Write for a very specific and under-served niche

…that no one has heard of, will not come into prominence, and probably will not buy books.

Are you a Nepalese goat-herder suffering from a nickle allergy who just can’t get enough Gilmore Girls? Have I got the 1850′s riverboat gambling spy thriller for YOU!

Shun any corporation larger than your nuclear family

…and instead distribute solely through independent ventures and roadside stands. The Man’s not gonna buy any more gold-rimmed prostitutes with YOUR money.

This could be you.

Think long and hard about your cover.

Stock images? Bastardized, mass-produced art-barf, that’s what they are. Your best bet? A stick figure of your book’s theme, drawn by you or your child. The right reader will see how deep this really is.

So many layers of emotion.

Tell commercialism to go to hell.

Marketing and advertising are tools of the devil to trick hardworking people out of their money and into buying something they don’t need. Don’t be part of “the system”. Demand that no one buy your book and instead buy their children fresh vegetables and hugs. NOTE: the hugs should only come from authorized relatives.

$2 hug is not for children

Offer your book in every single language.

Why should only the white man’s Western despotism be able to enjoy your riveting fiction? With Google Translate it’s easier than ever to perfectly translate long works into many languages for free–and you can trust Google to never hand over a less than perfect product.

Don’t worry about checking; it’s fine.

Wait for others to notice you.

Start by installing yourself at your hippest available coffee haus for at least seven months without going home. Wear only hand-knit items you’re able to rinse in the bathroom sink once a week–whether it needs it or not. Borrow your grandfather’s glasses and squint hard at your laptop to complete your look, and then sit back and watch your admirers flock to you.

I’ve lost interest in this post.

Public Policy Polling recently did a nationwide survey on the favorability rating on Hipsters. Yes, the contrarian clique who have bird tattoos, mopeds, and ironically Ed Hardy clothing are somehow unpopular with the American public…..

Just 16% of Americans have a favorable opinion of hipsters, a new PPP poll on the much-discussed subculture shows. 42% have an unfavorable opinion of hipsters, and 43% aren’t sure. Democrats (18% favorable, 34% unfav) are twice as likely as Republicans (9% fav, 48% unfav) to have a favorable opinion. Voters age 18-29 have a favorable opinion of them (43% fav-29% unfav), but very few voters over age 65 do (6% fav -37% unfav).

GOP Lt. Governor’s nomination could see NWA pitted against Central Arkansas

Conservative blogger Jason Tolbert has the scoop on the possibility of state Rep. Charlie Collins (R-Fayetteville) running for LG alongside state Sen. Jason Rapert (R-Conway). The GOP number crunching king vs. the right reverend would be an epic race.

If Charlie does run that would open up HD-84, a seat recently heavily targeted by Arkansas Democrats. Though Charlie won in 2012 by ~9% pts, this East Fayetteville house district will most definitely be one to watch for control of the Arkansas House in 2014.

Grizzlies play Thunder

As a native East Arkansan I have to pull for my closest NBA team tonight. The Grizzlies have a chance in closing out the series against the Thunder and advance to the Western Conference finals. Click the blue words here for a preview of the game. Sic ‘Em Grizz!

Although it sounds a bit mental (and I know I won’t be gone that long), I’m a tiny bit sad to be leaving my most favourite place in the world.

And in the spirit of nostalgia, here’s a list of some of the things I’ll miss about Melbourne:

• Thelma (a lot)
• Brekkie in the hood (although I’m sure I’ll be able to find a good coffee somewhere in Florence)
• My Pies (Collingwood that is, although I’ll probably miss pies as well)
• Dinner at Jude and Glenn’s
• My peeps (that’s you lovely people)
• Offspring (devo)
• Melbourne tap water
• My shoe collection
• North Fitzy – Piedies, the hipsters, the burgers at Tramways, Neighbourhood Wine and my hood buddies, the Canning Street peloton, and so much more.

I prefer to use the term that Wired so cleverly created – apperating system.

This is bigger than Facebook (crazy right). This could change how society interacts with their mobile technology.

The playing field is no longer the clean cut lines of operating system to app. What does this even mean, for privacy, for security? I’m not sure, but I have a feeling things are about to get interesting.

On another note, is there a specific breed of FOMO (fear of missing out) that applies specifically to our generation and technology. The definition of a hipster – “A person who follows the latest trends in fashion, someone who is prone to constant debate concerning not only the discovery of a trend, but the timing as well,” provides a possible revelation as to why our generation (X) operates the way we do.

For example, why did Mark Zuckerberg release an “apperating system” that only functions on a limited number of platforms? Why not just wait until the product could be accessible to as many people as possible? Could it be the hipster ideology that seems to be a widespread disease among Gen X? Looking back in the history of technology, first is certainly not always best. Our generation could probably benefit from remembering the woes of Xerox (Apple’s inspiration for OOP’s and GUI’s).

Bottom Line: As quickly as technology can evolve and improve, people must be able to comprehend the changes and easily get on board.

The Girl From 4E

Everyone’s dream hipster girl–the one’s Bros tell their friends about with a strange intrigue, as if she were a mixture of seven different exotic ethnicities. She may have an over-the-top unspecified political agenda and enjoy #buzzbands a bit too much, but she’ll have enough kind self-awareness not to rub that all in your face.

More of an ideal projection than an actual person, but every campus has one. You’ll fall madly in love with her, until you realize that her worship of Ayn Rand is far from in act. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. And it’s a little bit too frightening.

Trust-Fund Alt

He buys a lot of drugs and believes in a lot of conspiracy theories. In the not so distant future, he will embark on a career as a conspiracy-theory documentary filmmaker.

More importantly, at least one of his films will thoroughly attack the super-business of his father. Over the course of his lifetime, he’ll spend about 50x more money than he actually makes. A winner through and through.

The Unexpected Diehard Sports Fan

Scrawny, a high-pitched voice, and subscribes to email newsletters that end with the word “fashionista.” Yet not only has he never missed a game, but he could give you a throughout breakdown on everything from the stats to watch, to next-game projections, to why the team’s strength coach just really needs to go.

If there was ever any doubt, this team is a hockey team.

The Reddit Junkie

I’m sure there’s some sort of img.ur or video that explains the daily rituals of a devout redditor, but I think it goes something like this–a computer, a body, and semen/feces stained bedsheets. They also say the world “IRL” a lot, but have never once watched the Indycar Racing League.

Prunge Band Trio

I say Prunge, as these wannabe Johnny-from-the-Breakfast-Club types are a strange manifestation of what happens when you attempt to simultaneously channel both Nirvana and Sum 41. They enjoy sitting on street corners that people aren’t really supposed to sit on, salvia, and lamenting about nostalgic things that everyone else either forgot about or disliked (i.e., instead of Rocket Power, they’ll go for the Cartoon Network gem “Two Stupid Dogs.” And they’ll know everything about it)

Ms. Sustainable

Considering hipster species general disdain for things like being able to afford stuff and decent-tasting alcohol, Ms. Sustainable has channeled this general cultural mantra into an entire career path. Her dream is to design cities, open up drink shops, and open a bakery chain in which the dessert stuff she serves is somehow good for you.

Most of all though, she lives and dies by the hipster buzzword bible. Which also includes words like “ugh,”  ”mason jar,” and “Beasts of the Southern Wild.”

Hats and Sneaks

He wears beanies when it’s warm out, and devotes the majority of his time ensuring that anyone that talks to him about sneakers exits the conversation feeling exponentially worse about themselves and/or thoroughly contaminated. If you’ve ever read some of the more obscure sections of Complex Magazine and have found yourself wondering where the hell they come up with some of that shit…yep.

*Note: Sneaks can be easily subbed in for Boots

Coffee Shop Motormouth

This is the one who has opinions. The one who manages to turn your innocent coffee order into a thoroughly uncomfortable experience. Forced smile, you can’t ball in her court. But she can’t ball anywhere other than behind that counter, so just take solace in that. [tc-mark]

This post originally appeared at BROBIBLE.

[ad-mpu]

You should like Thought Catalog on Facebook here.

There are many unpleasant and immoral acts which are currently illegal under criminal law. Murder, soliciting prostitution, taping something of the telly and keeping it. Most of these laws carry with them the agreement and obedience of all but a tiny minority of the population. For reasons beyond my borderline-aspergic comprehension, drugs are the exception to this. While most people are quite happy to accept the long-standing illegality of such substances; for a tiny but disproportionately vocal subculture this issue is a scab they will not desist from picking.

I have never used illegal drugs. I really don’t see the point. We already have caffeine, and we have alcohol. One speeds your brain up, the other slows it down. To me, that’s all the mood-altering bases covered. Fast-forward, rewind; all the buttons you need on the VCR of life. Illegal drug use is actually at a historic low across the UK, which probably explains why drug policy has never been ranked in the regular YouGov issues tracker. In my experience its quite possible to get f***ed up enough on caffeine if you have enough of it – 2 litres of Pepsi, or the equivalent in energy drink and I’m usually all the way. As for alcohol –  it goes without saying that anything strong enough to make an otherwise rational human being consume “food” from the recently burned-down Avian Death Camp “Rooster House”,  has to be pretty damn potent.

Illegal drugs are the obsession of a fashionable and over-represented middle class clique. Blissfully ignorant and untouched by the everyday real issues that face ordinary people, they engage in intellectual masturbation about substances that were, no doubt, the source of “Top Bants” during their days at university. Let Tarquin or Jocasta “experiment”. Maybe it’ll help them forget how pretentious and tedious they are while they adopt “leftist” causes for a couple of years before moving seamlessly into a career in media. Or finance.

Seriously, i’m getting old now. I’ve been at too many house parties listening to too many “streetwise” mockney-speaking 19-year olds brag about what pointless substances they’ve ingested in lieu of developing a personality. I’d sooner die than see public policy dictated by the moral compasses of hipsters.

Is this what you want?

At this point I should probably rebuff some of Max’s deceptively reasonable points.

Well first there’s the old “Alcohol is bad, therefore other bad things should be legalised” line of argument. This one is so familiar its beyond tedious; it even has the bonus of bringing on-side those who, while not giving a much of a s*** about cannabis, are for their own ulterior motives outright anti-alcohol. Thing A is bad and legal. Thing B is bad and illegal. Therefore Thing B should also be legal. That’s just bad logic. If human civilisation was starting from a clean slate then yes, perhaps for the sake of consistency both A and B would be kept illegal – but as things currently stand living in the world as it is, not as some would have it be, there is no sense in making more harmful substances available to more people. What’s more, alcohol in modest quantities is harmless, even beneficial, as the liver naturally regenerates. Smoking cannabis on the other hand contributes irreversibly towards the development of lung cancer. That’s in addition to turning dull posh kids into pretentious w***ers.

At present alcohol causes more deaths and illnesses than most illegal substances – but that’s because several orders of magnitude more people use it. More people die from toasters than from sharks. Probably. Beans-on-Shark isn’t very tasty in any case. And where alcohol is more harmful than crack or heroin, that is only the case for comparing worst case against worse case. Statistically a very questionable methodology. Compare your median drinker who had two or three pints at the weekend with your median junkie shooting up in a Glasgow public toilet and you grasp the absurdity of the comparison.

Legalise it, control it. Yeah, okay. Ignore the obvious implication that in being illegal something is already pretty damn controlled. The UK’s drug policy is for the most part effective – most people are non-users, and disincentives for use are firmly in place. Were it not for people like Max muddying the waters with their dissent, telling impressionable younger people that drug use is OK or cool, then use would probably be much lower. In no other criminal activity would a proposed solution be legalisation – for murder or burglary it would be unimaginable. Appeasement towards criminals. Surrender.

Now that’s the kind of Britain Max wants. One of potheads and hipsters. One where the rule of law is gradually eroded as laws become optional and non-compliance is accepted as deterministic and self-evident proof that they were “unworkable” to begin with. Of course, Max won’t accept this – at present he’s unwilling to countenance the idea that he might just be wrong. Only a few months ago I turned him away from a policy of putting all modern art in a big pile and burning it. There’s a precedent for behaviour like that. Who would you trust?

NASH

For the avoidance of doubt it should be made quiet clear that I wrote this piece while off my tits on caffeine.

Magazine: Complex
Model: Solange
Photographer: JUCO
Stylist:Peju Famojure, Robert Sumrell

xxx

Lovee,

Shanon

The giddy and eclectic NYC band have a lot to offer on their third album, driven by a knack for great lyricism and a spirited ability to write catchy pop songs without the cookie cutter approach.

After one listen of Vampire Weekend’s third album Modern Vampires Of The City, I immediately noted its vibe as a pure pop record with giddy melodies and catchy hooks. I can envision a few songs being routinely played throughout my local alt-rock station 102.1 The Edge’s daily broadcasts. Basically, this record is quite radio friendly, but it does it with class and intelligence. Through Koenig’s clever lyrics and the band’s focused musicianship, this to me does what Mumford and Sons tries to do, but instead succeeds. While Mumford take indie and folk and popularize it, I find their material to be annoyingly repetitive, playing the same chords over and over with the same exact vibe from every tune. Honestly, I sometimes think “Little Lion Man” and “I Will Wait” are the same song. Vampire Weekend have taken the idea of making indie music that can appeal to a wide audience and mastered it. While Mumford takes a strictly folk route, Vampire Weekend cleverly blend indie pop, new wave, reggae and world music, adding something new, fun and different to each track. This album represents that ethic very well. These aren’t a bunch of lazy musicians looking for a simple route to be noticed. They challenge themselves.

The album’s best tracks reveal themselves towards the middle of the record, showcasing powerful melodies and rhythms and a spirit of enjoyment that intends to and succeeds at bringing a smile out of its listener. They don’t intend to write sad, sappy songs for the brokenhearted, although they do delve into some serious moments, all the while, its content nature is never less far away at all. Its a great companion for the summer days that lie ahead. Days of sunshine, warm temperatures and leisurely activities in outdoor settings, whether a day at the beach or a weekend at the lake. Alcohol would be a wonderful companion to this album for those that choose to partake. One of its most powerful moments lies in the just under two minute closing track “Young Lion.” Unlike their self-titled debut and sophomore effort Contra, the reggae-ish, islandy vibe is less prominent, giving focus to great indie rock songwriting and an ability to explore its possibilities.

This is a band that has made a name for themselves in the indie world, becoming a token of conversation for young music aficionados who want to rule the world with their knowledge (I will humbly say that I myself can be guilty of that at times). Fans should have something to celebrate with this strong, mature and self-realized creation from the New York lads, who have clearly managed to bring something solid and polished to the table, something that could play on the radio and be enjoyed by mainstream audiences, but at its heart, it thinks for itself and plays on its own side of the sandbox.

Grade: B+

-Adam Keith.

Essential Tracks: “Unbelievers” “Diane Young” “Hanna Hunt” “Everlasting Arms” “Young Lion”

Whoops! (Photo by Jeff J Mitchell/Getty Images)

A collection of stupid people and their stupid stories or as we like to call it…They Walk Among Us!

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Ok, so we are familiar with Hipsters right? For those of you that don’t know what a Hipster is…the most identifiable look is the big thick black rimmed glasses. A lot of celebrities are doing it. Anyway, according to a new study, only 16 % of Americans have a favorable opinion of hipsters. Gah, Taylor Swift…must you ruin everything.

Someone decided that they just don’t have enough rocks in Belize.  A construction company tore down one of the largest pyramids that Mayans built more than 2 thousand years ago.  They say they needed to crush the rock for road fill on a highway  project. 

A movie theater caused some misery during the opening of Iron Man 3. Police responded to what they thought was an active shooter situation, but turned out to be a stunt.

A young transient stole a semi-truck was just trying to shake off the zombies he imagined were crawling all over the truck. The 19-year-old man, apparently under the influence of hallucinogens, thought zombies were chasing him and he was taking evasive action. At the wheel of a fully-loaded 18-wheeler on a heavily trafficked highway, he was driving a weapon of mass destruction.

Colin Fielder was revived after being clinically dead for 40 minutes. The reason for Fielder’s amazing recovery is an experimental combination of new techniques: the use of a new automated CPR machine, called the AutoPulse, and the use of a blood-oxygen machine.

And so on. Unbiased.

A recent, entirely unbiased, survey conducted in the United States suggests that hipsters are as disliked as dirty Ruskies and Barack Obama by the majority of the population, as the soulless irony-laden drones they are.

This is thought to be the most extensive and revealing survey of opinions on any such sub-culture, finally answering the question of whether those within it are ok or a bit annoying.

Some have considered the poll by Public Policy Polling as “a bit pointless” and “not terribly accurate, helpful, or in any way worthwhile”.

Public Policy Polling sensibly opted not to bias opinions with an actual definition of the term “hipster”, and directed the questions entirely to people who only have landlines, to ensure the broadest possible contingent of over-65 year old respondents.

Furthermore, the questions were carefully chosen to ensure neutrality, allowing for the multiplicity of possible responses. The questions asked included: “Do you think hipsters should be subjected to a special tax because they are so annoying, or not?”; “Do you think hipsters make a positive cultural contribution to society, or do you think they just soullessly appropriate cultural tropes from the past for their own ironic amusement?”; and “You can’t seriously tell me they are not total sub-human scum, or can you?”

Social commentator and self-confessed Republican, Ryan Enaray (Democrat), said “It’s good to know that I’m not alone in my knee-jerk aversion to a sub-culture with which I have absolutely no contact. Tax them?! Send them all to Canada, I say.”

However, self-confessed non-hipster, Jerry Lambast (hipster) responded, “I rather thought the idea was not to attach oneself to any single, homogenous, definable culture or sub-culture, but rather for each individual to carve out their own inimitable style. It’s just, coincidentally, everyone’s inimitable style seems to be tight trousers, big glasses and irony. I mean, take a look at me: baggy trousers, small glasses and serious opinions about cultural, political and societal issues. That makes me not a hipster. Then again, by definition, maybe I am one. It’s all very confusing.”

The poll’s results showed that a mere 16% of Americans view hipsters favourably, 42% unfavourably, 43% unsure, and 87% this poll as utterly without merit.

NOT BY CHOICE.

Their style so quickly began to take over stores; Urban Outfitters, Topshop, American Apparel, New Look… You mention it, they were all filled with high waisted denim shorts that were all ripped up, tiny crop tops, top headed buns and studs. Studs everywhere. All of them were infected by the infamous Hipster disease. Then came the music. I personally enjoy indie beats, soft singing folk bands who play songs about love, broken hearts, death, life and cigarettes on their guitars and ukulele… but then, it suddenly became everywhere. Now, all music is either dubstep or a foul rip-off of folk music. I love The Perks of Being a Wallflower, but I for one do not feel the need to constantly quote it. Everything is so deep and long gone are the days of smooth R’n'B and bubblegum 90′s pop. Everyone is an Avant Garde nowadays and that same disease that brought back vinyl records, pulled me into that deep dark abyss.

I didn’t even notice it happening until I was wearing a khaki green beanie hat with rusted gold studs, a denim shirt and a necklace with crosses on. I was disgusted in myself. Surely I should have seen this happening beforehand and was able to stop it? Wrong. It was like a scene from a horror movie, where the protagonist has a moment of realisation and flashbacks rush on and off the scream to dramatic and a heavily beated composition; their I stood, pulling clothes out of my wardrobe with a look of horror on my face, then I turned and saw The Smiths on my wall in a poster, my nails were perfectly mannicure, I had a Starbucks and Belle and Sebastian were playing loudly as an Instagram notification popped up on my phone. OH GOD, WHAT HAD I DONE?!

I have since excepted my problem. After all, they say that the first step to beating a problem, is admitting that you have one. So the next time you call a Hipster or laugh at them for their overly back-combed, brightly coloured and damaged hair, or their sarcastic tone, or that stupid duck pout, just think twice… Soon enough, just as it happened to me, that infection could penetrate your immune system and BOOM, it’s all peace out.

For the definition of a Hipster, click here; http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=hipster

• a pearl necklace
• a handful of 1 1/8″ gold safety pins
• a handful of 1 1/2″ gold safety pins
  

Step 1: “Start in the center of the necklace and attach 1-2 safety pins between each pearl, working outwards. Connect the vertical safety pins with a horizontal one.”

Step 2: “Continue adding safety pins between all the pearls. I added 2 each time, alternating between 2 larger pins, 2 smaller pins and one of each.”

Step 3: “Go back and connect the rest of the vertical pins, grouping 4-5 at a time with a horizontal one.”

Step 4:  ”Keep working – the more random the better!”

And you’re all set!! How much do you love your new pearl necklace?

xxx

Lovee,

Shanon

Paint your nails or your friend’s nails to match any Bonds Hipster underwear design and upload your pic of it to Instagram. Make sure you include #BondsHipsterNails and @bondsaus in the comment box to win. The photo must be your own. Bonds Head Quarters will select the most creative entry to win $500 worth of Bonds gear!

Plus BONDS, will be giving away a pair of Hipsters each day to their daily favourite. 

Click here for more information.

]]> http://kissmyfashion.org/2013/05/13/men-river-island-fallwinter-2013-lookbook/ Mon, 13 May 2013 21:15:56 +0000 shanonfloretta http://kissmyfashion.org/2013/05/13/men-river-island-fallwinter-2013-lookbook/



While this particular collection is not available in stores quite yet, you can shop their summer styles by clicking RiverIsland.com.

xxx

Lovee,

Shanon

I arrived in downtown Richmond with 10 minutes to spare.  It was 9:50 AM, and The National’s box office was just about to open.  As I rounded the corner and approached the historic theater, a line full of single-speeds, jorts, and carefully coiffed facial hair came into view–the River City hipsters had beaten me to the box office.  What on God’s green earth could get hipsters out of bed before noon on a Friday?

Three words–Neutral Milk Hotel.

The last time I saw a line like this at The National’s box office was back in 2010 when Widespread Panic tickets were going on sale.  It was snowing, but that didn’t faze those hippies.  They sat patiently and waited for a chance to buy tickets to see their beloved jam band.  That’s what devoted fans do.  And, no matter the type of fan–hipsters, hippies, hip-hop junkies–if there is a chance that their favorite band’s show will sell out quickly, the line inevitably turns into an adult version of our favorite childhood game Telephone, where rumors run rampant and anxiety builds as the line lengthens.

That Friday morning was no different.  Though hipsters may want you to believe that they are trailblazers–leading the way with their thrift store style and non-conformist attitudes–they too succumb to the box office woes that plague the rest of us not-so-hip-sters.

I got into line behind about 2 dozen hipsters, and was quickly handed an info card to fill out–name, address, credit card information, number of tickets to be purchased, etc.  This was intense and quite honestly, a lot to ask of these young, sleep-deprived 20-somethings.  Grumbles rippled through the line.

“What is this for?” asked a girl behind me.  “Do we actually get tickets when we get up there?”

I assumed the answer was yes, but the tall lanky guy behind her had a different take on the situation.

“Um, like, I’m pretty sure it’s just like a lottery, and like all we are doing is waiting in line to be put into the lottery to see if we can maybe get tickets.”

Well that’s complete horse shit.  I didn’t drive 3 hours to get put into a damn lottery.  Others shot him looks of anxious skepticism with this new information.  Immediately, everyone within an ear shot whipped out their iPhones and searched frantically for anything that could confirm or deny Mr. Lanky’s revelation.

NEUTRAL MILK HOTEL TICKETS ON SALE AT 10:00 AM EST

Phew.  Thank goodness!  What did Mr. Lanky know anyway?  A sigh of relief echoed down Broad Street.  Wait, hold up…what does that sign say over there?

LOTTERY PROCEEDINGS FOR NEUTRAL MILK HOTEL

(WHAT!? Heart rate increasing–panic setting in…)

-Lottery tickets and info cards will be handed out at 9AM sharp

(Lottery!?  Wait, it’s 9:55 and I didn’t get a lottery ticket.  WTF!?)

-Everyone in line at that time will receive a lottery ticket

(WHERE IS MY LOTTERY TICKET!?  ALL I HAVE IS THIS STUPID INFO CARD!)

-A number will be drawn and the corresponding lottery ticket holder will become first in line

(Seriously!?  There’s no way the guy with the handlebar mustache and mesh tank top who just rolled up is going to get dibs before me)

-The line will form numerically thereafter.  Make sure you have your ticket in hand when reaching the window

(Who is in charge here!?  I DON’T HAVE A TICKET!!!!)

-Tickets go on sale at 10AM

(Ohhhh…Duh…I knew Mr. Lanky was full of it–heart rate returning to normal)

Okay, now we knew that the lottery theory applied only to people who got in line super early, which was NO ONE (hipsters aren’t THAT motivated).  It was now 10:10 AM, and while the box office was open, they were moving at a sloth’s pace.  The first guy to get a ticket walked back to chat with the fashionably disheveled guy directly behind me.

“Dude, did you get an actual ticket?!”  he asked.

“Um, well all of the tickets are will call, but yeah, of course I bought a ticket.  Isn’t that why you are here?” Mr. First-in-line replied.

“Yeh, but some jockstrap back there said something about a lottery, and we all just about lost it.  I am thinking about just buying them online.  I’m looking it up right now.  This line is moving too slow.  I seriously need to go back to bed ’til about 3:00,” he mumbled.

“Well, you should get to the front in about 15 minutes.  Is that worth $10 in extra processing fees?”

While the evil Ticketmaster processing fee debate transpired, a threesome in front of me caught my attention.  Two girls and a guy, all dressed up nicely for graduation day at VCU.  The girl in the blue sequins dress and thick rimmed spectacles beamed with excitement–not because she was about to celebrate the culmination of all of her hard work over the past 4 years, but because she was getting closer to solidifying her chance of seeing Jeff Mangum up close and personal.  Priorities people–get with it.

Her girl friend was obviously just there for moral support, although she did look the part with her layered lace dress, flats, and unkempt pulled-back hairdo.

“I don’t even like Neutral Milk Hotel,” she admitted louder than her friends would have liked.

“SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Don’t say that here!” they pleaded in unison, as they looked around to see if anyone heard her.

That was like the hipster kiss of death–well perhaps yelling “I hate Radiohead” in a Brooklyn dive bar is a greater offense, but that’s a whole different story.  Statements of that nature could seriously damage a hipster’s street cred.  I couldn’t help but laugh at the entire scene, and since I was dressed like a 34-year old Maxxinista, they knew I had no pull in the hipster community.  Their secret was safe with me–another catastrophe eschewed.

“Boom! I just got two tickets.  I’m outta here,” said Mr. Ineedanap behind me.  He must have had Verizon because I couldn’t get a flippin’ signal if I was covered head to toe in tin foil.  Damn you Sprint!  I, too, had contemplated just taking a hit on the processing fees, because–God forbid–I get to the window and they are sold out.  My husband would be crushed.

A few yards back came an outburst, “They just sold out online!”

And three…two…one…PANIC!  It was only 10:20 AM, we had moved maybe a foot and a half closer to the box office window and there was no telling how many tickets they had set aside for the locals.  This was becoming more stressful than an Avett Brothers’ presale.  I found myself completely relating to the hipster’s dilemma, and I was right there with them, speculating, postulating, and praying to the music gods that it would all work out.

The young man directly behind me, now that Mr. Ineedanap was gone, was also graduating that afternoon.  He was in a state of quiet panic, and hid it well as he buried his face in a paperback while he waited–apparently real books are cool to read again.  Thank you hipsters!  After getting bored with the book, he fumbled through his tattered canvas delivery bag, trying to bide some time as we inched closer and closer to the box office window.

“I have to get these tickets.  I mean, I’m graduating today.  I deserve it, right?!”  He was one of those hipsters you just want to fold up, put in your pocket, and take home with you–sweet and friendly, with the perfect amount of piercings and tattoos, who made an army green t-shirt and cut-offs look like they belong on the runway in Milan.

“Yes, of course you deserve tickets,” I assured him.  He was like a puppy who had lost his way–endearingly pathetic.  My mind raced and I thought, “What if I get to the window and I am the last person who can get tickets?!  Should I give them to this kid?  I mean, it is his graduation day. Ugh, damn you Haley Joel Osment and your whole pay it forward campaign!”

I was next in line.  Breathe. Speculate. Breathe. Speculate. The blue sequined dress girl chirped with joy as she was handed a receipt.  It was my turn, and by all accounts it appeared that there were still tickets left.  Phew.  However, I still could have been buying the last two.  So I did what I do best–got nosy.

“Soooo…did you guys like put aside a specific amount of tickets for locals?” I asked.

“Yes.  I’m hoping that we have enough to help everyone here today, but I am not totally sure,”  the girl behind the glass responded.

That was enough of a confirmation that my nervous neighbor in line would be getting his graduation present today, and I wouldn’t have to disappoint the husband with my “pay it forward to a hipster” story–yet another disaster avoided.

I received my receipt, congratulated the graduate, and went on my way, thankful that I had secured two tickets to see an amazing band that hasn’t toured together in 15 years.  It’s pretty interesting to think about the fact that 90% of the people in that line weren’t even born when Neutral Milk Hotel released their first EP.  It just goes to show you that great music is powerful enough to infiltrate one of the most discerning of communities out there–the mighty hipsters.

The show sold out quickly thereafter.  You better believe that I will be looking for my line mates come October 12th.  If by chance I see them, I will be sure to buy them each a tallboy PBR to celebrate our recent box office adventures.  That is…if tallboy PBRs are still hip in 5 months.

Author’s note:  I caught Jeff Mangum’s solo performance this year in Wilmington, and it blew my mind.  What I found extremely telling was that it was the hipsters who were polite and attentive in the audience, while the drunk 30-40 somethings needed to be told to pipe down or leave.  Perhaps this new generation can teach the older generations a thing or two about concert etiquette.  Tighten up Generation X!

My goal for this week is to get back on track with my workouts. I was having tummy issues last week so I went easy on the workouts {A quick jog home and dodgeball on Thursday, an easy elliptical workout on Friday, kickball on Sunday}. I want to be in fighting shape for Blend next weekend…there are a couple of Boot Camps and a hike planned and I anticipate that I’ll probably get knocked out quickly by the elevation in Park City!

Because of the aforementioned stomachache, the doc has ordered me to eliminate a few things from my diet for a few weeks: spicy food, acidic food {tear! my beloved lemons!}, dairy, caffeine and alcohol…I have mostly been good, but as you’ll see in the photos below, I definitely needed some liquid courage to get me through Saturday night, and then I had a few indulgences on Sunday… Definitely worth the belly ache!

Weirdest workday ever on Friday: neither of my bosses were in, and my big task for the day was to pack up our 30lb postage machine and send it down to our Santa Barbara office. Half a roll of bubble wrap later, I got it {oh, the small victories of an administrative assistant!} To celebrate the weekend, I made a really random, but delicious! dinner: Coconut quinoa, roasted brussels sprouts & broccoli, Italian sausage, and T-Man brought some “Gorgonzola gems”, which are basically glorified Jalapeno Poppers. Yum.

We then proceeded to our friend Danny’s housewarming pub crawl, which was themed Bros vs Hipsters. Landai & I were definitely hipster’ed out; Cedric’s shirt was a bit of an anomaly…memes are pretty hipster, but the outfit was pretty broish; and T-Man had to get in on the fun by stealing my {lens-free} glasses for a bit

On Saturday night, I did solo karaoke for the first time ever at Danielle’s birthday party. After submitting my 2 song requests, I was surprisingly really nervous, even despite the fact that I am always singing. If I know the words to a song that is playing, you bet your ass I’ll be singing! After the first singers took their turns and everyone was singing along, I was much more at ease!

Top photo: Richard and I singing “A Whole New World”.. except that the roles were reversed and he sang Jasmine’s part Left: Danielle the birthday girl! Right: my song selection {kind of a lame song to choose cause it is slow and no one knows it, but I still rocked it!} and Reggie being serenaded by our whole group to “My Heart Will Go On“. Don’t you see all the hands emotionally thrusting towards him?

Sunday was rough. It was forecast to be 94 degrees around the time my kickball game was scheduled. So I hacked off the sleeves of my shirt, packed up my water bottle in a bag of ice {that I later poured over my head, haha}, and slathered on the sunscreen. I only missed one spot on the back of my neck! Pale person victory.

While I was playing kickball, my family was off seeing the Jackie Robinson movie as part 1 of Mother’s Day festivities. Part 2 was my contribution: homemade pizza! I made the dough in the morning and told my mom to pick all her favorite toppings. She chose bacon, mushrooms, onions, and olives. I used some of her homemade tomato sauce and lots of mozzarella, and it turned out awesome! My brother bought the ice cream cake. We all clearly loved it.

{side note: that mother’s day card is the most perfect card of all cards that I could have given my mom. Fits our relationship to a T!}

I also made a side salad using a few of my dad’s fresh garden veggies! He has lots of beets and chard at the moment, so they both made an appearance. But now I’m pretty sure my insides are dyed/stained red. It’s okay…all in the name of healthy eating right? Can’t wait to steal corn, tomatoes, and bell peppers from him this summer.

Have you ever done karaoke? What is your go-to song?

What did you do for Mother’s Day?

Much has been written about the chefs of The Clove Club, Daniel Willis, Johnny Smith, and Isaac McHale who have been calling themselves The Young Turks and flirting with the idea striking out on their own for the past couple of years. They toyed with the foodie public by hosting pop-up events that everyone wished would stick around, showcasing their unique culinary ethos – interesting and overlooked British produce.  All have worked at some of Europe’s most prestigious restaurants, the Ledbury, St. John Bread & Wine, and Noma, so lightning was bound to strike.

Chef Isaac McHale hard at work.

The permanent home to this dynamic trio, is an old town hall in Shoreditch, spartan in feel, but the height of cool. I sipped a glass of champagne while my husband savored his Hanky Panky, made with great aplomb by our hipper than hip moustachioed bartender. You see, we are in the land of the bike riding, skinny pants wearing, East London hipster – a place I love to visit but haven’t been invited to be part of their club. The bar area was quite subdued for a Saturday night, I thought, but once we were led into the dining room, a hidden gem, a hive of activity infused with the scent of fryer oil, revealed itself.

Online I had seen photo after photo of radishes and fried chicken, two of the trio of amuse bouche that are the  extravagant start to your meal (and not counted as one of your 5 courses). Everyone at our table concurred that more than one piece of fried chicken per person was due! It’s a lovely moist piece of chicken in a buttermilk batter seasoned with ground up pine needles.  Fantastic! The radishes with a ground up garnish of black sesame seeds, sugar and salt and a smear of a Korean kimchi beancurd something or other was also refreshing and delightful in its simplicity.  Finally, the wood pigeon sausages dotted with Ten Bells Ketchup (the server told us that it was sriracha – but got its fancy name because the staff at the Ten Bells pop-ups had used it like ketchup) were declared “absolutely beautiful” by my very enthusiastic husband.

Fried Chicken & Pine

Radishes, Black Sesame & Gochuchang

Wood Pigeon Sausages with Ten Bells Ketchup

So now, the start of the real meal, the sparse descriptions on the menu leaving much to the imagination. First came raw beef with honey vinegar jelly (jello to you and me), English mustard and cow’s curd. There was a lot going on in the dish with a dusting of breadcrumbs that gave it a lovely crunch and the mustard being not of the bright yellow sauce variety, but of the leafy variety. The cow’s curd smear under the stack of bits and pieces was an odd contrast as far as textures, but even though I thought it shouldn’t work, it did.  Again a lovely, refreshing and rich plate.  Next was a beautiful assemblage of grilled squid with tarragon and green radishes – which we were told are Asian in origins but grown in France. My squid was on the chewy side but I loved the flavors of the crunchy green radish (not as peppery as the conventional radish) and the bright green tarragon puree – a trick I’m going to use at home with this aniseedy herb.  I didn’t ask for the following substitution, my husband did and I was simultaneously mortified and grateful, but the main was to be a slow cooked loin of lamb with old spinach and anchovy.  Lamb is not my favorite meat and so I had Berkshire pork instead and it was delicious. Old spinach?  Apparently it’s a spinach and kale powder dusted on the plate.  Really yummy.

Raw beef, Honey Vinegar Jelly, English Mustard & Cow’s Curd

Grilled Squid, Tarragon, Green Radishes

Slow Cooked Loin of Lamb, Old Spinach, Anchovy

My Berkshire Pork version of the Meat Course

At this point it’s worth mentioning the crusty bread and butter that they gave us.  My darling husband basically ate the entire basket and then asked for more.  It was noteworthy bread, crunchy crust and tasty, spongy, warm middle. He asked the manager where they sourced it and was told it was made in house.  He raved and raved about this bread, in spite of the plates of lovely food being presented to us over and over. His stomach knew no bounds!  And, as a lovely touch, our friends asked the manager if we might have some to take home (given his obsession) and they very generously wrapped up half a round which I tucked into my purse (and carried around London the rest of the night).

Now to the final hurdles, two desserts. My favorite was absolutely the blood orange, sheep’s milk mousse and wild fennel.  They dehydrated the segments of blood orange and then rehydrated and warmed them which worked to intensify the flavor, while the mousse was light as air and the fennel was served in granita form – the most fennelly of fennel tastes ever. I actually thought the second dessert was just a bridge too far, unnecessary and a bit of a cop out. Prune ice cream, kernel and rosemary sorbet and walnut cake. Too much prune, not enough cake and a muddled in between. Admittedly, by this time, we’d been eating and drinking for a couple of hours. It was time to move on and enjoy the next part of our Saturday night.

Blood Orange, Sheep’s Milk Mousse & Wild Fennel

Prune Ice Cream, Kernel and Rosemary Sorbet, Walnut Cake

Our experience had been sort of exactly what I’d hoped it would be: a mixture of ingredients and techniques that were somewhat challenging, served in a laid back atmosphere, surrounded by other people who love food. Not everything worked for me, but I can appreciate what these Young Turks are doing and the imagination that goes into all of their dishes. They’re having fun with their food. I’ll definitely be going back, but to sit in the other room where you can order off a menu. While we had been sequestered in the cerulean tiled dining room, the bar area had jumped to life with a delightful mix of Londoners, the large windows letting in the last of the late evening twilight. Our loaf of bread in my purse, we had one final sighting that sort of summed up the place – a tiny coat closet turned cured meats hanging room.  And in spite of being painfully un-hip, I felt completely at home.

An old coat cupboard transformed into the cured meats room.

Something interesting about the music scene in America today (or at least the way music scenes are covered) is that rarely does it appear that any stone is unturned. With the proliferation of online outlets to cover pop music of all shades, and with the eagerness of many writers to shout “First!” at a discovery regardless of its quality, there are fewer and fewer places for new artists to hide. Entire ‘movements’ are being covered which have yet to spit out any halfway decent artist, much less one with one or more albums under his or her belt. This clashes with the indie mentality prevalent since the genre’s inception, a mentality that grew increasingly skeptical and paranoid even as major labels saw rapid decline in sales at the turn of the century thanks to outlets such as Napster. Independent labels now have the clout (though not quite the capital) of majors—Arcade Fire won a Grammy for Best Album, Radiohead’s pay-what-you-will model led unknowns to release their material in similar fashion, not without results (Frank Ocean, The Weeknd, et al.). So it no longer seems apropos, nor has it for a while, for small acts to eschew fame if it’s brought upon them with them having done essentially nothing. The want to stay obscure is fine if all you ever wanted was to perform with your friends at the neighborhood pub, but the attitude that fame or critical regard is a sign of selling out no longer holds water, and is destructive to any political or communal ideals indie was established to harbor; by becoming increasingly exclusive, indie scenes shun outsiders who weren’t there when it started, and who are thereby forever out of the loop. (For the record, I don’t think indie ever had any political goals—at best it was vaguely critical of capitalism, promoting a DIY work ethic over major label studio slickness. Maybe it was just anti-greed. If the hipster cliques in and around Brooklyn have a political slant, I’d guess it’s Occupy-esque, though most probably that movement is too well-known for them to maintain street cred.) When a band like Vampire Weekend signs to XL and goes on world tours, natives feel betrayed, but they move on, finding the next up-and-comer to call their own. Problem is, some online zine has already named and reviewed all the bands you’ll never hear of before they get three songs on BandCamp.

Which is my sort-of segue into a matter I’ve expressed concern about previously. Rock writers also have a difficult decision to make. Given the wide availability of albums on iTunes (or available directly from a label or artist’s website) and the option of downloading tracks individually, should writers begin to consider albums in this manner? An abstract example: band X (not the LA punk group, FYI) releases an album with a running time of one hour. A rock writer finds the album, gives it several spins, and decides that tucked away in that hour are thirty-five minutes of truly primo music while the remaining twenty-five are utter trash. There are twelve songs, each five minutes, and they alternate from good to bad to good to bad from start to finish. Is it permissible for the writer to reward the album the highest rating possible (five stars, A+, whatever) to those thirty-five minutes, informing the reader he should only pay for the seven tracks that are worth it—i.e. to skip buying a CD, to create his own mix of the seven five-minute ditties that are worth hearing? Band X are no hacks and, like any self-proclaimed artist, thinks of their album as a whole, regardless of the writer’s opinion. Should the writer take into account the songs he thinks are terrible in his write-up for the album, or is he liberated by the digital age to recommend purchasing only certain tracks? In the days where only records, CDs, and cassettes were available, this was impossible—if you were going to recommend a purchase it had to be based on everything. This is no longer true. So what does that say about the album? Will our conception of the traditional album change? What liberties and/or responsibilities do rock writers have? Thoughts?

In most parts of town, in parks and in window boxes, the advent of warm(ish) weather and longer light coaxes daffodils and irises out of the soil and toward the sun.

In Shoreditch, the season of renewal has brought us scaffolding, the blossom of renovation and reconstruction. Along nearly every street in the gateway to the East End, scaffolding is rising up like some sort of wild iron ivy. It’s slithering up the sides of buildings I almost forgot existed.

It’s to the left.

A particularly sinewy variety. Note the blue tint.

It’s to the right.

The earliest spring shoots.

It’s across the street.

A particularly hearty variety.

The entire length of Redchurch Street is sheathed in scaffolding like some overgrown jungle path.

This comes after a long winter and a deep recession in the UK. Any growth, iron-clad or not, looks welcome.

Well, mostly. I thrive in environments of constant change, but greet all this transformation with trepidation. Notices from the council and planning applications only reveal so much information about what’s being built. Otherwise, who knows what lurks behind the latticework?

We are often left to guess. Is the Crowne Plaza, growing invisible behind a robotic skin, about to become the latest outpost of Ian Schrager’s Public? Just as the results of plastic surgery are revealed when the bandages comes off, we’ll only see the anticipated improvements when the scaffolding is taken apart.

How many buildings will have slapdash roof extensions built to look down on us? Do any fast food restaurants hide behind the fresh hoarding? It’s bad enough we now have a Pret a Manger, the newest form of urban blight, on Shoreditch High Street. That’s only a latte away from a Starbucks.

In truth, there is an element of excitement to all the change. It’s never boring in Shoreditch. When autumn comes and the leaves start to fall, I’ll look forward to the scaffolding coming down.