Movie in the pool.

I saw Wet Hot American Summer in McCarren pool last night. They do an outdoor film series for hipster Williamsburg during the summer. It's such a great venue, and there were thousands of people in the audience. More people probably watched the movie last night, than saw it in theaters.

The people in front of us left 3/4 of the way through the movie. Within seconds four people swooped up on the space, blocking our view.

Now that's what I call gentrification.

Working it NYC // Game Theory: Latin Lovers vs Hipster Ladies

I have the rare opportunity to be able to work from wherever I want. I’ve been going to several locations, based on hour of shift, current disposition, and desire to see other human beings.

If I’m feeling like I want to work in a collaborative mode I cowork. Coworking is a phenomenal invention. It’s a space for people who don’t need to go into an office everyday. My coworkers are web designers, journalists, video bloggers, and online activists. It’s a good place to work when I want to bounce ideas off of other people. I have learned a lot about mobile technology. I helped an activist group come up with a name (“SuperFundSuperFriendz.”)

On days when I feel semi corporate (not to be confused with days when I’m feeling the emo styling’s of Something Corporate), I’ll go to Current’s New York City ad sales office. I have my own desk there. They even gave me business cards, and a phone with my name on it. I also go here on days when I want to eat free Nutrigrain bars and drink free coffee.

When I have a California late shift, I work from my windowless room till 2am. It’s like a jail cell with free Wi-Fi. At the beginning of these shifts I try to get out of the house to engage in human contact.

I’ve been going to the coffee shop at the epicenter of gentrification in Bushwick. If you were running for hipster mayor of the neighborhood, you would start your campaign there.

Yesterday, some dudes at my table were speaking Spanish. I joined in. We talked about the shitty music the baristas were playing. The employees insist that 14-minute noise pieces sell the most coffee.

After I was done working, I invited them to a BBQ.

I didn’t know anybody at the party, but I got sufficiently drunk to engage in that setting. My Colombian friend made it a point to hit on every girl at the party.

Now imagine a hilarious set of circumstances. The comic technique we are working with is ‘culture clash.’ One participant in this context is from a loud, extroverted, sexually permissive culture… the other comes from a culture that might view these conditions unfavorably.

This party was populated by members of the Bohemian community, who are prone to presume that the overt sexual advances of a suave Colombian might be sexist. Now it is my first priority make sure people feel comfortable, but what could make a Latin woman swoon might make a liberal womyn cringe.

But “Rico Suave-ness” can be perceived as a cultural phenomenon, and Bohemians have a propensity towards relativism, so this social interaction can easily be diffused.

“So my friend isn’t creepy, that’s just how people from his country act… Wait you aren’t racist right?”

Occasionally the “race card” trumps the “gender inequality card.”

This could prove a successful strategy for “pulling girls.” You go to a party with a boisterous Latino. He overtly hits on women: “Where’s your boyfriend? Because I want to know who I have to fight for you.” Inevitably he’ll find someone receptive to his ‘suaveness’/ ‘sleaziness.’

For every girl who doesn’t appreciate his bravado, you as a clever soft-spoken hipster, can explain the cultural significance of his actions, while simultaneously engaging the mind of the girl in front of you.

You have just created a symbiotic relationship with your amigo. You’re explication has made him not seem like a jerk, and his audacity has brought sex to the center of the conversation with you’re future hipster girlfriend. Bravo.

As a side note, last night I lost my cell phone. It turned out that my Colombian friend had it. He was able to return it because there was a picture of me on the telephone. Sometimes narcissism pays off.

Another side note: Someone told me that her friend in DF looks exactly like me and his name is Dionisio. And you probably can imagine how much I love that name (Dionysus, Bacchus, Party Animal).

Bushwick

So after almost a month, I'm settled in New York.

I found a place in a warehouse loft in Bushwick, Brooklyn. It has a huge roof, and it's perfect for summer dance parties.

I am right on the gentrification line. Which is the equivalent to being a white colonist on the hipster frontier. This is something that I have mixed feelings about. I am part of a force that is displacing disadvantaged communities.

But then again, I can't really afford to live anywhere else. This neighborhood is safe(ish), there are a lot of young people, and things to do. So, I'm excited on all those fronts.

It's kind of fucked up, on a sociological level, that there are liquor stores on every corner of this impoverished neighborhood. But, on a personal level, I am kind of a fan of spending $.80 on 32 ounces of malt liquor.

Yet Another Latino Music Festival

I won tickets from Nacional Records to see Aterciopelados at a Bacardi sponsored festival on Olvera street. We were the only Gringos in the audience, but I've been to so many Latin Music Festivals that I feel like I totally fit in.

Aterciopelados were good. Then we saw Maldita Vecinidad, which look like they were transported to downtown Los Angeles from 1995. They have the sound of Sugar Ray with the style of The Cherry Poppin' Daddies. I didn't dig it that much.

Then Calle 13 (trece) performed. I knew that they were reggaeton, which is something I tend to despise. I thought they were the band that has a chorus that is the ringtone from an old model Nokia. It turns out that they aren't that group. (It's Kumbia Kings, they have a promotions deal with Burger King en serio.)

Calle 13 performs with a full band that looks out of place together. They have a Jewish Hipster looking Trombonist, Afro-Cuban Percussionists, a Vincent Gallo look-alike on synths, a cute M.I.A. looking backup singer, and the lead singer has all sorts of designs in his hair. Half the band wasn't wearing a shirt.

I have to say, I expected to hate this band, but they put on an excellent show. I unironically love Calle 13. There is hope for Reggaeton.

Also the MC for the festival was trying to kill time so he was like: Where are all my Virgos at? Where are all my Aries at? Where are all my Cancers at? Where are all my people affected by Cancer at? Where are all my people affected by the tragedies of March 3, 2011 at? Demasiado Temprano? Too soon?

A homeless man came up to me asking for a Bacon-wrapped hot dog. He said that the pickings were slim because Latino crowds don't tend to give money to the homeless? He used a racist word. Is he being racist, or is he just doing market research. MARKET RESEARCH FROM THE STREETS SON!

Recap

They were charging for pictures, but if you take one with your own camera when the photographer isn't looking, you can use their lighting and background, and random guy with a spatula.

Recap:

• The Dia de Los Muertos celebration at the Hollywood Forever cemetery was the best used cemetery that I've ever seen. There was live music, food, and altars that paralleled those in Tzintzuntzan, Michoacan.
  
• 2 tacos al Pastor, 2 tacos de buche, y un taco de carne asada. Not bad, Not that bad.
  
• The dance party was fun. We took the bus from Echo Park to right near Staples center. The party was in a second-story warehouse, which for me is the coolest place to have a party. LA can party like Brooklyn. There were three rooms with DJs and four dollar Tecates. I wore an orange jumpsuit. I had somebody cutoff the sleeves. My friends left at 2, but I decided to play the evening out. I stood near girls and danced really awesomely pretending not to look at them. Then when I saw them looking at me, I'd dance with them. That seems like the best approach I can muster in this hip LA scene. I danced near a Bee and an Israeli. I don't know if the girl was Israeli, but she looked like my Israeli babysitter. Despite my best efforts my fantastic dance moves were overshadowed by my rugged appearance, because I didn't yield any success.
  
• The party promptly ended at 4am. I got into an amusing argument with an antagonist. I think the argument was about his perceived beliefs on my interest in politics. He said that he hated Democrats because he was an anarchist. I told him that I didn't care. Eventually the argument led to me saying: "I don't like politics, I like sandwiches. What is your stance on the Club." Because Club Sandwiches are to die for, he couldn't talk smack. I later asked the so-called anarchist if he worked. He was employed by a soda company. I ended the conversation by saying he probably wasn't that good of an anarchist.
  
• I was on the street looking for a ride. I didn't know anybody, so I just kept yelling "Who's going to Echo Park." Nobody was receptive to my hitchikery. So I considered taking a cab. A sleazy Azerbaijani cab operator was going to charge me 30 dollars. I did the "this is bullshit" hand maneuver, which looks like an invisible high five. I spent my last two dollars on a jug of water. As I was now unable to pay for the bus, I decided to walk. It only took an hour and a half to walk that four miles. Downtown is quite pretty in the early early morn.
  
• Medium-Sized Hangover

Stereotypes

On Friday I played college sports (Beer Pong) and then went to a hipster establishment in Silver Lake. I saw a guy that I presumed was Latino and a hipster, and said: "hey are you a latino hipster?"

The motivation behind my question, was to find out where I could get involved in the Latin American indie music scene, but I think it just appeared racist. He wanted to be a hipster just, not with any adjectives. So I was insensitive to those desires. My bad. I don't think I'll be making loud assumptions like that any more. Just kidding, I will probably still faux pas. I just want to know where I can rock out to Molotov and Maria Daniela.

On Saturday I went with my family to a party at a mansion. It was fun. They had free drinks and roaming minstrels (the not racist kind.) The party also boasted a fortune teller. My dad had been waiting a year to talk to her. I don't believe any of that fortune teller stuff, but she was impressive. She told my dad that his son, me, was interested in being a comedy writer. Actually, I don't think it was that impressive. She could probably just tell that my dad was Jewish, and all Jews want to be comedy writers.

I tried to go to a roller derby today, but it was yesterday.

It was a fun weekend nevertheless.

The North

Yesterday, I was standing outside of my friend's apartment in Berkeley, when two Hassidic Jews confronted us. They asked if any of us were Jewish, all three of us were. They pulled out a Lulav and an Etrog, a date palm and a citrus fruit. They showed us how to do a prayer over them. I'm thinking that yesterday was a Jewish holiday. I celebrated it by going to a function, which involved free beer for Jewish seniors (not the Boca Raton kind.)

Afterwards we went to hipster Oakland. I think it's like the Williamsburg of the west. They are way into tight pants and gentrification. I ate snap peas and heard an acoustic performance by two members of a band that just broke up. (REUNION TOUR!)

Later we went to a bar to see one of the guys DJ. He played a song that said:

Hey, Hey, You, You, I wanna be your Boyfriend.

Which is remarkably similar to that Avril Lavigne song. (Sk8r Boi)

At the end of the night we went to my friend's artist colony warehouse. It was undeniably sweet. There are twelve people living there, with plenty of open space for art projects and punk rock concerts. The kitchen looked like the set of a TV show, because it looked like a regular kitchen, but when you looked up you saw high warehouse ceilings.

Anyway, I'd like to live in some sort of situation like that.

A warehouse. To throw parties, and do art, and hang out. Lot's of hanging out.

Where there's smoke there's fire, or a smoke machine.

Holler.

Another Latino Music Festival

This weekend I went to a Antidoto Music festival at the Greek Theater in LA. It was all Latino bands, and all Latino people. It was like a music festival in Latin America, but for some reason this time I didn't try to sneak backstage. (Though for a second I was in the press area.) My friend Shannon won tickets to the show. They seated every ticket winner in a row in the exact center of the venue.

We became friends with the gay couple who sat next to us, but only after we drank their wine without them knowing. They then proceeded to serve us wine. It was a pretty good deal, steal a strangers wine, and then accept it as a gift later on. We walked with the gays down to an atrium where they saw a television camera and tried to become stars. The camera wasn't on. There was a girl standing nearby, who went to my university. I didn't know her, I just saw her license plate frame when she parked in front of us.

We all huddled around, as they laughed at my usage of Mexican slang. She thought I had memorized quotes and didn't know what I was saying.

"Pinche Gringo Punatero"
"Did somebody call you that?"
"No, I just really like Molotov."

That joke would make you laugh, if you listened to the infectious rock of Mexican rockers, Molotov.

We became a group and walked back to the center.

I tried to talk more slang to the girl, but her friend, with upside down ears, kept getting in the way. One of the gays got so drunk they tried to leave. But they were in Stack Parking, so they couldn't leave until after the show. So one fell asleep in the car, and the other came back and brought us bottles of water.

At some point I got involved in a conga line that circumnavigated the concert.

Earlier, we had a nice meal of chili fries and chardonnay.

Later our group disintegrated, and it was just me and Shannon. We saw our favorite performer Julieta Venegas. I'd say I'm not that in-tune with popular culture, but if I had to pick one celebrity that I have an unrequited love for, it is certainly this Mexican pop sensation. She is pretty and smart and into werewolves. She gives me butterflies and shit. (Ella me da mariposas y mierda)

At the end of her set they cut the sound, and I was left singing alone. People stared at me. I think they were simultaneously impressed by my knowledge of her lyrics and my vocal butchering of her song.

Anyway, the whole concert was a delightful time. I'd like to get more involved in the indie latin scene. I'll be like the only dude that isn't into Morrissey.

Hipsters, Black Panthers, Homeland Security, Photographic Memory

Last night I went to that hipster joint Union Pool in Brooklyn. There were hipsters and bikers, but not the type of hipsters who ride bikes, the kind that ride motorcycles and bust heads. They told me that their crew was at war with the Black Panthers.

I recently read that the 1970s Black Panthers, who I really respect, are not cool with the New Black Panther Party, so I thought this bike gang was against them on the same grounds.

But Mike made a pretty good point. These bikers were probably just racist.

I had an excellent cab driver in New Jersey. He was an articulate thug.

He talked a lot of shit and has probably busted a lot of heads in his time, but he was a smart guy.

"In New Jersey we don't have enough words so we have to fight."

The most informative thing he said was with regards to "all these fucking cops in the highway."

After 9/11 funding was diverted away from municipalities to fund Homeland Security. Municipalities try to make that money back by giving more tickets.

He said it's impossible to drive in New Jersey without getting a ticket.

I' ve heard a lot of people talking shit about New Jersey in popular culture. It looked pretty to me. I wonder if it has to do with a New York - New Jersey rivalry.

I also met some people who were jumped by 9/11 conspiracy theorists... They didn't clarify what that meant.

I went to a party at an old school house. Not like Grandmaster Flash, but like a school house that is no longer active. It was located in a hipster settlement in Brooklyn. The journey to the party seemed quintessential to the gentrifying hipster. We had to travel through black and latino neighborhoods that scared us because we are sheltered middle class white people. I wasn't that scared, but I noted that it was only because I was exactly drunk enough not to care.

(but being able to realize this, meant that I was dangerously close to being sober enough to get scared.)

The old school house was basically a warehouse, with videos playing and a dj spinning. There weren't that many people, but there was a lot of cake. Lots and lots of cake.

I think that hipsters are like colonialists prospecting new neighborhoods to gentrify.

I'm not all into that Post-Colonialist Anti-Imperialist academia , but I think thats a good metaphor for those of you who are. Just saying.

I read this on a sign for a dog food company. (I like saying it, a lot):

Beasty Feasts.

Cool.