Archive

Issue 1: Growth & Decay

Nothing to Hem Them In — There’s nowhere quite so Texan as West Texas. Cowboy boots are utilitarian, not kitschy. Tourists stick out like rental cars at the neighborhood FINA gas station, but locals are rarely less than welcoming. Life moves at a slow, easy pace in this pocket of the world where everything is three parts sky, one part civilization.

Detroit is the New Detroit — In Detroit, the term “blank slate” is often used in relation to all of these problems. It is both a nod to the physical landscape (barren, abandoned, waiting to be turned into farmland in the opinion of some) and the social landscape; the sense is that things here have gotten so bad that the city has turned into a tabula rasa.

Suddenly Verbose — It has been a few weeks now since my visits with Nick Zammuto and Paul deJong, known jointly for over a decade now as The Books. What does one usually expect on meeting his heroes for the first time?

Rio de Agosto — Somewhere in the middle of my optimism and excitement I’d ignored the telltale signs: we didn’t speak the same language, he was deliriously attractive and charming and had only been in New York for a few days, he had a successful career as an art director for Brazilian soap operas while I was just finishing up my degree in creative writing with no job prospects on the horizon, he was ten years older than me and had an eleven year old son.

All Hail McQueen — One month prior, we’d attempted to see the show and made the mistake of coming on opening weekend, which also fell on Mother’s Day, only to be assaulted with a two-hour line. This time I’m determined. The line is full of families in from the Midwest. A woman in front of us asks if this was the line for the “Steve McQueen Show.”

Something/Nothing — When I was in third grade I wrote a story about a caterpillar and his friend going fishing. I couldn’t think of names for the characters and in amusement at my inability to think of “anything” I named the protagonist Nothing. Then it just made sense to me that his friend would be named Something. Friends should be complementary, after all. Complimentary too, perhaps.

Two Shorts — I still remember reading my first explanation of “blue balls.” In the fourth and fifth grades among my most treasured possessions was a collection of weathered teen magazines.

Issue 2: Intentional Limitations

Nature Does Not Knock — North Brooklyn is going through a radical transition. Much of the region is historically industrial, and has been since the nineteenth century. While the area just inland from the East River is a thriving residential community, the blocks along the East River remain industrial. For more than a decade, gentrification has been transforming the neighborhood of Greenpoint into a moneyed, metropolitan haven.

Interview with Brother John — Brother John is a 14-piece avant-folk orchestra comprised of three singers (two of whom double on guitars), full woodwind and string sections, French horn, drums, and electronics. Formed in early 2010 by composer Travis Jeffords and social psychologist Austin Chapman, Brother John is known for their ethereal and layered music.

Talking Shape — “The way that they market themselves or kind of refuse to engage with people in appealing ways; I feel like they think that’s what part of minimalism should be. But it’s just really unfriendly.”

Strawberry Cake — I was surprised when the hostess returned to the patio carrying a strawberry cake. The other teenagers climbed out of the pool to circle around a glass table, on which she’d set a stack of plates.

The Right Kind of Pain — I couldn’t sleep, and whether it was from the wine or the fight with Ted, I didn’t know. I ran through the night’s events in my head and began to spin.

The Belly’s Hungers — Why leave a city that thoroughly satisfies my passion for food for a city that often leaves me wanting? By taking a culinary journey through two very different cities, I have managed to find answers to these questions.

An Acrostic from Jessie Gaynor

Issue 3: Half a Glass

Liquor Stories — She told me she’d drank a few sips of beer once in college and hated it and hadn’t bothered with alcohol since. This was the first time she’d been in a liquor store to buy something. I wasn’t sure if I believed her, but I wanted to. I usually wanted to believe the customers: the woman who told me that Southern Comfort helped her get over winter sniffles, the man who swore he could tell the difference between various brands of white zinfandel.

Silent, Silent Barn — On the street, July humidity swallowed him up. He smoked a cigarette even though he knew it’d just make it worse. A car pulled up: a white Civic held together with tape. Sal got in.

Difficult Country — We arrive as the sun is setting. Reno is empty and hopeless, but I’ve always liked it. There’s something beautiful about how big the sky is and the way the colors change when the sun sets, the bright lights that promise you things that aren’t true and the people who believe them.

Half-Truths are Hard to Swallow — Photography from and an interview with Caroline LeFevre.

Kiss the Bottle — A woman explores her masculinity through whiskey.

Bees Grow in Brooklyn — There are more bees in Brooklyn than you’d expect. Why? Who keeps them? What happens when the storm is coming straight for the city?

Backyard Botanicals — A young woman’s foray into the world of botanical medicine.

Issue 4: Street Level

Have A ‘Gansett — Narragansett Brewery harkens the story of Providence’s boom-town days which, by nature, is tragic. Though the plant was based up the road in Cranston, its initial operations generated county-wide work for everyone from blacksmiths to railroad men, and its lithographs were ubiquitous around the city’s bars, brick facades, and general stores. From the late-1800s to the 1960s (interrupted only by Prohibition), Narragansett beer was the number one selling brand in New England. And it was a source of such regional pride that even its factory workers were encouraged to guzzle between their shifts. They provided employment for WWII vets, pioneered the flip-top can, and were generally consumed and adored by citizens with familial-like fervor.

The State of Whiteness — A depressing look at race relations in liberal and progressive Oregon.

In the Cut and Thrust — Girls with shaved heads and gauged earlobes wore denim jumpers, neon spandex, and high top Keds. Three-year-olds whose homes were on the crowded block ran around without shirts or shoes, shooting dancers and musicians with squirt guns. The water, splashed in our eyes and on the backs of our legs, was welcomed on that hot day.

East Side, West Side, I-35 — “C/S” : Ubiquitous sign. Ubiquitous, yet particular. Ubiquitous in a particular world. It signals the motto “Con Safos.” It holds currency for Chicanos/as, people of Mexican descent living in the United States.

High Water Rising — A once booming industrial center, over the past forty years, the city has fallen to the Rust Belt story of rapidly declining employment rates, population, and economic stability. Moving here from Buffalo, a city notorious for its similar history and traitorous winters, Binghamton’s weather and relative urban desolation came as no surprise to me.

Protest. Occupation. Mic Check! — Two Friends Talking visits Occupy Wall Street.

Photography from Kait Robinson

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About 7STOPS

7STOPS is a monthly online magazine featuring seven different perspectives on a single topic. New issues are released the second Monday of every month.