Stop viewing,,, start doing

So here I am in one of the coolest enclaves of one of the most exciting cities in the world and quite frankly I’m bored. Sure Williamsburg has moved from arty loft squat heaven through post college idyll to condo strewn East Village rip off but there’s still more going on within five blocks of my house tonight than there will be over the next five years in my home town.

I could go to an ironic quiz – all pop culture questions and geeky cool hyper appreciation. This is the basic tenant of hipster-ism. You have to be bored by current culture but bizarrely fascinated by the pop culture of previous generations. You have to tweak and adjust and reclaim as icons soda streams and chopper bikes and old institutions like burlesque. A hipster appreciation for a time gone by is both a diss to current popular culture and an opportunity to be both involved and detached. How meta is that? Pete’s Candy Store (it looks really old, has an adult spelling bee, bingo for beer, scrabble nights, hot live bands and toasties) is pretty much the centre for this vibe and its here that I can find the quiz. The thing is there also seems to be 120lb weight limit (for guys, girls you have to be under 90lbs) and a 50% skin surface covered in tattoos rule in place, So that’s not one for me.

Galapagos – an art space that I really like is running a dance party tonight. It’s been years since I danced. The last time I think was at Culture Club – a 70s and 80s club on Varick street that caters to hen parties, office parties and the middle aged. Either there or Polyester, which is much the same but with pretension of tongue in cheek. That night I was hammered, the music was loud and the friends Danish and beautiful. But anyway dance parties are for people who have indulged in more drugs than Clarissa Dickson Wright has hot dinners and so it’s not for me either.

Rose – a new place with a Hispanic feel is running Amayo’s Fu-Quintet-Fa – a mad concption of Kung Fu, Cuban, African and traditional Chinese Rhythms and the kind of jazz that makes most people get a bit jumpy but makes jazz fanatics swell to zip endangering in their Farrahs and zoot suits.

Also at Rose tonight – Argentinian folk. Alas the patrons of Rose tend to be 70, arthritic of fingers but lithe of hip. It’s full of old codgers who look toothless and harmless but who will spin your woman away from you, whisk her into a frenzy of neatly executed spins and bathe in the puddle of ecstasy that she leaves behind on the dancefloor. They’ve got game – I don’t.

And so on. All over this wee part of Brooklyn (first stop as realtors are trying to rename the area, how long before it’s known as “OneSto”) there is life and vibrancy, entertainment and experimentation. But I’m pretty much tired of being a spectator at someone else’s party. I wanna play some. And that means diving in and getting involved. Maybe a smaller pond will be needed but it’s time to stop viewing and start doing.

And on thath note I’m off to watch Mystery, G-Dog and Matador trying to teach geeks how to get into a woman’s pants… okay so maybe the doing starts Monday.