Louisville Magazine

NOV 2018

Louisville Magazine is Louisville's city magazine, covering Louisville people, lifestyles, politics, sports, restaurants, entertainment and homes. Includes a monthly calendar of events.

Issue link: https://loumag.epubxp.com/i/1042970

Contents of this Issue

Navigation

Page 28 of 172

bearnos.com 26 LOUISVILLE MAGAZINE 11.18 THE BIT Prompt Propeller Facing physical and mental fears. WHY LOUISVILLE? I am afraid of the "Do Something" machine. It's a warm day in early October, and I'm sitting at a table at Gravely Brewing with Jenna Morales of Fieldtrip, a local marketing agency that's taken on an attention-catching project. A big black vending machine that Fieldtrip rented and stocked has been popping up around town. Today it's at Gravely, fresh off a truncated run at the canceled Bourbon and Beyond Festival, and destined for a trip to U of L. It looks like any other vending machine, only there's a little screen on the right, and the price is nothing. I watch as a young woman presses the screen and a card drops down into the receptacle. It bears a little crystal ball design, with a round pin tacked to it that reads "Do something." A dare is printed on the back. Earlier, I peeked at a card someone had left on top of the machine. It said something like, "Act like a monkey for 30 seconds straight." Others include singing out loud and calling up folks you haven't spoken to in forever. In a word: yikes. "Do a handstand!" the woman exclaims. She follows her male companion off to a nearby wall she can use for leverage, and attempts once, twice, three times, her legs falling down like wilting palm fronds. Finally, a waitress runs over to help hold her ankles, and the deed is done. The idea for the machine came from a Conan O'Brien antic and has been used in various campaigns, though it usually involves a transaction: Do a dare, get an item. But Fieldtrip's newest iteration is about the ex- perience itself. You don't do the dare to get anything. You do the dare to do the dare. "You haven't tried it yet," Morales tells me, and I know my fate is sealed behind the vend- ing machine's glass face. I press the button, take my card, and try not to visibly bite my lip as I turn it over. I get off easy: "You know that project you've been meaning to start?" the card says. "Start it. Right now." I take out my notebook and jot down a first sentence to an essay I've wanted to write for a long time. It's not much. But I feel stupidly brave. Who knows? Maybe that button I pushed just got me started on my best work yet. — Dylon Jones

Articles in this issue

Links on this page

Archives of this issue

view archives of Louisville Magazine - NOV 2018