The Hipsters Are Getting Restless

So Indiana just got called for Obama... which will more than likely be followed by North Carolina and Missouri!? DOES TEH WINNINGS EVER STOP!? NO I DO NOT TINK SO... 4 YEARS OF WIN.

Like many other parts of the world, people convened on the streets of Brooklyn last night to celebrate the obamavictory. Shedding the practiced veils of apathetic-cool, the hip-ass kids took to the streets. Tight jeans, sunglasses at night, and cans of PBR spilled onto Bedford Ave in Williamsburg in a druken, freedom-loving orgy of previously burried patriotism.

Today in the blogosphere revelers whined about getting pushed, shoved, and in some cases even kicked by police who were called to relieve street congestion and kill fun. The NYPD issued a response in the New York Times claiming back injuries and beer-bottle-to-noggin-contact by fault of the kids (who built this election on rock 'n roll and viral videos).

As I wasn't there, but rather a few blocks away curled up in a blanket, I can't definitively say which side is the mcwhiney pants who had to take a ride in the waaahmbulance. But I am excited at the prospect that in this political arc we're riding, there is a distinct possibility that there will be a resurgence of dancing in the street.

ANDY'S BOX

There was a kid named Andy in my sixth grade class who had severe ADHD. He couldn't sit still and bothered everybody around him. Our teacher got really fed up and finally came up with a unique punishment/treatment plan.

She cut out the small top and bottom panels of a refrigerator box, so that it was just one 7 ft tall cardboard tube. She'd have Andy sit down in his desk, and then she'd put the box over him, so that he was completely surrounded.

The thinking was that Andy could listen to the lectures through the open top of his pen, but he wouldn't be distracted by seeing the rest of the class. It actually worked (maybe?) for a couple days, and then the insanity started.

At first, we'd just hear minor scuffles coming from the box. Then he started randomly throwing things out of the top of his box, like erasers and pencils and wads of paper. Sometimes he would climb up on top of his desk, so that he could peak out over the top. The teacher would retaliate by banging on his cardboard walls.

He poked a hole through the back of the box with his pencil, so that he had a little spy hole to hold his eye to. Eventually it was big enough for him to stick a wiggling finger through. Hilarious.

But one day he flipped out and what looked like a knife came stabbing through the side of his box. It turned out to be the big pair of scissors from the teacher's desk. She yelled for him to stop, but he kept going until the side panel was perforated enough for him to rip his way out through. He dropped the scissors and tried to take off running down the hall.

Now that the side of his box was hanging open, we could see that he had completely covered the inside of it with horrifying graffiti.

A fresh ear of corn.

So after a terrible day "at the office" (I really shouldn't be putting this in quotation marks- I know. But I can't actually write this in a non-satirical manner even though I do, in fact, work in an office.) I came home, only to realize that I had left my phone and keys on my bed that very same morning. I realized this right outside of the door to my apartment building.

It is at times like these that I must think of the happiest most rainbow and sunshine filled places ever before I lose my shit and send a Moltov cocktail firebomb into the police station across the street. Cue the hokey flashback noise, spinning camera blur, and take me back to Sunday afternoon...

Travis and I spent the good majority of our day wandering about Brooklyn, and ended up on an expansive roof in Bushwick. All the hip ass kids hid from the afternoon sun in the shady periphery, sunglasses still on, cigarettes dangling from lips. Burning accessories of cultivated boredom. In the far corner of the roof with a Manhattan skyline backdrop, some band rocked relentlessly even though nobody was really listening. They sucked, but their guitarist was wearing parachute pants, redeeming them in my eyes.

Post opening openers, opening for more openers (who would then watch those whom they opened for while getting good and drunk), Ninjasonik opened for Team Robespierre. Though Team Robespierre really rocked in the purest form of the word, I was still more charmed by the haphazard, half-assed performance of Ninjasonik. The sun was beginning to set, dipping the skyscape in gold, setting the mood for lyrics such as, "I'm a tight pants wearing ass n***a" (hint: not 'ninja'), and "I don't care if she got AIDS!" Ninjasonik lyrics may not be the most impressive examples of word-smithery in the industry, but they are enthusiastic to no end, and painfully hilarious.

Nearing the end of the set, the mosh-happy crowd swarmed around the duo, drunkenly improvising the words to "art school," a little ditty in which Ninjasonik professes their love for arty girls. This is my happy place. The police station across the street still stands.

BROlympics Coverage

I wonder how the American Gymnasts feel about the current investigative efforts being conducted by the IOC in attempts extract correct ages of the Chinese Gymnasts.

Sure, they must be aggravated that "cheating" occurred. That the Chinese team employed an unfair advantage by entering their lighter more flexible capri-sun-drinking no-fear-having middle schoolers. But what must really piss them off is that it was in fact these baby-teeth-havers who beat their very well defined asses. They got beat by little girls. Really little girls. Really little tiny people with hello kitty backpacks. Simply put, that realization must suck. But probably not as much as the concurrent realization of these young Chinese gymnasts, that at age whatever, they have probably already had the most rewarding experience of their lives.They do have big shiny medals now though (Medals that I personally hope they get to keep), and I bet they'd make great spies.

That said, who wants to train for the 2012 trampoline team with me? I'm thinking we should probably go for the gold.

(Photograph from Telegraph.co.uk)