Eventually outgrowing his home-based business, Snell launched We Have
Become Vikings, an OTR-based creative agency that does everything from
motion graphics and illustration to branding, with one of his best buds,
Libby Hunter was used to seeing interactions between
different social, economic and age groups. But after witnessing a
particularly upsetting altercation where local youths began throwing
rocks at a disabled client who was moving into a renovated property,
Hunter took action and flipped the script.
Chris Sutton, owner and creative director
of Noble Denim, didn’t go to school for fashion or business. In fact,
he studied theology. But he always liked clothes and always liked
working with his hands.
A music scene is only as good as its new artists. This Friday at Bogart’s in Corryville,
the Cincinnati Entertainment Awards’ first New Music Showcase takes
place, featuring CEA nominees Heavy Hinges, Public, The Natives, Ohio
Knife, DAAP Girls and Jeremy Pinnell and the 55s.
Most Cincinnatians have only known two
sheriffs during their lifetime, and for a majority — almost 30 years —
that sheriff was Simon Leis. Leis retired as Hamilton County’s top cop in 2012 after 25 years. He’ll be succeeded by Democrat Jim Neil on Jan. 4 — the first time in more than 36 years that a Democrat has held the office.
With the multitude of wild and wacky end of the world parties that took place not so long ago around these parts, we at CityBeat
had to search high and low for cool happenings that one-up any kind of
lame, primal goat-sacrifice the Mayans would’ve held in honor of the
arrival of the New Year.
We at CityBeat have come to terms
with the fact that expectations of just about any kind usually end up
blighted. In honor of arming you for a story that, in all likelihood,
won’t be nearly as glitzy as you may envision, we’ve gathered anecdotes
from CityBeat staffers that make for a collection of
nontraditional holiday testimonials that are sometimes lame, sometimes
nerdy and, in general, pretty anticlimactic.
As it became obvious to everyone else that
Abernathy was going to score, the ESPN play-by-play announcer excitedly
spit out every single word of his name: “Ralph... David... Abernathy...
America is the type of place where people don’t read. It’s also where few people question the logic behind
heeding the stone-calendar-based prophetic warnings of an ancient people
whose neighbors thought the Spanish invaders on horseback were gods and
not human beings.
Peruse the club listings and ads on
Facebook and in the pages of your favorite altweekly and you’ll notice
that dance clubs have taken to
the apocalyptic theme particularly strongly. If you attend such a
shindig, the last music you will ever hear will be some other dude or