#4 When Worlds Collide: We are all DONALD

I didn’t even think I was “researching” for this project when I decided to attend the I AM DONALD tour, but there I was, with the most interesting mergence of groups I have encountered in a while. For those of you who don’t know (and may I stress should), Donald Glover is a former-30-rock-writer, current-Troy-on-Community-actor, and also a talented rapper by the name of Childish Gambino. He recently began touring doing a hybrid of standup followed by concert, and a brilliant hybrid at that. It is this combination that brought together a very diverse group.

So I guess hipsters watch Community. It makes sense: it’s the most original comedy on television, critically acclaimed by those who matter, and never receives the recognition (or viewership numbers) it deserves (eff you Golden Globes) to solidify it staying on the air (so all two of you reading should start watching so it doesn’t meet Arrested Development-fate, thanks). Aka the perfect show for a hipster following, so I shouldn’t have been surprised that the sea of plaid was infinite. But I kinda was-- I mean, it was standup show first, sure. But, it was also subsequently a rap concert, and the hiphop crowd was represented accordingly.

So I guess my point is (as if I ever really have one), I was not expecting to see these two groups appreciate each other, but no one left or arrived late in order to avoid half of the performance, no one fought, and I am sure even some members of opposing groups loved. Everyone was united under Donald Glover, Childish Gambino... Jesus? I guess I wouldn’t go that far, but it was enjoyable to see. Now, I didn’t really infiltrate, or try, even. First of all, I was above the masses in the VIP section (Holla Twitter contest winner, right here! I know, you are so jealous of my never-ending coolness), and second of all, I was just enjoying the scene. Everyone together, some people dancing (remember, hipsters headbop only, but hip-hoppers get into it), all laughing.

But this experience gave me hope. If these two different worlds got together once, my personal world could get together with that hipster-world in the future. Sure, I may need to enlist the help of a talented famous person who crosses such diverse genres, but that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to take.

Oh, sidenote on the best thing I’ve ever heard (totally unrelated but too hilarious not to talk about). As we were walking to the car, a dude was walking out behind us (hopefully, drunk) and in the most excited voice said the following things to his female counterpart (who I’m pretty sure was holding him up) [my thoughts are bracketed and inserted as I listened]:

“Can you believe we just saw Abed? [note, he was not confused about whose show it was, Danny Pudi was in attendance] .... He was standing right next to us and didn’t even care!!!! [he didn’t care that he was himself? Or that he was standing next to you? Or that he was a television character that had a real name?] We, like, saw Abed, and then we saw Abed AGAIN!! And then we stared at Abed! [creepy]”

Basically, a great night on all fronts, for all people, all across the nation.
Goodnight, and Donald Glover bless.

-WEAREALLDONALD-

#3: LOCAL SCOUTING First Ed.: ATL Hipsters.

Ok, so research on this happened a few months ago (I only just learned how to blog, don’t judge me, I already judged myself so back off), but I want to share some thoughts on the hipster-unity in Atlanta, Georgia. So I was visiting friends in Hotlanta when I was dragged to Little Five Points. I say dragged because yes, I’ve been there before, and no, I never wanted to go back, and after this day, I stand by that lack of desire and will more vehemently refuse the next time.

For those of you who are not familiar with the city of Atlanta, there are many different subsections, which could not be more different in populations than if you were to compare Billings, Montana (shout out to A!) with Tokyo, Japan (oh hey Maomix, didn’t even mean to bring you into it, but here we are!). Let me give you a brief rundown, my brother lives in Reynoldstown (sibling shoutout!) this is the up-and-coming area with a lot of potential - just like that H.S. basketball star trying to shake his gang-associated past. It does have the cutest little dog park/coffeeshop though, where there may be potential for respectable hipsters, but I am still not sure, you'll see why shortly. Moving on, my friends used to live in Midtown, this is the center city-city area, walking distance to clubs, bars, parks - but also attracting the problems associated with such easily accessible establishments. My friends now live in the Highlands, this is the wanna-be-yuppy area - you’ll see a lot of “young professionals” here, along with the Jews (shout out to myself!), Emory kids, and various other of the like. Additionally, there are about 10 million other areas, but let’s get to the hipster-haven that is...

Little Five Points. Where do I begin? Imagine you are watching a documentary on meth-heads, and you’re here. The documentary subjects are indistinguishable from hipsters in this tiny block of vintage stores all selling you the same Lady Ga-Ga knock off glasses (fine I bought some, but only because I had to have something to bring me joy during this horrible adventure). And nowhere on earth makes me want to pursue my hipster-dream less than this disgusting mecca of drug-induced hell. You might think I’m exaggerating. You’ll say “Hey, wait a minute, I’ve watched enough Man vs. Food to know that one of the best burgers in the U.S. is located right in the heart of that place.” And I will say, “Yes, fine, give your order at the Vortex while I wait in the car, it’s not worth it to me.” Because here, you climb over the scabbed people on the street only to get to a bar so disgusting you’ll long for your time back outside in the gutter.

That bar is called Elmyr. Listen, I appreciate and support all dive, hole-in-the-wall, off-the-beaten-path places as much as the next hipster-in-training/former college student. I can usually find at least an ounce of good in a bar offering me $6 pitchers of PBR, $3.50 Red Stripes, and endless chips and salsa. But not this time. I am sorry, the stench of what seemed like months of chain smoking Marlboro Reds in a building without a single window was too much. I might be spoiled by LA’s restriction of such activity, but I also grew up in a household where ¾ of the population there within engaged in such practices (not to mention my later roommates - Greaseball and Pluggy shoutout!). And I can promise you, it didn’t compare. Ok fine, you say, “Hold your nose, get over it you prissy-jerk.” I tried, believe me, but then there are what qualifies for hipsters in Atlanta in attendance aka some of the grossest men I’ve ever seen in my life, in clothes that have clearly never been washed since they got them from Goodwill four years ago (not counting the 5 years they spend in-store). And again, I usually find the good in grime, it's my type (hey, every guy I've ever obsessed over shoutout!), but no, alas, again I cannot. I know I have, and will continue to, offend a lot of people with this post, so I’ll take a brief moment to give props to the real Mohawks these dudes sported (no fauxhawks here), but that does not make up for their other poser-ways. First of all, nice mass-produced Metallica shirt, well done, I had the same one and so did that creepy guy down the street from me growing up. Secondly, I don’t even know. I have reached the quota of things I have allowed myself to remember from that day. I thankfully have since employed my selective-memory-blackout-the-bad-stuff-he-did-to-me-mommy talent successfully. But I do remember my friends, trying to tell me it “wasn’t that bad,” and me, sitting there, gagging, replying “yes, it is, it really is.”

So lesson of this (what was supposed to be brief) post is: not all hipsters are treated equally. Atlanta-hipsters, I don’t want any part of your lifestyle. No thanks, I’m good. And if I move there one day, don’t worry, I won’t be bothering you. Keep your meth and cigarettes to yourself…

Next scouting mission: NY-hipsters, and maybe one day, I will search for the elusive, endangered South Florida hipster. But until you give me reason to believe again, I’m done with the ATL crowd.

#2: Appreciating Art

The hipster heavens shone upon us. Shortly after deciding to embark on this adventure, Maomix received an email inviting her (us) to attend BAGAVABOND’s Dream exhibit. The flyer itself was enough for us to feel welcome into the world of hipsterdom: sponsored by PBR, bright colors, local artists. Did we even need to attend to feel like we belonged? Yes, well kind of, but I’ll get to ‘feeling like I belonged’ a little later.

So we arrive around 10 p.m. to this all-ages, all-welcome, boho-chic event. No line, paid our donation at the door and walk in. To the right, a photo-op. A chance to pose in a variety of ironic ways, with glasses and Jarritos (the current hipsters’ willingness to sell out and participate in blatant product promotion is a little disturbing, and would surely disappoint those anti-capitalism originators of the movement, but I digress). To the left, free silk-screened shirts, equipped with your choice of four designs (yes, I got a sun-glassed baby sitting on a centaur, white against a black shirt).

Walking a little further we have the PBR, wine, and more of that damn obnoxiously colored Jarritos bar. I start with a beer, because I figure, when in Rome, right? Maomix is smarter, she knows the dangers of filling up on PBR too early, and gets the white wine (plus she’s classy), and then we embark on our art-journey. We walk to the back, and come across the sketches and paintings first. It took us a little while to realize the appropriate hipster-way to view these masterpieces (a lot of which, as my counterpart points out, include a penis-depiction of some sort). But once we realize we have to stand, point, discuss, we get it down. I liked the S.S. Dreamboat, which was 3D, so I had to resist my urge to touch, lest the artist be lurking around somewhere, just waiting to scold me on my faux-pas ways. The Dreamboat, which was comprised of good looking, shirtless-men cutouts, was (un)shockingly void of any well-known man-candy. All obscure male models I am sure I could name if I wasn’t just a hipster-in-training. But alas, still nice to look at.

After standing amongst the art for a while, observing that hipster-fashion is no longer a strict, plaid only affair, but rather an as-long-as-you-don’t-give-an-eff-what-other-people-think wardrobe choice, we reenter the main arena to listen to some music. Now on my third PBR of the night, and feeling rather full, I look around. We still haven’t talked to anyone on the ‘inside’ (not even an “oh excuse me, I’m sorry” from the unskilled ping pong players who constantly hit the balls amongst our feet). I know this isn’t the right setting to meet new friends, too much stimuli going on in every corner, you just want to discuss everything with your intimate group, it’s not the place to risk saying something wrong to someone you don’t know (not that hipsters ever say the wrong things, because even their most insulting remarks are meant to be ironic, not offensive). But then it comes to me. I need a co-worker. Or a friend’s co-worker. Who IS one of these artists/band members/artist’s BFF. When you meet in the work setting, there is no escape, I can latch on, and let them take me into all my hipster-fantasies. But we’ll work on that endeavor later. Cause here, Maomix DOES know someone, and he IS in one of the bands. But he’s outside, and absent leaving or smoking (which neither of us do), we have no real reason to venture outside just to say hi, that’s not an ironic thing to do. But as I get more and more full (read: unpleasant to be around), we decide to call it a night. So we do go outside, and Maomix makes contact. He’s extremely nice (Maomix is not friends with mean people after all), but since we’re on our way out, there’s not much community infiltration to be had. And we come to the end of our scene, without becoming scenesters (but equipped with fabulous parting gifts of shirts). We went, we saw, we drank, we learned, and we’ll be back, this transformation doesn’t happen over night.

Next up on the horizon: my short encounter with the Atlanta-hipster scene, and a discussion of acceptable hipster-jobs....Until then, keep your phallic art on the wall, we'll be back soon.