Louisvillians Under the Influence You Need to Follow This Year

The word influencer is used any and everywhere in today’s world.  I frankly don't understand what it means.  And I'm a millennial! 

Wait, am I a millennial?!  What does that even mean?!

An Influencer, according to Louisvillescoop.com a blog (and assumably the city's leading supplier of quality kitty litter)  is a thought leader of today, changing the landscape for brands.  I mean, I guess (sure) but are those even real people? 
What about folks you ACTUALLY see in town, creating analog Art in real time and celebrating the boozled gonzo kind of lunacy you'd expect from our legendary Derby City?  Don't THEY deserve a 5-minute listicle to put them over and get shared with quippy one-liners on your facebook feed?

I'm not saying these people are drunkest or constantly out of their heads, but for real at least they seem like they actually exist and you will likely catch them next you engage with humanoids in meatspace when you decide to spend some of your dumb money on a genuine Artistic experience sometime.


Below are the Louisvillians Under the Influence you MUST meet in a bar and buy a drink this year:


Eric McManus 

Between slinging drinks at Louisville's eternal high school cafeteria, The Highlands Taproom, constantly rage-fixing his motorcycle, violently murder-deathing the drums and bi-annually rejuvenating his Stand-Up Comedy career, Eric McManus is a supersweetheart and a ball of high-strung gold waiting to be spun back into yarn


Ethel Loveless

Ethel can usually be spotted with her perrenial tag team partner in crime Beatrix B. Naughty creating some of the most unique and titillating shows around town.  Endlessly charming and effortlessly fearless, you can catch her every Tuesday at The Limbo downtown for her showcase Titty Tiki Tuesdays in addition to countless events around town

José Oreta

Laying down lines fatter than your mumma, José is virtually everywhere in town there happens to be music helming  the mighty bass.  An eternal workhorse, he'll nimbly navigate whatever tunes you can concoct but be sure to have a couple cigarettes to bum him as that is included in his extensive contract rider.  


Stephen J. Holthouser

Perhaps the lone exception to the opening's addendum about these Artists NOT being constantly under the influence of substances, no one inhabits the lifestyle of depraved decadence worthy of Dr. Gonzo levels more than this Kentucky Colonel.  Hoping to make it to Goddamned Space™ by at least 2026(ish) Steve puts of one Helluva Christmas variety show and can cook a better omelette than you'd expect

Duncan Cherry

Managing Louisville's hottest Gay Barbecue joint by day and spinning records while Dee-Jaying the night away Duncan (Mr. Cherry if you're nasty) is a bubbling cauldron of good ideas and even better intentions.  I mean, just look at him.  If this man doesn't exude the purest meaning of the word "fun" to you then, like...I dunno, like, do you even fuck?!

Sean Smith

Teacher, Actor, Comedian, all this ubermensch truly wants is to play the villain.  But he's just so cotdamned nice I mean cumon just look at the guy.  That smile is lighting my room as I type this.  He's muscular, handsome and talented and works at making your kids better people who wouldn't be influenced by that?  
Be him.

Chris Vititoe

A man of many hats, all of them leading to new and increasingly wackadoo characters for his bizarre puppet madhouse, "Lil' Andy," The Character Assassination Roasts or whatever venture he puts his endlessly creative mind to.  In addition to off-beat Comedy, Chris is also the advocate for Louisville's greatest mechanized cyborg drummer, Tony Robot and frequent collaborator with valued neighbor Howell Dawdy

Rusty "The Jerky Guy"

The preeminent baron of non-vegan jerky in the 'Ville, Rusty can be seen literally & figuratively every single place on any given drinking night, which as we all know is all of them.  Adorned with outdated political stickers, a light-up boob and probably a Mary Poppins' black hole of Gosh knows what inside his magical basket, Rusty peddles jerky to anyone and everyone not afraid of the 10% chance that the secret ingredient is soylent green

J.D. Green

Everybody knows JD can sing.  You've heard her.  Even if you don't realize it; you have.  She's all over Louisville.  You are legally required to hear her. What most people don't realize is how incredibly funny this lady is.  You can't throw a line to sing at her that won't sound perfect and amazing but it can be about anything.  Have her sing your Google history.  Your shopping list.  Your weird Uncle's emails.  It'll make you weep and then laugh all over.


John Paul Faughender, III

There is nothing easy about curating an Art space no matter what level.  John creates oppertunities and makes dreams comes true with his OPEN Gallery, which is home residency to some of the most happening shit in town.  You just gotta appreciate a guy who is not only completely unafraid to deal with the hellish landscape of living next to Cardinal Stadium, but make Art thrive there.  Bravo sir, Bravo.

Jackie Royce

Bassoon badass and scheduler supreme Jackie heads Orchestra Enigmatic, a chamber Orchestra committed to making weird shit happen on a very large scale.  Also tooting supreme voodoo with the band Ut Gret and countless other outfits around town, Jackie is the force to be reckoned with.

Reed Sedgwick 

Commanding the room of Louisville's arguably 2nd longest running Comedy Open Mic, Reed has got to be one of the most reliably funny performers that you never know what the fuck might happen next.  Also check out Their leatherwork at various Artfairs!

Desheriay Thornton

Local eccentric with the fashion sense of a fun Auntie®, Deshi Arnez, Jr as he is never actually known as brings glorious thunder to each and every situation he is in.  A noted exotic avian ovum quiche enthusiast, you can catch the Thornt one flinging Bi-Be-Que or sketching madness pretty much on any given day


JC Dennison

One of the hardest working men in Louisville whether it be behind a drumset, a vibraphone, turntable or microphone producing some of the finest interview work this side of Terry Gross.  JC slings beers, builds dreams, breaks rules, rucks fools, and loves kitties.  ✓++ human right there

Daniel Thompson

....Or better known as "Shaggy."  You probably never even knew his (admittedly generic) name before you read this.  You knew him as Shaggy, Lord High Duke of Against the Grain Brewtastic Beer Factory & Baseballside Gastropub.  A transplant from Louisville's dorky porn sister city Lexington, Shaggy Thompson set about becoming the single most charming beer baron rep you'll ever meet.  While he hasn't touched his bass guitar in years, he has certainly touched all of our hearts.


Lauren Argo

Able to weave thru any form media with constant panache AND grace and hilarity will always ensue.  La La as she commonly known is an enigma wrapped with in a starlet from some lost Bogart film.  Watch out!  She's the sitcom neighbor you've always dreamt of having sexual tension with. 

Doug Schutte 

Your former high school football coach made his own Shakespearean themed restaurant pub Theater and it is every bit as hip and more than I am able to convey.  Over the past near-decade The Bard's Town has become a haven for Artistic expression of the highest creative caliber in Louisville, with this beautifully rugged maniac at the helm.  

Joe Dunn   

Ever since this man journeyed into the 'Ville from his native Texas, the Louisville music scene has been thankful.  Whether he's fronting a 15 piece big band in the space of tiny dive bar or churning out arrangements far juicier than the assignment ever called for, Joe will absolutely destroy you one whatever instrument he sees fit to


Drew English

The patron Saint of Germantown's capitol, "The Nachbar," Drew English commands such vast amounts of reverb even Jim James fears him.  He is Louisville's local highlander: seeking out his ancient counterparts Drew French, Drew German and Drew Czechoslovakia and eliminating them with extreme prejudice.   

Molly Clark

Able to plan cities and knock you on your ass in a single bound all whilst on a damned pair of rollerskates you best beware:  too much power is packed into lil' badass.  God help us all if she ever discovers In-Line Rollerblades.  


McKinley Moore

This hulking maniac is on a spirit quest to bring the best sounds he can to our fair city all while secretly trying to crush you soul with his own vibrational powers.  The chancellor of music at both KAIJU and Zanzabar he has whipped up some of Louisville's most unique artistic expiriences and deserves you to dowry your 3rd born child to him or at least buy him a drink I guess 


Karla Ortega

Local treasure makes every room brighten up or at least get significantly louder.  You've probably worked at least 2 jobs with her and she was always your favorite.  She has a story to top any of yours and gladly tell you half in English and and half in Spanish, depending on how long she has been at Nachbar.  

My Living Will

 

                Firstly, let’s get one thing straight: I plan on living forever, infinitely, until the end of time, until the collapse of reality.  Why shouldn’t I?  I’m doing pretty swell so far…

… But it is better to be safe than sorry. At least according to my dead Uncle Emmanuel it is.  Lot of good that did him, practiced good safety all his life and then one night he just didn’t wake up.  His heart stopped cold.  He was only eighty-three years young. 

But I do have some demands on the off chance I do happen to die.  I agree that it is selfish to want things of people after you stop living, but I’m on to something here.  I’m Babe-Ruthing that the next big fad in social media is DIY online Living Wills.  No lawyers, no bullshit.  Just update as you go.  Aunt Debbie pisses you off?  Write her out of the will.  She doesn’t deserve any of your…oh wait, a Passover card….from Aunt Debbie?  With a check for a hundred bucks?  

She’s back in the will.  That easy.  

                In the interest of spear-heading innovative trends in internet memes, submitted for the approval of the Midnight Society, without further ado, I present unto thee:

                                     The Living Will of Jake Reber

                In the unlikely event of my demise, the first thing you should do is raid my body for all it’s worth.  Donate all the organs, I sure as Hell won’t need them.  All of them, that is except for my intestines.

                My intestines will be used to make Bass strings, which are to be put on my Upright Bass.  I realize that gut strings are traditionally made from sheep intestine, but after a lifetime of variable bowl consistencies ranging from highly loose to diamond-hard and pelletine, I’m sure my intestines will be resilient enough to forge at least a decent ‘G’ or ‘D’ string.  Please shoot for the full set, though.  I have never heard of anyone performing this procedure but I can point you towards Germany or Japan as likely willing candidates.  No country on Earth is more depraved sexually or musically than those guys.  They’ll love it.   

                With my Bass now strung with Jake-gut strings, I will live forever in my music.  I have loved my Bass more than any woman I have ever known, but just like a woman, if I’m dead I won’t be satisfying her.  So just be sure my bass goes to someone who will only play it occasionally, if not regularly.  The strings are never to be changed, but every June 4^th (my birthday) as well as on the anniversary day of my death (hopefully the same day as whenever Tom Waits dies).  Be sure to get it in the studio to record with it, so I can be some kind of weirdo posthumous carnie legend in a couple decades.  

                If I slip into a coma, don’t rule out I might return in some convoluted comic-book rebirth.  Don’t keep me on the feeding tube.  Just pull the plug; I’ll figure something out.  Captain America and Batman both died from getting shot, but they actually just went back in time and managed to fight their way out it.  Neither of those guys needed their bodies to do it so I’m not super-worried about it.  

                Nextly, never under any circumstance hold up traffic for my death.  No funeral procession.  The general population need not to be inconvenienced by some asshole they don’t know/care about dying, and I’m no better than any other asshole.  

                Just burn what’s left of my organ-less body Viking style and put my Bass in casket if you have a funeral.  Be sure to hire a band to play that will make sure to put the ‘fun’ in ‘funeral.’  And get a keg of New Albanian Elector.  Or have it Groucho’s.    

                I do not wish to be buried as I will be dead and have little use for a plot of land.  But if you want to make statue of me, that is fine.  Just don’t make it creepy like those Shriner's statues.  A child and a fez is the worst possible combination of accessories to adorn a statue with.  

               Engraved into the statue will be the following epitaph:  

“If only intelligence was measured by how much obscure music you know...Jake Reber wouldn't have been such a fucking moron.”-Raanan Hershberg

The statue will be paid for by auctioning off all my possessions that aren’t my Bass.  If I don’t amass any more wealth by the time of my death then I don’t mind if it is made of chicken-wire and paper-mâché.  Just make sure to pay the artist and tip well.  

Deactivation of my Facebook account and other online identities will be the responsibility of my next of kin, as I need not be wasting precious internets with that shit.  In case of my return, I will simply create a new identity of ‘Jacob Thomas Emmanuel Reber, Version 2.0.’  Who knows, I may even add third middle name if I feel so inclined.  Depends on how many cybernetic components my body has.  

And in closing, my final wish is to have my likeness dressed as Abe Lincoln to replace the actual portrait of Abe Lincoln on the $5 bill.  He can keep the penny, as well as his $1 coin.  Even if I somehow fulfill my 8^th grade superlative award prediction of, “Most Likely to Become President” and even prove myself to be a good enough one to merit my own portrait on a bill of currency, just give me the fiver as Abe and call it a wash.  

Enjoy your lives!

Jake Reber 

The Best Places in Louisville to Fart

So this list has been bounced across a couple blogs.  But much like it's subject matter, the article just seems to remain funny no matter how long it hangs around.  Because face it – farts are funny. They always will be. Since modern women have finally admitted that they partake and, dare I say, are even fond of this national pastime, we finally live in an epoch of true equality.

We can now all fart in peace and love one another like in all those songs your parents used to listen to. So what are the premier and preferred public areas to unleash anal aromas? Where in the ‘Ville can you get away with a fart frenzy?


#6:

Nachbar: Between the jazz-wailings of VAMP or the nigh-endless loop of Black Sabbath on the jukebox, there is always a commotion at this hangout staple in Germantown .  It’s a safe bet no one will hear a toot out of you.  Not to mention the regularly-fucked plumbing makes for an easy blame.  Or any dog standing about waiting to get beer spilled on it.  Or, my favorite scapegoat is always nearest cute hipster girl in sundress pretending she likes German beer.  

 #5:

 Mid City Mall: If you have needs, the Mid City mall can fulfill them all: 
-Need groceries?  Valu-Market has you covered.
-Read books?  Shelby branch library inside.  More into movies?  They've got a fine theater.  
-Need smelly old clothes?  Try the Nearly New Shop downstairs, across from Jim Cain's Gym.
-Dying to hear some Steely Dan?  The Backdoor always has the hook up, as well as food & drinks. 
-Lonely?  Eat at the Chinese "Super" Buffet.
-Need a laugh?  Comedy Caravan's there for you.
-Need a good laugh?  The lobby has a plethora of brain-dead eccentrics to laugh at.  It functions as the epicenter of the insanity, featuring a colorful cast of clown-shit crazy persons among the finest the Highlands have to offer.  Everyone is too old or far gone to realize if what they hear/smell is of their own creation or your doing.  Perhaps they just figure it's just another of their auditory hallucinations.

If you want your work to be truly appreciated head into the Teen Outpost in the library.  Your butt vapors have to compete against the thick, swampy smell of angst of the high schoolers fixated on the internet.  Circulate that stale air by breaking some wind!  Punish their snarky teenaged judgments with some ripe crop-dusting of the silent but deadly variety!    

#4:

             Heine Bros. Coffee:  Do you know what mixes splendidly with the mellow, earthy, chocolate-like, floral, smokey, citrus & nutty aroma of Heine Brothers' Coffee?  Farts.  Insert obligatory Heine joke here ________________________. 

#3:

Churchill Downs: Churchill Downs is an impeccable blend of trash and panache that makes it oh-so swell to pass gas.  You are probably dressed your best on a date just to gamble like a granny and observe simpletons.  The only food that isn’t a buffet of ribs is nachos and corndogs, which means you’ll be tooting up a storm even before the bugle sounds.

With so many horses and disgruntled, over-worked staffers it's easy to abstain blame for your assy rip.  Plus, with everyone wearing sunglasses it’s nigh-impossible to detect facial affect; your look of shame and everyone else’s look of disgust are virtually indistinguishable.  Always remember that no matter how foul your odiferous expulsion may be, it will never be the most offensive thing to happen at Churchill Downs.  Check out the infield during Derby sometime.

            #2:

Chicken King: Anytime I travel or someone from another country visits, I always get always the same question when I mention I’m from Kentucky: “How’s the fried chicken?” or “Is the KFC better there?”

            Of course not!  The Colonel’s recipe is same worldwide: reconstituted chicken jelly, toenails, avian smegma and nicotine.  Not to mention those legendary eleven herbs and spices. It’s the meat of chickens that lived consuming the meat of other chickens. 

            Any lover of legitimate Louisville fried chicken knows to head down to the corner of Broadway and South Clay Street to the king of chicken: Chicken King.  It takes merely a single taste to realize that you just made the greatest decision of your life.  But you must understand that this decision comes with a highly gaseous consequence. 

The less-than-personable staff of Chicken King stays segregated behind bullet-proof glass, as to protect themselves from not only robberies but also your poots.  That means the dining room essentially becomes a gas-chamber.  Your main concern is offending any patrons, who are already disgruntled if they frequent fast food chicken joints.  Just hold your ground and take pride in your stench; the respect will be returned. 

              #1:

Old Louisville: Simply being outdoors in this neighborhood is a health hazard.  Heavy clouds of poo-gas engulf the entire area, seeping outward towards surrounding areas like syphilis.  Maybe it’s because Old Louisville is purportedly one of the most haunted places in the U.S. of A.  It could be lingering traces of ectoplasmic activity wafting into your nostrils.  Or it could be that the plumbing of 150 year-old houses were never meant to withstand the volume of shit created by four-apartments worth of college students.  Nothing you could produce from your butt could ever come close to the awful stench of this shitty neighborhood. 

The fact that the University of Louisville, duPont Manual High school, and Noe Middle school are in this vicinity is like a metaphor for the educational system.  My advice: wait until the St. James Art fair and fart on a busking musician.  They may not like your tip, but they will appreciate that someone noticed them at all. 

Dr. Seuss Explains Hipsters

Dr. Seuss Explains Hipsters

            The other day my mother asked me what a hipster was.  And I really didn’t have a good answer for her.  I’ve never fully understood what exactly a hipster is myself.  And I assert that no one really does.  The word has become devoid of any true meaning. 

            The Urban Dictionary has 347 entries trying to define the word.  Nearly every single one is negative.  As far as I can tell the most standard definition of hipster is someone who exhibits all the properties in a person you don’t care for. 

So I turned to the one man who explained most everything to me as a child, from environmental conservation, to the dangers of cold war-era arms race, to the benefits of proper hygiene.  A man who was brilliant enough to award himself a Ph.D. without wasting his time studying in school to earned one: Dr. Seuss. 

So without further ado, I present unto you,

Oh me oh my!

Say, hey there hip guy!

Can you explain to me

Just what it is that you be?

You like to create new labels

As fast as you are able

Just what is it that you be?

Aside from living irony

Are you a geek, or are you Emo?

“No, I’m just a VoVeek, one who’s post-PoMo”

Oh which way do you go so?

You buy nice beer but prefer Pabst

“I quite enjoy the quality lapse”

If you ask one for some gum

They will tell you “I have none, chum!”

In the coffeeshop with a Mac

Typing out Facebook cyber attacks

“Your work is shit

You’re no Bukowski

go sew three faux-Clojees

and read real poetry!”

In the thrift store

Buying more

And more and more!

Just how much can she afford?

With her daddy’s cash; does she do chores?

Striped socks

And indy rock

Pumping through a vintage Vox!

Too much noise on the block!

All the pounding sounding deranged! 

Terrible synths and too much flange! 

…okay so maybe Dr. Seuss has been dead a little too long to understand either.  Who knows.  I guess there is only one other word malleable enough to match ‘hispter’ in terms of nigh-meaningless insultitude: Fuck. 

Fuck Hipsters...I guess.