Saturday, March 11, 2006


It was a long day at work. A LONG Friday, but somehow I survived it. I was sitting at work at 6 and then I remembered, oh you made tentative plans to see either: a) a sexual/political one-man show in the Village or go check out the opening of Deitch's "Garden Party." I decided to ditch the show and go for the opening since I wasn't sure how long my eyes would stay open anyway.

When meatcute met me, it was a mob scene. Hundreds of people trying to get their chance to roll down a 40-foot hill constructed for art purposes or shed their white undies to hang in a tree. A Yoko Ono piece is in the exhibit, so when a limo pulled down the street and stopped in front of the gallery, I was hoping for a sighting, but didn't catch a glimpse of anyone but a gaggle of hipsters (help me out here: a murder of hipsters? an exhaltation of hipsters? It's gotta be better than a herd of hipsters) aching to be noticed, and noticed some more (there's a great article in this month's Harper's, by the way, by the "founder" of flash mobs and his intention of it to be a critique of hipsters and their need for deindividuation).

After a quick and yummy dinner in Chinatown (I remembered how much I love salt pepper squid!), I decided to meet up with Ben and his friend Jeremy. They were doing the after parties for the Armory Show. I got into Glass, a bar in Chelsea that has a two-way mirror in the bathroom so that the people on the street can watch as you wash your hands. It was open bar, which even meant Red Bull was being handed out gratis. That got me going.

So then we tried to love the SCOPE art fair's party at the Hiro Ballroom at the Maritime Hotel. It was my first time there and, oh my lord, what a beautiful space. But, holy damn, what an annoying party! It was full of—you guessed it!—hipsters. Now I'm understanding why there is this aversion to all those cool twentysomethings. It really does kill a vibe. The hip-hop blaring, we booked it, and Jeremy decided it would be a good idea to go to G. Wrong. It's been years since I've stepped foot in there and, good golly, how oddly packed (did I know it was an Asian/Black cruising ground?).

Didn't stay there long. Somehow we ended up at Baracuda. And somehow, whenever I go there, it becomes a VERY long night. Gee whiz, but Friday was long.


At 12:00 PM, Blogger Dee said...


Want to mock hipsters!

Want to have long night at Baracuda!

Want to . . . go . . . out . .


"Wild nights are my glory."

Mrs. Whatsit says that.

I'm rereading Madeleine L'engle's A Wrinkle In Time.

At 2:50 PM, Blogger Dee said...

A "happening" of hipsters.

A "jam" of hipsters.

A "horde" of hipsters.

At 12:06 PM, Blogger Dee said...

As we contemplate the essence of hipness, itself, perhaps it would behoove us to consider its dialectical opposite: what is the unhipness?

At 1:30 PM, Blogger Dee said...

Holy crap.

I just realized I've been reading about this kind of mess in Douglas Rushkoff's Media Virus.

[this kind of mess = the MOB thing starting out as totally-made-up, the "MOB meme" kind of ricocheting throughout various media in the "datasphere," the idea appropriated splat into corporateness]


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