea of “cool.” To be cool is to something new and unattainable. Including everyone from celebrity rock stars, such as Jimmy Hendrix and Kurt Cobain, to timeless prose writers like Earnest Hemingway, the photographs offer an interpretation of what the term “cool” really means and how it is applied to a wide variety of people. Next to the welcoming purple neon sign that screamed American Cool are four definitions for the word cool. An original artistic vision carried out with a signature style, cultural rebellion or transgression for a given generation, iconic power, or a recognized cultural legacy are all definitions, which the various photographs explain. For example, from the early twentieth century were artists such as Georgia O’Keefe and Duke Ellington and the current symbols of cool included Tony Hawk, Jay-Z, and Susan Sarandon. Diane Keaton has been recently buzzed about as a major snub of the exhibit; the epitome of cool with her menswear wardrobe and casual attitude, Keaton’s version of cool was not cool enough apparently. Off of the main hall where every inch of wall space is filled with images of timelessly cool Americans are a number of small rooms that display hundreds more. Despite the vast array of black and white photographs, and some color, the exhibit still manages to feel intimate in its cool grey blue walls. The photographs themselves are full of depth and allow the audience to sneak a glimpse into the soul of every subject. No two were alike, each and every print portraying an individualistic view point of “cool”. Every moment spent inside the picture filled walls of the American Cool show were well spent indeed. The exhibit exemplified a more exact and accurate description of what it means to be cool rather than the stereotypical and vague definition, which was charming and refreshing. Cool does not necessarily mean having 1,000 friends on Facebook, but rather carving a path as a free spirit, allowing honest creativity to follow. The exhibit is open from February 7, 2014 until September, and just like all of the Smithsonian Museums, there is no cost of entry.

Ruthie Zeltzer February 26, 2014 | 6:20pm EST A refreshing and eye-opening exhibit, Our America: the Latino Presence in American Art, celebrates the stories and experiences of American artists with Mexican, Cuban, Puerto Rican, and Dominican cultural roots. All text in the exhibit is written in both Spanish and English. Many of the actual pieces feature both languages and combine Latin and American cultural paradigms. The harmonious blending of cultures exemplifies the notion of shared identity claimed by both the artist and viewer. Through numerous mediums, the exhibit explores themes such as the journey, heritage, tradition, family, and community. Using a variety of approaches, the viewer catches a glimpse of the cross-section of cultures that influence the artists’ own experiences as Americans. Sometimes painful, sometimes beautiful, and often both–the works evoke strong and sincere emotions. The protest art on display is particularly strong; demanding justice across various swaths of social issues, the collection of works had a tremendous impact on me. One of my favorites was “Sun Mad,” by Ester Hernandez. In the screen-print, she transforms the Sun Maid of the famous raisin company into a skeleton to protest the pollution that impacted her family and hometown. With graphic colors and a jarring subject, this piece also demands justice for the workers and consumers that were harmed by the company’s policies around the time the print was produced. Another work that caught my eye was Melesio “Mel” Casas’ “Humanscape 62.” Along with many other activists during the 1970s, Casas demanded that Frito Lay remove the Frito Bandito from circulation. Here, he includes an image of the Bandito atop an Aztec image, a Girl Scout, and many other “brown” stereotypical iconography stemming from Latino and indigenous cultures. Perhaps one of the most moving pieces in the exhibit, Ken Gonzales-Day’s “Erased Lynchings” is made up of fifteen edited ink-jet prints of U.S. postcards depicting lynchings of Mexicans and Mexican-Americans that took place in California during the late nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries. To call attention to the perpetrators rather than the victims, Gonzales-Day first photographed the images and then edited out the victims completely, lending an even more haunting element to his work. The single most moving piece that I encountered during my time at the exhibit is pictured below. Carelessly written on the reverse of a postcard depicting a lynching, I read the words “this is what he got.” Although not for the faint of heart, head over to the American Art Museum soon if you are interested in getting a vivid taste of the Latin-American experience. Our America: the Latino Presence in American Art is on exhibit until March 2, 2014. The Smithsonian America Art Museum is located on 8th and G, and it is open from 11:30am-7:00pm daily. For more information, visit AmericanArt.si.edu/ouramerica.

Kate Broadwell February 26, 2014 | 5:56pm EST I’ve recently made an effort to get off campus more to explore DC and discover some nice study spots that will motivate me to get things done. This past drizzly Wednesday I hopped on the Redline to head anywhere but AU to find a place where I could sit down and crank out my well-postponed philosophy paper. Enter Busboys and Poets, a renowned restaurant/coffee shop/bookstore that’s a ten-minute walk from the Gallery Place/Chinatown metro stop. Busboys and Poets boasts a low-key vibe and is most recognized for the variety of art related events hosted daily at its four separate locations, particularly poetry readings. Located on 5th and K, the building can’t be missed with its bright orange sign, colorfully painted crate flowerboxes, and metal yellow sculpture out front. Upon entering, the spacious interior has an airy, almost industrial feel with exposed pipes crisscrossing the ceiling that reaches more than 25 feet high. The inside is bigger than you might think, with a lot of space towards the back and a spiraling staircase leading to a whole other upstairs floor. I was immediately greeted by the smiling staff and shown a large variety of seating choices that ranged from comfy couches tucked away in cozy corners to huge tables in front of expansive windows. I decided to settle down in a red voluptuous leather armchair. Looking around, the bowler hat and overall sporting staff was very approachable and whisked around carrying mouthwatering dishes. Despite Busboys and Poets also being a restaurant, I loved that you have the option to stay and relax for a while like in a traditional café. While working, I also enjoyed glancing around at the artworks hanging liberally on the walls – each location circulates local artwork twice annually, aiming to show case local artists. The colorful artworks make the environment even more vibrant and interesting and I frequently found myself procrastinating by looking around at them all. I was handed a menu upon sitting down filled with a glorious abundance of delicious sounding dishes, including sweet potato fries, pan seared scallops, and hazelnut chocolate cake (I was about to die and go to heaven, okay?). However, there are also tons of vegan, vegetarian, and gluten-free options for anyone with special dietary needs. Double bonus: there’s free Wi-Fi. The menu is a little pricey for certain items, but the servings were pretty large and certainly tempted me to drop a few pennies. I ended up getting a basic latte, which did not disappoint. Before leaving, I stopped to look at the small, conveniently located mini bookstore by the entrance. Although small, I enjoyed browsing through a selection of books by local artists and subjects relating to social justice. All in all, I wholeheartedly recommend Busboys and Poets as a great brunch place or study spot for all of those who want a fresh change from their local Panera. Though a bit of a metro ride away from campus, the change of scenery and a fresh bite to eat certainly made it worthwhile.

Evan Mills February 24, 2014 | 2:32pm EST Xiu Xiu (the demon-baby of San Jose native Jamie Stewart) recently released their latest album Angel Guts: Red Classroom. It is a comically dark and suspenseful journey into a dank basement of Frankenstein-inspired electronic doom. The slow and simple midi rhythms drip lifelessly like water droplets and splatter into a puddle of cold, stagnant and a-tonal clambering. What Xiu Xiu does well is create a dark and enveloping mood that sounds like something very old and very cutting edge simultaneously. Their music does not follow specific and traditional song structures or have hooks or even distinguishable melodies, but rather generates an ominous vibe. They use repetition effectively and lure their victims/listeners into a cryptic trance. They then assault the unsuspecting listener with ludicrously offensive and vile lyrics that are worked in between the spaces of their electronic pings and drum kit smashes. The vocals give the otherwise soulless music a somewhat human element, so it is not accurate to describe Xiu Xiu as purely electronic. There are elements of traditional songwriting beneath the layers of synthesizer machinery. This album succeeds in being dark and creepy but is also sometimes hard to take seriously. I dig it for its dark, trance-like vibe. But I often grew tired of the over the top ghoul-like ranting.

Nolan Miller February 17, 2014 | 10:00pm EST Marvel is commonly considered as lighter, more fantastical, and at times even sillier than the only other comic book publisher that rivals its titanic size, namely DC. However, the company’s relatively new (2012) NOW! imprint (Superior Spider-Man, All New X-Men, Hawkeye) possesses both a darker tone and an exceptionally sophisticated writing style unheard of for Marvel since the beginning of the “adults only” MAX imprint back in 2001. The blonde-mained, Norse god of thunder Thor of recent movie fame was one of the first characters to get his Marvel NOW! reboot with the start of Thor: God of Thunder on November 14, 2012. The New York Times best-selling series is now on its twenty-first issue, published this past Wednesday. This review, however, will focus only on the first five issues, which were collected in the paperback graphic novel released earlier this month titled Thor: God of Thunder, Vol. 1: The God Butcher. Simply put, I was completely blown away by Jason Aaron and Esad Ribic’s fresh take on a character that has been a Marvel icon for over half a century. Aaron’s multi-dimensional writing and Ribic’s beautiful illustration combines to form a gripping, intense comic book reading experience I never expected from a Marvel book. The story revolves around Gorr the God Butcher, a seemingly unstoppable killing machine, who is striving to rid mortals of the chains of worship he perceives as having been thrown upon them by the gods of the universe. Three different timelines, which include young Thor in the late 800s, present day Thor, and old, bearded Thor of the far future (with a fourth small episode taking place at literally the beginning of time thrown in towards the end of the novel), run side-by-side cataloging Gorr’s relentless pursuit of immortal genocide. The mysterious Butcher’s deeds left me awestruck, and the whole plot remains masterfully unpredictable throughout, never letting up on the ever growing sense of absolute doom. The visceral drawing lends the appropriate amount of dramatic heft to horrific events, such as the killing of the first god who created life and the torture of Thor by Gorr, while simultaneously being careful not to go overboard. To give you an idea, Ribic’s illustration resembles Alex Ross’s painting, exhibited in novels such as Marvels, Kingdom Come, and Justice, and yet somehow still seems to stay true to the character’s old school roots. Ribic is really one of a kind and Thor: God of Thunder is his most eye-catching work to date. In addition to being the best start to a series I have ever read, The God Butcher is one of the best graphic novels ever in my book. I recommend it to readers new to the genre as well as “comic book nerds,” to use an amiable term. However, I feel obligated to warn you, the novel ends right in the middle of the larger story, which really is the only predictable thing about it. The soul-crushing cliffhanger works on a maddening amount of levels, dangling in front of the reader’s nose the team-up of all three Thors in a godless future, the story of the origin of Gorr, and the start of the Butcher’s “new age of freedom” after 900 years of work. Never have I been more compelled to buy the next installment of a series after such a desolate and depressing ending; you’ve been warned.

Tiffany Wong February 16, 2014 | 6:05pm EST Revered by The New York Times and The Washington Post, D.C.’s own humble food magazine has been making the rounds around the country and rapidly increasing in popularity. The collage-crazy Runcible Spoon is completely handmade, with letters cut out to make headlines, news columns individually pasted in, and pages layered with scrap photos that have been harvest over time. To give you an idea, in its latest issue called The Cheap Issue a haphazardly cut photo of a surprised Nicki Minaj is displayed on the same page as a satirical article, “Always Thank the Chef,” and a vintage stock photo of a boy in a lobster costume. I recently met up with Malaka Gharib, the ‘zine’s creator and driving force, to talk about her beloved Runcible Spoon. What made you want to make a food ‘zine rather than any other ‘zine? When I was growing up, I thought that music was cool, fashion was cool, but when I became an adult, I was no longer interested in that stuff. I was interested in food. What drove you to make a ‘zine that would be mass distributed? In the ‘zine world, there are different kinds of ‘zines. Personal ‘zines are the kind you think are personal and made in small batches. But I come from a magazine background, so I’m more comfortable making something that’s more like a magazine that’s distributed to as many people as possible. It’s a format I feel comfortable with. People who like weird foods, we’d love to share it with. I noticed that your ‘zine has a certain aesthetic and you personally came up with most of it. What drew you to that type of style? The “zine-est” part of our ‘zine is that we do everything handmade from scratch. I also don’t know how to use Photoshop or Illustrator or Adobe InDesign, so my limited capability of layout is me cutting and pasting everything by hand. But, I will say that I also have been collaging paper, which has always given my ‘zines and journals a certain aesthetic. Your ‘zine has the craziest themes, for example, The Mad Science Issue, The Gross Issue, and The Salt Issue. How do you come up with the themes? That’s a joint decision we make with our editors. We decide what is a really fun topic and we choose that. We basically have a week where we think of all the ideas we can, and then we have a meeting where we share our different themes. Whichever is the best idea, we’re going to run with that. Growing up, were you artistic? I would say so. My mom worked at the airport, so she would come home with stacks of magazines from around the world, like Elle China and The Tattler from the U.K. I would open them up and see them as little worlds or reflections of how one of the worlds look like, and I would cut them up and use them in my art projects. I used to collect scraps and if I saw a picture of a small, tiny thing that I liked, like a lemon or a flower, I would cut it out. I would have a box of these little scraps that I would keep. I’ve always been interested in paper and magazines. Do you think that your artistry also runs in your family? My aunt is a doctor in Los Angeles, but I think she’s always had a creative streak in her. She always collected stamps and my grandmother was always interested in teaching me how to use my hands, like sewing. I would make dolls, I would cook, I would go to the garden and make my own geraniums. She was very interested in that domesticity and I really like that too. How do you find your writers and contributors? A lot of them now come to us, but most of them are our friends. A lot of times, people come to us and say that they’re interest in writing. Other times, we’ll see a writer in real life or an artist we really like, and we’ll reach out and ask them to come and do stuff for us. More often than not, they say “yes,” so that’s good! How do you feel about your success with Runcible Spoon and how it’s been catching on recently? I’ve always wanted to work for a food magazine, like Saveur. I was offered an internship there, but I couldn’t afford to move out to New York. I was very sad to decline it and have to work a real job in DC, but a friend of mine once told me, “You can always get into the party from the back door.” Making the ‘zine, I’m entering the party and working in the food world, but in a different way. I think it’s been more rewarding than taking the traditional path of interning at a food magazine and then working there. I feel very proud that I was able to make it into the industry that way. Where did you get the name for your ‘zine? The first book I ever bought from Scholastic Books – you remember that? – was The Owl and the Pussycat. Runcible Spoon is a line from that book. It’s a made up word that means nothing. What are you planning for Runcible’s future? I think that slow and steady wins the race. Perfecting the way that we reach out to people, doing more events, and making the ‘zine longer and better quality is my idea. I’m happy to do the ‘zine for another five years, or another two years, but I have other things to offer in this world. There are so many years to live, so let’s work on this project first and we’ll see how it goes. Runcible Spoon is sold at Each Peach Market, Qualia Coffee, Seasonal Pantry, and Treasury Vintage, which are all in D.C. Other locations can be found here. To buy online, visit the ‘zine’s Etsy page.