It’s a mad, mad, mad, mad world—and, according to these four dystopian authors, the future is about to get a whole lot madder.
Lightning Bugs, by Julianna Baggott
In the suitcase: two gas masks, an extinguisher, the letters bound with a blue rubber band, the girls’ rusty barrettes, jumper cables, the Polaroids melted on the edges. When the smoke clears, we’ll go in. But for now they’re all asleep.
The truck is small, lined as it is with dead freezers and the cages covered with cut-up tarps and cloths. I don’t look in the cages. The girls’ mother told me not to. She said that it was better I didn’t know, better I couldn’t describe the beasts.
I said, Will they turn on us? She just stared at me. “You think I’d let them near my own if they were deadly? Jesus, haven’t you read the letters? We need these beasts to survive.” I have read the letters, but I don’t know if they’re authentic. How can you tell? Yes, they’ve got the government seals, but before all this any computer could have doctored up some seals. Still, I know the mother would die for the letters. She told me so. She said, “I’d let the girls die too so others can live. Wouldn’t you?”
I told her about my one little problem: my will to live. It’s strong and irrational. I’ll kill before I get killed. Not much I can do about it. She didn’t like this answer, but what choice does she have. She has to trust me. I don’t know if trust is still trust when it’s the only option. It’s like believing in God as someone cocks a gun against your temple.
The girls sleep on top of the freezers on one side—twins, can’t tell them apart. One turns, the other turns, and back again. The mother’s asleep on the freezers on the other side. Sometimes I slide open the window—where the kids used to gather for ice cream and striped popsicles—and look out at the night. The smoke’s still too thick. Two gas masks won’t do it for four of us anyway, not to mention the beasts.
I hear wings. I hear tick, tick, tick, like a beak or nails. Sometimes there’s a low growl, a thud. One of the cages isn’t a cage. It’s a terrarium. It’s small and beneath the cloth that hangs over it, there’s a dim shifting glow. I think of lightning bugs that I used to catch in jars in my childhood. I slip my hand under the cloth, put my hand to the glass. It’s warm. These aren’t lightning bugs. This is not my childhood. This might not be anyone’s childhood.
Julianna Baggott is the author of 18 books including Pure, a New York Times Notable Book of 2012. Its sequel, Fuse, is now available.
Cairo Warden, by G. Willow Wilson
From: CAIRO WARDEN <CairoWarden@state.us>
Reply-to: CAIRO WARDEN <CairoWarden@state.us>
To: UNDISCLOSED RECPT
Subject: Water Restrictions and Emergency Info for U.S. Citizens
As iterated in the previous announcement, unless you hold a diplomatic (blue) ID, you MUST queue for water at your assigned station. If you hold an individual (yellow) ID, you must collect your water ration yourself. If you hold a family (green) ID, you may send one family member to collect rations for the rest.
Please do not send nannies, drivers, etc. to collect your water ration for you. They will be turned away.
U.S. citizens are advised that demonstrations continue in 25 January Square and water riots are frequent in areas where the Nile has gone dry (all points north of Helwan). Travel to the delta is prohibited for diplomatic personnel. All other U.S. citizens are strongly advised to avoid the Cairo-Alexandria agricultural road; farmers whose land has been desiccated frequently set up roadblocks and the Egyptian army no longer polices the route.
Citizens who choose to travel in the Sinai Peninsula are advised to use extreme caution. Drone strikes on militant camps are ongoing and civilian deaths from friendly fire have become increasingly frequent. Always alert the U.S. Embassy in Cairo before planning a trip to Sinai and avoid crowded areas and towns; terrorists often hide in large civilian gatherings and we cannot be held responsible for bystanders.
The overland route from Egyptian Rafah to the former Gaza Strip remains closed. The Warden reminds U.S. citizens that the Strip is still considered a nuclear disaster site and thus remains under quarantine. Anyone who violates the quarantine does so at his or her own peril. There have been several cases in which American political activists detained inside the disaster site have been isolated and forcibly treated for radiation sickness whether or not they displayed symptoms. Be aware that the U.S. government has limited sway with authorities across the border, and plan your actions accordingly.
Voluntary evacuation flights continue to depart from Cairo International Airport twice daily, at 12 p.m. and 6 p.m. This is the last time the Warden will remind citizens that the U.S. government will not evacuate your pets.
G. Willow Wilson is the author of the novel Alif the Unseen, a New York Times Notable Book of 2012.
Indefinite Inevitable, by Lauren Groff
There were no portents, no blotting of the sun, no crows dropping dead from the clouds. It took a week to understand that all the babies being born were male. The newscasters spoke of it in a hush, a wobble to their lips. Nobody understood what was happening. Our own child was due at that time and we, who had seen clefts so clearly ghosting on the screen, held hands and went to the hospital. We were meek like veal.
Two days later, we brought our son home to his pink bassinet, to the ponies I’d so carefully painted on the wall back when he was to be our girl. We had no choice, we were happy he was hale and well. Afterward, everywhere we turned there was a scrum of toddlers, our sons’ sweaty necks, all things turned to guns: sticks, spoons, dolls. We hoarded the color purple, because it had become precious. Our own son was gentle, musical, he loved mint ice cream and hammocks and curling the big soft lunk of his body in our laps, where we could barely contain him. The last girls were in his class and they glowed with a sickly sheen, they were upheld as paragons. They rarely smiled, these girls, they were so terribly serious. When our son was in high school, with the flood of boys at his back, the rhetoric grew harsher, darker: the borders were locked down, skirmishes flared. And when our first crop of boys turned 18, the pandemic that had been latent so long blossomed in their blood.
Our sweet son grew distant, focused. He stopped going to school and only watched the news. We felt a darkness nearing, but we could do nothing. One morning, our boy was gone. We called our friends; their sons were also gone. The wailing was awful in the streets, then, and even now there are times I still hear it in my ears. How belated, our rage, when we should have raged at the beginning. Of course, our boys failed to return. Our son came home on leave once, and then he died in a desert, alone. The last girls grew older, became mothers themselves, but they were only the mothers of boys. How sweet were these last babies, these boys who grew strong, who went off singly and ill-starred, our boys with no boys to replace them.
Lauren Groff is the author of Arcadia, a New York Times Notable Book of 2012.
Summer People, by Peter Heller
Well. The island is cold. The island is where the rain converges with the fog, the boredom. Penobscot Bay, Maine, is not where I would have chosen to outlive anything, to listen to the bells toll for whom, every other day, a steady carillon of clang. Every other day another boat dispatched. Every other day a new grave with no one to put in it. Every night the stars, when there are stars, blow around like dust, refusing their places. At night I walk onto the black rocks of the point. The coast is a flashing cipher of disaster, a semaphore: blink, flash, burn, burn. Stay where you are, look to your souls. Ha! My own soul is the size of a matchbook by now, hard to find in the clutter.
My dreams go like this: I put on the snorkel. I swim out to the reef. Caroline is somewhere, behind me maybe. Sometimes she tugs on my flipper to remind me. Sea fans and parrotfish, dwarf angels, iridescence. I swim back. In the tiny surf wash I sit and rock and pry off the flippers. I stand. Wait—this is not the beach I left. It is another beach with strange houses, with empty doorways. She is nowhere in the water. I begin to weep.
Or the subway—I get on it and, stop by stop, lose the familiar, the others, until… You get the picture. That there was a time to be entertained by anything, to be moved by another animal busying itself in its own house; that we all had homes; that we took a train from anywhere to anywhere with an expectation of welcome at the other end—it’s astounding. That the universe might organize itself like that. Clang clang clang clang. Twelve then twelve then twelve. That someone is at the church nursing the impulse to commemorate. Well. We look at each other the way I imagine ghosts do when they sit down to eat their hopes. Aspiration aspic. Ha! Well.
Peter Heller is the author of the novel The Dog Stars, a New York Times bestseller and a Guardian Best Book of 2012.
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In the fair whose name says nothing, there was definitely a lot to absorb. When the New Art Dealer Alliance decided to sit this year’s New York edition in Basketball City, eyebrows raised. And indeed, it was surreal to walk through a maze of over 70 galleries from as far away as Tallinn, while passing by still visible scoreboards and hoops. Nevertheless, this year’s NADA Art Fair was a solid presentation. And with works ranging from a multi-colored computer screensaver to an installation involving performers wandering the aisles in metallic silver zentai, it was not hard to escape the incongruity of art collectors at a public recreation facility.
One of the main trends was that painting is back (again). But while NIGHT Gallery presented pretty and mundane figurative works on canvas, others displayed painting that incorporated new and dynamic elements. Daniel Faria Gallery presented a hauntingly curious collection of lips painted onto photographs of sunsets. Brennan & Griffin’s booth featured two color-field-esque paintings that employed bright neon light tubes to bring color off the canvas. Conversely, LOYAL Gallery’s paintings that utilized digital projections of geometric shapes heightened the illusion of flatness.
Bold presentations were noted throughout the fair. The School of Art Institute of Chicago featured a fascinating array of functioning/non-functioning design art objects; of particular interest was the six mice carcasses that had been fashioned into a cube. The artist team of Merkx & Gwynne was literally dramatic – creating a full set that featured trompe l’oeil artworks, a 15 foot high medieval tower, period costumes, and a mountable fake horse—they planned to film a reenactment of King Arthur for the duration of the fair.
In all, it was obvious that NADA was not Frieze, which this year was a good thing. While Frieze brought semblances of in-the-know art culture to collectors through food (Roberta’s, Marlow and Sons, Mission Chinese), NADA brought actual avant-garde. While both fairs prominently featured waterfront views, NADA’s location across from the art havens of Greenpoint, Williamsburg, and Bushwick was a subtle indication of the type of works featured. Depth, presence, daring, and innovation could be seen everywhere.
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The Tappan Collective artist Tyler Healy wears many hats: artist, curator, surfer, and for our little Q & A, versatile humorist. His work mirrors the latter with a simple style and a warm but brash commentary. Read on for more on the Parson-educated New Yorker’s unique inspirations and predelictions, in URL form.
Tell us a little bit about your upcoming show.
May 10 2013 http://edvarie.com/
When do you make your best work?
Probably in… America? http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/
You seem to curate quite a bit, how does that affect your work?
Sometimes it gets messy!?! http://25.media.tumblr.com/
Did you have breakfast today?
Yeah I had it in Paris, Vegas actually! http://www.
What is your favorite color?
Favorite color? This reminds me of a short story by Carrie Bradshaw…
What is your favorite instrument?
Pen 15.
What subject do you seem to be most drawn to?
See previous answer.
What is your least favorite sound?
Predz much sumz me ^. http://www.youtube.com/watch?
Who is your favorite artist?
Lloyd: What do you think the chances are of a guy like you and a girl like me… ending up together?
Mary: Well, Lloyd, that’s difficult to say. I mean, we don’t really…
Lloyd: Hit me with it! Just give it to me straight! I came a long way just to see you, Mary. The least you can do is level with me. What are my chances?
Mary: Not good.
Lloyd: You mean, not good like one out of a hundred?
Mary: I’d say more like one out of a million.
[pause]
Lloyd: So you’re telling me there’s a chance…
Why do you make art?
Lloyd: What the hell are we doing here, Harry? We gotta get out of this town!
Harry: Oh yeah, and go where? Where are we gonna go?
Lloyd: I’ll tell you where. Someplace warm. A place where the beer flows like wine. Where beautiful women instinctively flock like the salmon of Capistrano. I’m talking about a little place called Aspen.
Harry: Oh, I don’t know, Lloyd. The French are assholes.
What is your favorite ice cream flavor?
Gray.
What is the one thing you wouldn’t eat?
Regret.
Where do you pull inspiration from?
Mostly here https://www.google.com/
What is your biggest demon?
These next two questions were tough ones, but…
What is your happy place?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?
What gets you out of bed in the morning?
Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree. http://en.wikipedia.org/
What puts you to sleep at night?
More like who!
Who is your hero?
I would just sing the entire song but my breath has already been taken. #JenniferLoveHewitt http://www.youtube.com/watch?
What would you draw a lover?
My Back! http://www.hulu.com/watch/
Whats your ideal life at 60?
http://www.lifeisgood.com/
Where is your ideal life?
Peace, health and happiness for all.
What do you most admire in a man?
Resilience http://www.wired.
What do you most admire in a woman?
Did you see that skit on SNL? No, no the other one.
How much do you love Tappan?
Oh my God! http://www.youtube.com/
Why do you use film?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?
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On Friday night, we gathered 400 of our closest friends in the expansive TEMP Art Space in TriBeCa to celebrate the release of our spring Future Issue. Upstairs, guests crammed into The Bosco‘s stellar photobooth (see the very pretty gallery HERE), flipped through magazines featuring our cover stars James Franco and Kirsten Dunst, sipped on complimentary Bushmills and Heineken beverages, and complimented each others’ Bench. hoodies (undoubtedly the most popular outerwear choice of the evening). Meanwhile, in the dense, damp basement, a full-on dance party broke out thanks to electric DJ sets by Elle Dee, Loric, and the incomparable Devonté Hynes, not to mention a live performance by CABLE. Guests zoned out into the trippy reel of BULLETT TV shorts looping between the summery Bench. campaign video. We’re not ones to boast (often), but judging by our collective hangovers and a review of Instagram documentation, we’re gonna go ahead and say we outdid ourselves this time.
First three photos by Ryan Duffin, the rest by Ally Lindsay.
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Since Mad Men’s inception, “What would Don Draper do?” has been a real time question on the show and in real life. A recent rendezvous at the new Conrad New York in Battery Park City gave us the answer to “WWDDD” if asked to build a thoroughly satisfying New York hotel. Conrad New York, named for Connie Hilton from history and season three of Mad Men, is the first Big Apple outpost of Hilton hotel’s luxury hotel division. Upon inspection, the bricktop newcomer seems touched with virile, dead on Draper insights.
On the look: I keep going to places and ending up somewhere I’ve already been. It should be modern, a stand out. Inside, Conrad’s unique atrium rises 15 stories high, with one end dominated by Sol LeWitt’s 13 story, Loopy Doopy (Blue Purple) and a headspace woven throughout by Monica Ponce De Leon’s cable string installation “Veils.”
On amenities: Technology is a glittering lure. Use it. The hotel’s exclusive digital service, Conrad Concierge, integrates with the hotel’s management system offering customization of bath amenities, a preferred pillow from the pillow menu, and room service.
On culinary offerings: Do you know what happiness is? It’s freedom from fear. And the hotel has nixed fear of a mediocre meal thanks to a partnership with Danny Meyer’s Union Square Events company of Gramery Tavern and The Modern, and Blue Smoke fame. And the clincher? A new rooftop bar, the Loopy Doopy, because it’s New York, don’t be stupid.
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Mads Refslund co-founded the world-renowned Noma, pioneered New Nordic cuisine, and now runs Acme, one of Manhattan’s hottest-ticket restaurants. Here, the experimental gastronaut indulges our silly hunger games.
What is the most dystopian cheese?
Casu Marzu. It’s a Sardinian sheep’s milk cheese that contains live insect larvae.
What is the best starch to eat while watching Blade Runner?
Popcorn.
What is the most Orwellian meat?
Pig liver.
What is the most eternal condiment?
Vinegar.
What is the most appropriate dish to consume while in a hot tub time machine?
Deep-fried ice cream.
What is the best canned food to eat from inside a fallout shelter?
Mackerel in red sauce.
What dish is most evocative of global warming?
Anything with beef, I guess, since it’s actually contributing to climate change.
What dish is most evocative of reincarnation?
Tofu?
What is the most extraterrestrial seafood?
Sea cucumber.
What is the worst thing to eat after getting your fortune told?
That depends on the fortune—but probably steer clear of blowfish.
What will be the most obsolete vegetable in 2749?
All vegetables will be obsolete in 2749.
What is the definitive apocalypse meal?
My grandmother’s berry porridge.
What does the future taste like?
I’m sorry to say it, but the future of food doesn’t look promising. We are going to see an exponential acceleration in resource depletion. Most foods in the future will be engineered in a lab.
What is the best snack to eat while on tour with Odd Future?
Dehydrated kale.
Photo by Lonneke van der Palen.
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The Yeah Yeah Yeahs are set to infect fans once again with their biting fourth album, Mosquito. But first, guitarist Nick Zinner takes us on the road with an exclusive photo essay.
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British actor Simon Pegg re-boards the Enterprise in May’s Star Trek Into Darkness—and, later this year, drinks himself silly in the pub crawl– gone-wrong sci-fi adventure The World’s End—which makes him the ultimate authority on how future-y the future will really be.
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Oh my! Actor, author, and Star Trek alum George Takei prognosticates on your pressing problems. (But first things first: Put down your phone and put your damn clothes back on.)
Dear George,
I know famous people get busted for it all the time, but without the threat of having them leaked online, what are your thoughts on texting naked selfies?
It depends on your body. Nobodywants to see an ugly body—theywant to see a beautiful body. Most bodies are unattractive and should be kept covered.
Dear George,
If you had to predict, how will the world end?
Since I am an optimist, I don’t think it will end.
Dear George,
I get Botox pretty regularly, but there are people who say it could be bad for me in the long run. Do you think I should stop?
There is dignity in allowing Mother Nature to have her way with you. I always mind Mother.
Dear George,
I’ve spent the past seven years trying to build my own version of Star Trek’s famous transporter. I tested it out last week, and it actually worked! Now I’m stuck under my girlfriend’s bed while she’s having sex with another guy. What’s my next move?
Just beam out of there!
Dear George,
What’s the secret to eternal youth?
To see life as an eternal comedy.
Dear George,
Breast implants: On the one hand, confidence—on the other, back pain. Should I do it?
It’s not one hand or the other—it’s tit for tat.
H-h-h-heeeeey George!
How many drunks iz to many?
If you can’t handle it, one drink is too many.
Dear George,
What advice would you give someone facing life imprisonment?
Live long and you won’t prosper.
Dear George,
If you knew the world was going to end tomorrow, what would you do?
I’d take the money I’ve been saving to pay taxes and buy a one-way ticket off this planet.
Dear George,
I’m pretty sure my roommate is using my bar of soap. There’s, like, a hair situation accumulating on the bar itself. How do I get him to stop?
Stop bathing and your roommate will get the hint.
Dear George,
A psychic told me I’d find my soul mate at a Star Trek convention. What’s the best way to meet someone at those things?
Stand in the George Takei “photo opportunity” queue and, no matter what happens, it will be the best hour of your life.
Artwork by Pinar&Viola.
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In anticipation of his three films scheduled for release later this year—the mescaline fueled coming-of-age comedy Crystal Fairy, the psychological thriller Magic Magic, and the apocalyptic bro-medy This Is the End—not to mention the long-awaited fourth season of Arrested Development set to premiere on Netflix in May, we asked Michael Cera to interview the most generous, interesting man he could think of: Himself.
MICHAEL: [re: framed portrait of Cera hanging on wall] Oh wow.
CERA: Yep.
Did a fan do that? Or…
No, it’s one of mine.
Wow. Why did you decide to paint yourself?
Couldn’t think of a more interesting subject.
Well said. Well…
Said.
Yes, right, but I was just using “well” in that instance to sort of shift gears and go into the interview.
Don’t complicate.
Let me start by asking you, what type of interviewee do you consider yourself to be?
Generous.
[Seemingly endless pause.]
Why?
Move off of the fucking subject.
How do you react to fans who approach you in the street?
I try to find out a little bit about their lives. What they do for a living, when was their last horrifying moment of self-realization, do they enjoy the films of Masaki Kobayashi, is Takeru Kobayashi their favorite competitive eater, if “no,” who is their favorite competitive eater, etc.
Ever make friends that way?
No, I make all my friends online these days like any other decent human being.
Is it true you’ve written a one-man show entitled Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde Pierce?
Yes but I bailed on it after David gave his notes. He wanted to make it a broad comedy and personally I don’t believe broads belong in comedies.
Now I notice you’re grabbing handfuls of tortilla chips from that bowl there and crushing them in your hand as we speak. Do you consider yourself foul-tempered?
I like to think I am in control. I chose the chips because I’m told they don’t feel pain.
Let’s hope not! I’m addicted to those things.
How rude of me, I didn’t offer you any. Here you go.
[Holds out bowl of beige dust.]
Thanks but I’m trying not to breathe in any saturated fats. When did you know you wanted to be an actor?
I didn’t choose it, it chose me.
When did it choose you?
Some time in my fourth year of ceaseless auditioning. It must have finally heard me asking it to choose me.
Fascinating. Were there any other fields you’d considered going into?
When I was 8 years old I thought I’d become a gardener.
Why a gardener?
I always wanted to work with my hands, use them in my craft, and in a way I suppose I’ve stayed true to that ambition.
How do you mean?
Juggling scenes, etc. Waving scenes…
But do you ever regret not experiencing the verdant joy of working with the soil and being connected to the earth?
In Year One there’s a scene where I stand in mud.
I understand that you’ve been involved in an on-again / off-again relationship for the past five years?
That’s a typo—it should just say “off-again relationship.”
Do you think you could expand on that a little?
We just like to keep it casual. No commitments, correspondence, etc.
What’s she like?
The best.
[Seemingly endless pause.]
She has a great neck. I always tell her she ought to live out in Great Neck. She never laughs, I think she might have bizarre English or something. Can I offer you anything, by the way? Sun-dried tomato sandwich? Forty minute aromatherapy massage?
How long have you kept a masseuse on staff?
Ever since I tried her sun-dried tomato sandwiches. She does tend to have a slightly grease-thumbed rub going on as of late, sometimes I wish like hell she’d stop reaching into the jar with her bare hands. I mean I’ve heard all the stories of disgusting in-house-masseuse habits but really. I mean can we locate a paper-towel lady please… I hired you to increase my blood flow not trigger my gag reflex!!!
[With a mighty squeeze, Cera dramatically explodes the apple in his hand, leaving a brilliant puff of pinkish mist in its absence.]
I’ve always admired your body type, sort of a Ray Romano / Rudolph Giuliani hybrid. What do you do to maintain it?
I always keep a pack or gang of personal trainers on set with me, wherever I go. You have them to thank for what you’re presently having the good fortune to behold. They’re terrific guys, they eat lead and shit bullets. It’s the reason I asked them to stop using the toilet in my trailer.
And you just sort of say to them, “Look guys, you’re the best in the biz, every single one of you is here for a reason, I know in my heart you won’t let me down, let’s make me look like I’m a fan of dairy”?
I tell them what I tell my barber, “Make it look like I’m not trying.”
And it seems he knew exactly what you meant. It’s funny, such a fine-line between “I’m not trying” and “Have I just forgotten how to care?”
Finest line I ever knew.
Photography by Marcelo Krasilcic
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