From the Hipster

There’s something magical about approaching the world on two clumsy, bi-racial feet. One sock is black, the other white. Each coddles the hair near the top of my shins below my knees. I have just walked out of a feature film on a Monday and the sun is berating me a 5 out of 5. I Yelp.

I check-in on the group I have come with. They are waiting by the water fountain. Two are talking animatedly, sparring inchoately with each other, giving and taking with fervor. One other of my tribe ponders a new Barnes & Noble with legs crossed and eyes pinched. The sun has not given up. The last, an etched sketch of imperturbability, is my sister. She is yelling at [insert person, place, thing, or common sexual disease here.] She’s yelling at Republican tater tots dipped in goose fat.

I think, shit, what are we doing here? Not confused about location. We had just finished watching a movie. Not confused about how we got there, I understand locomotion.

It was a natural progression: mall food court > Barnes & Noble > TCBY/yogurt-squirt-place > Urban Outfitters > 16-screen American Sinema.

What I really meant was, what kind of show are we putting on here? Who are we acting for? Why am I dressed like a naughty father? Why are we fishing for judgments and looks from passersby?

We think we’re in a movie.

We’d like to think we’re acting for ourselves. We: some of the smartest, logical, well-fed, well-bred group of uncynical people you’ll ever meet. We hold down fantastic jobs and do very well at them. We visit church when we go home, we hold hands with our grandparents when we go home home, and we give thought, action, and hugs to the local needy when we stay close to home.

We are by no means abnormal. But then, why are we trying to be so shocking?

Why am I wearing dark-framed glasses with a gob of cheesy Gorilla Glue smeared up the side, holding everything together? And wearing mismatched socks, inserted into shoes which sport what is either a ketchup or blood stain? And wearing a “shit-eating” grin?

Why do we swim backstroke into clubs and bars acting out like flamboyant piranhas? Toss insults into passing traffic? Threaten to punt kids, when kids and their shocked parents can hear what we’re saying?

Ride with at least one person in the trunk every weekend night? Blitz anyone who bothers to affront, or even look, at us? Break into rooms that are locked? Conveniently walk into the wrong sexed restroom?

It’s not that we’ve lost God. We found God, watching Lost.

I think it more likely that we’re – and by this “we” I mean my generation, not just my friends – are smirching the line between public and private lives. Fuck that, we’re burning the line. Lighting that line on fire with lighter fluid, cocaine, and napalms to the face.

With the prevalence of fast-action sharing, the world is at a finger-tipping point. We could point our fingertips at hipsters and blame them.  Or, we could holster those tips and embrace this chaos – this search for meaning in life. Or we could try to die faster than we already are.

Tilted Crown

One day I watch a photo float by

A book in my face

I raised my finger

To touch it

And merely sent myself sideways

And looking finally found

What it was I seeked

I shrieked

Unwound

Realized the whole time trap

Is real

Then I unreel

How could the face

Of my father

Be turning into leather

The crown my mother wore

Is tilting on top of her head

Death dare not approach

The ones I love

I will beat it back

Undo the tick

My finger knows this trick

I point

Create a reference

Anchor time to the ocean floor

And wave to the crowded room

Shuffle my papers

Clear my throat

And hope that stops the coffin

The Benefits of Improv

By my rough calculation, I’ve been “doing” improv for about six months. That’s what “they” call it, “doing.” 

And while having “done” it, I can’t point to one single specific instance or lesson that has changed my life for the better, I’d be young, dumb, and unplumb to claim it hadn’t done anything for my personal development.

In my first meeting with my new mentor at work – who is a VP in Information Technology – we spent almost the entire hour talking about how the keys to influencing originate in the same crafty grotto that improving was born in.

• Make Eye Contact – If you want someone to trust you, you’re going to have to look at them eventually.
• Pay Attention to Body Language – Smiles and attention are good, keep it up. Eating a cheesestick and turning their lower body, stop talking!
• Be a Decision Maker – Quickly consider, make a choice, and stick with it. Mistakes are easy to learn from, you’ll only get better and making choices. Again, if you want to be successful, you’re going to have to perfect this eventually.
• Pay Attention to Status – Know that asking a bunch of questions and looking around are a sign of deference. If you want to take charge, drop the question marks and make people give you what you want (even as you pay attention to their needs). 
• Play to Personality (Mirroring) – Know your own personality type, and adjustments you might make when meeting or speaking to new people. Copy their language, posture, and personality.

My VP had never done improv, but after hearing of what you must pay attention to when “doing” it, he strongly encouraged that I continue. That, and to get a haircut, shave my chest, and call a lawyer, immediately.

This morning I rolled out of my catbed and into the Volvo so I could make it to Toastmasters at 8 AM. While I’m not yet an official member of the public speaking club, I have given a few speeches and have already been adopted as the club humorist.

I have ten clean jokes, and I've already used two at Toastmasters:

1. On a Tyrannosaurs’ treasure map, Rex marks the spot.
2. FrugaliTip: If you’re looking to save money, customize your credit card with your middle school class photo. You’ll never, ever use it.

Today the roasted Toasters asked me to give a two minute speech to a hypothetical class of 5^th grade students on why I should be elected the next President. I improved the whole thing, running on the political platform that I would save America from itself by putting 5^th  graders in charge of National Insecurity, renewable Razr scooters, and making sure no child read the Left Behind series.

It seemed so easy; definitely easier than the last time I gave an improved speech, last January. Be confident, move around, smile a lot, squeak a few times, and all of a sudden two minutes is up and you hear one coworker asking another what kind of mind-altering drugs she thinks I take on a weekday morning before the sun comes up.

Onward, to the benefits of weekly improv practice:

• Toned Tweeting Muscles – http://favstar.fm/users/RecycledOrphan
• Frictionless Friends – Great people with a variety of backgrounds who love to make you laugh. They get to see you screw up, you watch them waver, and suddenly you’re on the same team. No better way to build trust than by letting someone see you act like an idiot and make mistakes.
• Better Working Memory – Talk about a short-term memory exercise; listening to and remembering what people say, act, and prefer.
• Improved Spatial Awareness – “You’re standing behind me, aren’t you?”
• Increased Work Output – When you start doing work right when it comes to you, you get more done! Multitask mastery.
• Leading Group Conversations – A juggling analogy: It’s easier to keep multiple conversations in the air at once. Note: especially if you’re wearing the skin of a clown you killed.
• Ideating/Initiating at Work – Having the confidence to voice ideas and take them from inception through the steps needed to reach completion.

A Conversation with my Mind

In trying to figure out why my creative inertia disappears whenever I attempt any topic of a serious nature (or any project that requires consistency and more than an hour of effort) I decided to have a candid keyboard conversation with myself. Here it is:

"What I don’t understand is what the block is and where it comes from. I can write at will and dance across letters and topics and give the illusion of cohesion for the appropriate amount of time to appear coherent. But let me go for too long – or turn me on to a serious topic – and suddenly it’s clear I have no business being in the ring.

I’ve observed the obdurate nature and the design of the limits of my output. It’s as if a wall exists; imagine two points, one on this side, one on the other, and in between , forming the dividing line, is a wall of opacity. To see through it would take audacity and veracity of thought. It would take an attack.

I could sidestep the wall. It would be easy. Change tack, use a “workaround.” I’m sure there are many. I’m sure this has happened to others. I’m sure I could pick up a finger or two and then set them down along a keyboard and perform a search, looking to the advice of others. That works for many other parts of my life. I have consigned to the beauty of referential problem solving to find the answers to many of my problems. How to fix a broken faucet. How to make friends at a cocktail party. How to burn a hole through an ant with a magnifying glass. The answer to any of these can be found immediately.

So it follows that I could find what I need, if I wanted to. Immediately. I could find straight-forward instruction and advice on how to break a brain barrier. But that would rob my brain the ability to try and solve the problem on its own, and that’s exactly the problem. My brain needs it.

It craves that attention. That constant, pervasive thought that nothing is going to get done if I don’t do it. But existing simultaneously, the dichotomous, traitorous inkling: if I do that which needs to be done, there will be nothing left to do but wait for the next problem to come along. I would have to live in the moment. And that sounds like a risky proposition.

Given this, it is clear that what I need to do is simply convince myself that I’m being illogical and trust that the end result of my letting go of the need to have something to control will be a great and beneficial thing. To appeal to “benefits” is a crafty approach, as my personality, if not my brain, is built around the drive to acquire benefit. In that, the way I think, I think, is very primal.

But still, I refuse to step around the wall. I am not going to “knock down barriers” or “leap hurdles.” Instead, I'll “break protocol” and acknowledge the issue. The issue is: I crave the challenge but need the failure. I hold on to the failure. For if I let go of the failures: the failure to sink my teeth in, the aversion to create expectation of future perfection, the failure to failure, then I will be a whole new person.

I will suddenly be able to decide. No longer will I have to consider the opposition to each personal decision. Yes, I admit, it is vitally important to note close oppositional views in certain instances. To ignore 2^nd and 3^rd place would be to lose vital information. But in certain cases, ignorance in excellence. It is time to react. Internally, self-doubt needs to cease to exist. I need to discern the best instance of every instant and act upon that knowledge. Everything else is simply a distraction."

Ass Chill in Asheville (Moogfest)

Day One (Chromeo, Moby, Flying Lotus, TV on the Radio, Araabmuzik)

Traffic struggles getting out the Triangle area meant Little Dragon and Tangerine Dream were an early scratch from the schedule. As the long road unwound in front of us, we watched the temperature drop into the upper 30's - certain trouble for those of us who planned on being a White T-Shirt for Halloween.

CHROMEO. Even though we were unfashionably late, we arrived just in time for a blistering set from Chromeo.  The transition from cubicle cuties to icicle ice cubes wasn’t easy for anybody; Chromeo wasn’t able to play the entire length of their set. But holy f**k did they do their damnedest to melt the crowd.  Not only did they set an example for the rest of the outdoor performers to match, they left little doubt that Moogfest was meant to burn and we were meant to be the ins(pyre)d.

RecycledOrphan: Chromeo’s Gangsta sounded like orgasm poured into the hot mouth of a horny dragon.

mackensy: Chromeo sez #moogfest is "gangsta" for hanging in the rain for the whole show. I'm inclined to agree. #what

www.brooklynvegan.com

MOBY. After Chromeo, we headed to the Asheville Civic Center for some warmth and to join Moogfest’s Moby movement. During the fifteen minute walk to the Civic Center there were several discussions topics to choose from:   

1. What are some of the benefits of hypothermia?
2. If we set the city on fire, would they rename it Ash Ville?
3. Is that an icicle under that wizard’s robe or is he just keeping Moby’s microphone warm?

Moby put together the perfect performance for the time and place. The crowd left pleased, and I was surprised to have never experienced an “Oh, Moby, what are you doing?” moment.

codynapier: Moby was surprisingly awesome now TV on the radio #moogfest

TV ON THE RADIO. The night ended with TV on the Radio. They were tuned in to the right frequency and put on a solid performance that finished strong. I thought their best song was "Will Do" but that is probably survivor's bias, since I killed everyone who doesn't think that is their best song.

AARABMUSIK. I wasn’t able to make it over to Aarabmuzik that night, but by all accounts he knew how to blast off without any support from NASA, diet coke, or Mentos.

veryanal: The 6 minutes of Araabmuzik I saw might've been Day 1's best. Blistering. #moogfest

We headed ten minutes out of downtown Asheville into Tipi Camp. The owners met us with flashlights and hugs, informing us that we were the last visitors of the season. Given the choice between an uninsulated tipi or an uninsulated shed, I chose the shed and a long night of fumbling through fond memories, hoping for something – anything –  to warm me up. I haven’t consulted Urban Dictionary, but I believe that sleeping in a freezing shed when there are tipi's available is the exact opposite of Gansta.

Day Two (The Naked and Famous, SBTRKT, Twin Shadow, Toro y Moi, STS9)

What. A. Day. !. The incredible lineup and a solar sunstorm (approx. 5 minutes of weak daylight) made day two by far the best day at Moogfest.

THE NAKED AND FAMOUS. I experienced my first taste of Asheville’s acclaimed yum-yum scene with a Jimmy the Greek burrito from the Lucky Otter for lunch. Stomachs satisfied, our “clothed and unknown” group went to see “The Naked and Famous.” Performing outdoors, they cut electric ribbons through the air with steely accuracy. When they let loose it was an incredible array of lights and noise, spark and pattern. The Naked and Famous were gracious and excited; they seemed genuine in their thanking both the crowd and the festival for an amazing event. That said, I was glad to get out of the cold and head to the Orange Peel for what turned out to be the best back-to-back performances of the weekend.

RecycledOrphan: Slipped into Orange Peel for Twin Shadow y Toro y Moi. Place looks seductive.

TWIN SHADOW. Twin Shadow was a pleasant surprise and one of my weekend favorites. It was their last show after a year long tour, and they left it all onstage except their clothes. The lead singer, George Lewis Jr., was instantly captivating, stepping out of the shadows and up to the mic with a chuckle-worthy cowboy hat. Then the spurs hit, and Twin Shadow dug a hole in the floor and invited us all to jump in. The band’s showmanship was flawless. Just when I was wondering when and where the drummer would be featured, the lights highlighted the snares and he went brazen on every bronze disc he could find. Then, though seemingly impossible at that point, the pace escalated and Twin Shadow finished on a strong note with Castles in the Snow.

http://sidewalkhustle.com/twin-shadow-on-dirty-laundry/

TORO Y MOI. Though previously undiagnosed, Drs. Toro y Moi helped me discover on Saturday night that I “suffer” from Deep Vein Thrumbosis. They unlocked this secret during their enrapturing show at the Orange Peel. The energy and sound they produced is what I imagine fueled all VW vans in the 70’s. Want to know what cool kids acted like when our parents were our age? Just watch Toro y Moi. They tossed their bassist upfront and center for the entire set, unapologetically indicating to the crowd, “This guy is the important one. Don’t take your eyes off of him.” He let his hair hang over his eyes as he stared at the ground, fingers flying like lotuses over amper waves of gain. He never looked up; we never looked away.

brianyeazel: "@RecycledOrphan: Toro y Moi uses buttered microphones, sugared instruments. Audacity. #moogfest" Always thought of it as a tamed veracity.

Day Three (M83, Childish Gambino, Neon Indian, Passion Pit)

The final day featured several great acts. After a lamb burger at Boca on Lexington Ave., it was time for the much-anticipated M83.

M83. After “Midnight City,” the mood was subdued, almost relaxing. After being lulled into a false sense of serenity, the Claritin pumping through the recycled air finally hit home; the volume and pace intensified, and a bright filter overlaid the scene. Anthony Gonzalez knelt at the front of the stage and channeled the Unibomber, piping explosion through wires without remorse. Best finale of the weekend.

RecycledOrphan: M83 blitzed the crowd by bursting through a squelching, taut finish line tape. What a finale.

NEON INDIAN. CHILDISH GAMBINO. I stayed at the Civic Center for Neon Indian, but made it clear that I planned to live vicariously through the rest of the group which was headed to Childish Gambino. While Neon Indian cycled through every sound that God handed to heaven's marching band, Childish Gambino apparently came out onto the freezing outdoor stage in shorts and launched into one of the best shows of the weekend. Neon Indian was invigorating, but was never able to match the excellence I expected based on Psychic Chasms and Era Extraña.

b_mcnett: Neon Indian! Alan Palomo leaves the stage with his Roland arpegiatting in latch mode. #ihaveamancrush @moogfestpic.twitter.com/XrBG2DMm

JakeFrankel: Neon Indian makes me feel like I'm living in an 80s movie about relationship drama and skateboarding #moogfest

moogfest: Alright I'm calling it now- Childish Gambino has the best dance moves at #moogfest @donaldglover

PASSION PIT. Passion Pit added a “!” to the weekend, making Moogfest! a category 5 success. They did it all and then some, sending the Sunday night crowd into a fit of fitness as we jumped and pumped without pause. In the car headed home, bumping along with 4 sleeping passengers, I ordered my Moogfest! experience as such:

THE LIST:

1. Toro y Moi
2. Chromeo
3. Twin Shadow
4. Childish Gambino
5. Passion Pit
6. The Naked & Famous
7. M83
8. Araabmuzik
9. Neon Indian
10. SBTRKT

Russ, 31, realizes that his younger brother has never dropped anything

Russ Gestaro, of Mea Culpa, Minnesota, is creating quite a stir among local social media outlets. 

"Can you drop me off at the bar, bro?"
"Nope. Sorry. I don't drop anything."

Over the weekend, Russ received a blow to the head. This blow was an idea hammer, bearing the weight of a harsh theory - that his younger brother, Daniel Gestaro Jr., had never dropped anything. During the first commercial of the Minnesota Vikings attempt at a football game, Russ approached and then circled his brother (who was grabbing a snack in the kitchen) and asked him if he had ever dropped a thing in his life. His brother is said to have shrugged and said no, walking away with a taco balanced on a spoon.

Russ strenuously searched his memory, and couldn’t recall a single time when something had fallen from Daniel’s grasp. Suffice it to say, ladies and gentle ladies, Russ is growing up. Hard.