Man Hustle

Man Hustle

It may seem to some that this bit of Bushwick madness invading the Lower East Side is attempting to turn comedy inside out, but really a return to comedic roots is what’s at stake here. Old Man Hustle is a staple comedy hole-in-the-wall and this is simply the circus from the bizarro world returning for some third party narrative on the, ahem, finer points of life. Mr. Silver, who conducts ringside calamity on a biweekly basis at the French leave-your-senses Bizarre in Bushwick, arrives to screeches and howls at the Old Man Hustle for a more intimate affair and a more narrative approach to put-it-out-there outrageousness.

Mr. Silver takes a Bushwick circus to Manhattan...
Mr. Silver takes a Bushwick circus to Manhattan…
... for AIR escapades in text form.
… for AIR escapades in text form.

Not quite content tho with classic standup, a man may loose his shirt.

After some coaxing...
After some coaxing…
... to be transformed.
… to be transformed.
... a struggle ensues...
… a struggle ensues…
... a man may lose his shirt...
… a man may lose his shirt…
A Kodak moment at the Old Man Hustle.
A Kodak moment at the Old Man Hustle.

The humor has bite so that bouts of nervous energy suffuse the room. Every one of these men finds time to mention their wives or in one case a long trail of random encounters, as if to pay homage before daring to be quite the tasteless brute with words. We skate round and round in the millennial mind until arriving at some seeming insignificance that does the trick for laughter or grief or both. The little things under absurd scrutiny, that make it all matter so much less.

Crimean nervous energy evaporates with the inspired...
Crimean nervous energy evaporates with the inspired…
... game controller suicides upstate in Kodak-branded Rochester.
… game controller suicides upstate in Kodak-branded Rochester.
Food and sex...
Food and sex…
... a running joke, yet surprisingly quite appetizing.
… a running joke, yet surprisingly quite appetizing.
Finding the tinged spice of life in cucumber flavored water...
Finding the tinged spice of life in cucumber flavored water…
... after a bout of pharmaceutical memory loss.
… after a bout of pharmaceutical memory loss.
A whirlwind process makes a mockery of 'relations'.
A whirlwind process makes a mockery of ‘relations’.
After, in messy mayhem...
After, in messy mayhem…
... we regard the male take on male.
… we regard the male take on male.
The muppet monster sheen...
The muppet monster sheen…
... makes stars of everyone in the room.
… makes stars of everyone in the room.
A shattered recording no further from the truth.
A shattered recording no further from the truth.
Left with a bewildered look...
Left with a bewildered look…
... for the MAN HUSTLE.
… for the MAN HUSTLE.

Idiotarod

Idiotarod

Lucky thirteen was the first time I found Idiotarod. I showed up at the Brooklyn Bridge in the middle of winter and saw the Idiots gather below. You could lump it into one of the “urban expression” series of events which have discarded seriousness for communal silliness, confrontation for fun, art for parody yet by doing all these things crafts a permissive space for the “everyday participant” to test their constitution, writing their own first amendment in a day filled with grueling farce.

Idiotarod 2013 staging ground under the Brooklyn Bridge.
Idiotarod 2013 staging ground under the Brooklyn Bridge.

It’s a race and last year was set in post-Sandy Red Hook to try to bring some business to the area as every spot is a different locale, offering the local drink and chow. This year the course returned to more familiar haunts in Williamsburg and Greenpoint, although now more used to Bugaboos and rustic artisan shopping rather than silly, off-the-hook shopping cart races.

Idiots pool warmth and good cheer in Greenpoint this year.
Idiots pool warmth and good cheer in Greenpoint this year.
Predatory Shoppers pay homage to street murals.
Predatory Shoppers pay homage to street murals.

Shopping carts are now foreign matter in this part of Brooklyn where space is at a premium and store shelves cannot afford to offer wide lanes for maneuvering steel wheeled baskets, a trend hitting much of New York as supermarkets with their basic ingredients flee the onslaught of the ready made with higher margins and less fuss. What became clear though as the race progressed is that some of the rational for the route had to do with the beautiful wall murals we passed where most of the crews would stop, pose and snap photos. Idiotarod became a fun way to show solidarity by dressing up in absurd costume, for the proper selfie in front of these massive street art mural dotting the newly chic area.

The Kostume Kult Octopi stop to pose at the Buff Monster mural.
The Kostume Kult Octopi stop to pose at the Buff Monster mural.
Predatory shopping gets a paddling from a tentacle of the Kostume Kult Octopus.
Predatory shopping gets a paddling from a tentacle of the Kostume Kult Octopus.

Having been a voyeur the year before, this time we got a crew together to do our own silliness. Trying to develop a journalist approach, I found that volunteering or being a part of the action in a meaningful way, not fretting about objectivity, I am finding new ways for the unfolding events to affect me.

One professional photographer/grasshopper contemplates the mural El Puente.
One professional photographer/grasshopper contemplates the mural El Puente.

A lot of journalism is now copy-paste press release, social media fallout recounting, or Instagram photo rebroadcasting. A fresh look might mean hitting the streets and being over the top silly.

Our crew showed up decked out in fur and a cart shaped like a vulture and called ourselves the Predatory Shoppers with the swagger that we firmly believed that American Hustle will surely win the Oscar for Best Musical. We had a banging sound system which didn’t leave us odd cart out for long. Of course we had murdered all the animals for the fur, that is the bed bugs from the thrift shops with a generous dusting of baking soda, making sure to rip off all the old tags that said Fake Fur Made in China. We were the dogs from up north that had just noticed the silliness and were now raising objections. Except that they were raised on our too true costuming rather than a too fake trademark violation. One bar even refused to serve us in this getup.

That refusal might be due to a communication issue on what Predatory Shopping is and how much wits we had about us to have the critical faculties to see it through. The quote I kept giving was “We don’t fuck around. We get that XBOX on black friday and we watch the big game on a big screen,” while in the next breath urging everyone to catch the film Midway Journey. In total agreement that wearing fur in this case was only designed to leave a slightly bitter, critical aftertaste to the silliness of the day, the wholesale switch to synthetics will surely kill more, and in the wild, in the long long long run of their endless existence. If plastics embody the proverbial eye of our current civilization, they see each kill as just a blink of temporary wrapping, just as we pretend to use them for that very purpose, seemingly not privy to their permanence.

Debating the finer points of idiocy.
Debating the finer points of idiocy.

Debates surrounding preparation for Idiotarod always revolve around how to procure a cart. I spent the day on foot bringing compost to the local park and empties to the local recycling center. I asked first at the recycling center because shopping carts are the workhorses of the informal recycling economy. Tons are carted off every day in the city and cashed in for 5¢ a pop in machines linked to giant conveyor belts separating plastic from aluminum from glass for crushing and smashing and then to be reformed.

Deep sea recycling: view from inside the tin can.
Deep sea recycling: view from inside the tin can.

So the carts are at a premium, and I was immediately greeted with suspicion and told what a high price such a wheeled steel carriage can command. So I walked back towards the parks department compost drop off and saw a cart half buried in a snowdrift in their compound. They were holding that for one of the recyclers, they explained it was usually locked up but they did have two more they could offer me. Low and behold one sported that classic shape from the Idiotarod logo with the tapered front basket in solid steel. It wheeled great even through snow banks.

Heavy glass meets heavy beats: Predatory Shopping vulture rocking spontaneous dance floor action captured by photographers.
Heavy glass meets heavy beats: Predatory Shopping vulture artcart rocking spontaneous dance floor action captured by photographers.

Stoked, it was transformed overnight into a winged vulture with reclaimed speakers mounted on the side in winged pine boxes salvaged from crates of imported Spanish and French wine. The shape of the vulture head and body in the cart was made of that pine as well and painted black while a black umbrella destroyed in the last gusty city rains became the skirt for the winged speakers. A lot of our team hadn’t met before and so we arrived in staggered succession. I brought the cart by subway, receiving help at the L train exit for each of the two levels to Bedford Avenue street level. After the speakers were mounted and the sound went live spontaneous dance parties broke out and photographers devoted heavy glass to capture the action.

Judges exploit every idiotic gesture for their own gain. And the gain for general idiocy.
Judges exploit every idiotic gesture for their own gain. And the gain for general idiocy.

A big part of the performance of Idiotarod is the judging. There is a certain measure of creativity demanded from “corrupt officials” dealing with “Idiots”.

Judges revel in their ultimate power to create idiocy.
Judges revel in their ultimate power to create idiocy.

Bribes are encouraged, rationalization frowned upon.

This does not deter them from the task at hand, which could be something arbitrary.
This does not deter them from the task at hand, which could be something arbitrary.

So when I arrived late the judges knew immediately where the other furry people were but it became the running obstacle to find the group in one place as the pack never really formed, unlike say the Octopi or Nintendo crews.

Nintendo Crew declared love all day yet performed quiet, masterful sabotage.
Nintendo Crew declared love all day yet performed quiet, masterful sabotage.
Team cute.
Team cute.

Seeming eerily as if we were running with the Tines, our pack scattered while our artcart, adopted for the tunes it played, wiled somewhere else. We sported a particularly disorganized furry idiocy.

The pack goes scatter.
The pack goes scatter.
Best in Winners.
Best in Winners.

Yet the cart was fast, the tunes were heavy, the team cute, so that we pulled through, not with a cash prize, which was reserved for someone else, but with the Best Music award, one day before the Grammys, having fully convinced the judges that they had been transported back to the nineties, without the use of a Tardis or a steampunk time machine, although most likely in tandem with these beautiful artcarts.

The Tardis enforced further idiocy in the space-time continuum.
The Tardis enforced further idiocy in the space-time continuum.
Steampunk dialed in fun times.
Steampunk dialed in fun times.

The final sprint across the Williamsburg bridge landed us in darkness and exhaustion so that half-seven felt like two in the morning.