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Hipstercrite: January 2010

Friday, January 29, 2010

Vintage Clothing Handsome Dad Toe Sucking


Here is another reason why Austin is way cooler than your city.
We like to wear each other's clothing.
It's true.

You will not come across a more happy recycling city than Austin.
Well, maybe Portland.
But who wants to live in Portland?
Nobody.
Though the two cities are almost identical- rent and population about the same, both are excellent bike cities, both use the motto, "Keep (Insert City Here) Weird", Austin has a substantially lower unemployment rate (6.9 vs. 10.8).
And the hipsters are more friendly and tolerable here. We actually smile.

This Saturday one of our favorite local bloggers, Austin Eavesdropper, is hosting the first ever Rock N' Swap at the Beauty Bar 6-10PM. Bring 10 items to swap or $5 to get in. You'll be able to rummage through everyone's clothing with one hand, while nestling a free rum cocktail in the other. There will be music and cupcakes as well.

RSVP here
_________________________________
So the old man is in town this weekend, which means we will be mistaken time and time again for a creepy old player and his young money hungry wife.

Take a look at this fella. Isn't he handsome?


I haven't seen him in awhile and I'm looking forward to showing him what Austin is all about.
We're checking out the Foot Patrol show tomorrow night at Antone's.
If you don't know what Foot Patrol is, what the fuck is wrong with you?
Think Stevie Wonder with a foot fetish.
I was even lucky enough to have my toes sucked on by TJ.





Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Thunder Only Happens When It's Raining

My mother was peeking out the window, holding the curtain in a death grip.

A rumble of thunder and she quickly let go.

"Lauren! Quick! Turn on the weather channel!"

She had already turned off the lights, lit candles, and stocked food. We were prepared for the worse.

"What are they saying? WHAT ARE THEY SAYING??" she yelled.

"That there is a severe thunderstorm watch 20 miles away from here."

"That's it! Everyone down in the basement."

My mother scooped me up and dragged me downstairs, leaving my school friend Matt sitting on the couch confused.

She planted me on the basement couch and waved her finger in front of my face.

"Don't move. Don't go near the windows. Just don't move. Where is Matthew?"

"He's still upstairs Mom."

"Dear Lord."

We heard a muffled voice calling from upstairs.

"Hey Ms. Modery," Matt shouted from the top of the stairs, "Um, if you guys are going to stay in the basement, I think I'm just going to walk home."

My mother flattened herself up against the basement wall and slowly felt her way to the bottom of the stairs.

"Are you crazy Matthew?! Look at it outside! LOOK AT IT!"

We all looked outside. The sky was gray with a few streaks of lightening, but my mother was absolutely convinced that a tornado would appear at any moment. In the middle of central New York.

"It's really ok, Ms. Modery. I live just down the street. You guys have fun down there."

We listened as Matthew collected his things, opened the front door, and exited the house.

My mothers face went blank. "Oh no! The front door is unlocked now!"

I watched as my mother paced around, the wheels churning in her head. If she didn't go upstairs and lock the front door, the storm could bust through our house at any moment and instantly swoop us up and slam us down like paper dolls.

She decided that locking the front door was the right thing to do, but it took every ounce of her strength to make it to the top of those stairs.

This is what happened every time there was a thunderstorm growing up.

I had no idea until I was an adult that my mother and I were is abnormal. Even when my friends would tease me at school, I figured they were the ignorant fools. "Yeah just wait until lightening strikes your ear lobe while you're talking on that phone!" I'd laugh to myself.

After I moved to Texas where thunderstorms are a way of life during the summer, I'd try to politely suggest to my mother that she did not have to rush off the phone and sleep in the basement after hearing a rumble of thunder. I didn't want to emasculate her deeply rooted fears, but it seemed a little ridiculous. "Hey Mom, can you believe that my friend Jesse used to do tornado drills in school growing up in Oklahoma? Now isn't that too bad? Now didn't she really have something to worry about?"

"No, I don't feel bad! She was stupid for living in Oklahoma. OH MY GOD! I just saw some lightening. I have to go."

You may wonder why my mother has such an irrational fear of thunder and lightening. What I neglected to mention is that she saw someone getting struck by lightening as a child. Or rather heard since she was running screaming in the other direction when the two people got struck. She said it sounded like someone shot a gun next to her ear and, well, I guess that is a sound that never leaves you, does it? However, you'd think as you get closer to 60, childhood fears will have already dissipated. I guess some never do.

What childhood fears do you still have?

Music- Wolf Gang (A Band I Really Want to See at SXSW)



Forget that this British band's name is Wolf Gang. Forget that there are four hundred other bands with the word "wolf" in it or that Phoenix's last album was titled "Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix".

'Cause this guy is really good.

Like makes me feel like I'm the subject of a Bret Easton Ellis novel, watching the sun go down in Santa Monica with my Wayfarers on good.

This single has car commercial/episode of 'Gossip Girl'/played on American Apparel's Viva Radio written all over it. I have a feeling he's going to be big over here in America.

Perfect blend of British 80's synth pop and LA indie scene.

You can hear more music here.

Check out the video for "The King And All of His Men".



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Yes, I like karaoke. AND YES, I'M PROUD OF IT!

One of the many reasons why Austin is much cooler than your city, is that it boasts a karaoke tournament.

That's right.

This isn't just any ol' karaoke tournament. It's the f'ing National Karaoke League.

And you're talking to one of the champions right here.

Yep.

Team Steve Perry's Excellent Adventure.

In last year's tournament, we went from being in last place to winning the entire championship in one evening, much to the other teams dismay.

It was like a scene out of any formulaic 80's comedy. We were the nerdy team, the underdog, the John Cusack that rallied against the bullies, the dudes with the polo shirts and perfectly coiffed blonde hair, the James Spaders. 

I took off my pants, Nolan ripped off his shirt, a girl fell and hit her head. 

It was the evening of all evenings.

After competing in yet another round of competition on Sunday (where we happily and willing lost to a drag queen), we've decided to get the team back together. This time, under the new moniker- Steve Perry's Return to Innocence.

Take a peak inside Austin's karaoke world....
And if you have any interest in hearing me sing, go here






1987 hits sing/dance-along at the Alamo Drafthouse





Michael Jackson sing/dance-along at the Alamo Drafthouse the day after he died. The energy in the room was overwhelming. It was that night I decided my goal in life was to make people sing and dance A LOT after I die. 



Me screaming for my life after Jennine threw me down on the ground and started humping me in front of 100 people at the Highball. 


Ludwig, Nolan, and Adley as the Robert Palmer girls


Inspired by David Bowie's package after going to the Alamo's Labyrinth sing-along        


        

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Tuesday, January 26, 2010

SXSW 2010 Music Call Sheet (Halfway Through)

SXSW 2010 Music Call Sheet Continued....

Worst Band Name To Google:
Aa (Brooklyn)- Try finding their website!

Cause Everything is Better in Iceland:
Olof Arnalds (Iceland)- 'Cause she looks and sounds like a little Icelandic Pixie

Someone I Think I'd Like to See:
A Shoreline Dream (Denver)- Nice shoegazey band that gets extra points 'cause their Myspace status says "Dreaming of Austin" and they seem to really really like Radiohead.
Break of Reality (NYC) Their stuff sounds like it should have been in "Last Temptation of Christ". Peter Gabriel approved!
Dappled Cities (Sydney)- They really sound like every other indie rock band, but I like it!
Michael Feinberg (NYC) Not sure which I love more, the NY Jewish accountant-like name or the sweet jazz that comes from his fingertips.
Malente (Germany)- FUNK IN THE JUNK!

Best Voice:
Male- Contra Coup (Austin)- If Danny Elfman and Antony Hegarty had a baby.
Female- Julie Peel  (Montreal)- Feist-y

Best Self-Proclaimed Ghettotech Band:
The Constellations (Atlanta)

Who Really Likes M. Ward and Dave Matthews? This Guy Does!
Paleo (Brooklyn)

The Band Whose Album Cover Most Reminds Me of George Harrison's "I Got My Mind Set on You" Music Video
Minature Tigers (Phoenix)

Maybe If I Was From Sweden I'd Be Hot Too:
Lowood (Sweden)- Dreamy pop



Adiam Dymott (Sweden)- Dreamy rock



Francis (Sweden)- Dreamy heartbreak



Movits! (Sweden)- Just dreamy



Another Fucking Wolf Band?
Wolf Gang (UK)
We Are Wolves (Montreal)

Pretty Sure is Actually Kings of Leon:
Ha Ha Tonka (Missouri)

I LOVE 80'S BRITISH SYNTH POP!
Chew Lips (UK)- I want to make love to her voice
Wolf Gang (UK)- Makes me feel like I'm in a Bret Easton Ellis novel and that MAKES ME HAPPY.
Everything Everything (UK)- Freddie Mercury meets "Glee" meets M.I.A. meets Coldplay.
Pivot (UK)
Wave Machines (UK)

Somebody Likes Morrissey A Lot Pt. 2:
Fanfarlo (UK)

And the Award For The Hottest Singer Goes To:
Marques Toliver (UK)- Not only is he talented, he can rock the blazer without a shirt.




No No No No NO! (Could Not Get Into...But Maybe You Will Like Them):
Karnivool (Perth)
Dan Black (France)
The 88 (L.A.)
Soulico (Israel)
Mixtapes and Cellmates (Sweden)
P.K. 14 (China)
VV Brown (UK)
Chris T-T (UK)

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Monday, January 25, 2010

SXSW 2010 Music Call Sheet

Austin's South by Southwest is rapidly approaching (Mar. 12th-21st). I am making a vow to not do what I did last year, which was not go to a single event and sit in the corner and pout and mumble about how much I hate a festival that I've never even gone to.
There was really no call for it.
I was just bitter that I had to work the entire week and it would take me three times as long to drive anywhere. GO BACK TO L.A!

This year I will see shows if it kills me (fast forward to me sitting home alone on the couch with a tub of peanut butter).

Here is a list of some of the music acts this year. I'm still learning the list myself so there will be more to come.

Bands You Have Heard Of:
Neon Indian
Fool's Gold
The Crystal Method
Robyn Hitchcock
Deer Tick
The Boxer Rebellion
We Are Scientists
Acid Mothers Temple & The Melting Paraiso UFO

Best Band Name of a Band I've Never Heard Of:
And So I Watch You From Afar
I Fight Dragons
Hot Panda
Bastard Child Death Cult

Austin Bands You MUST Check Out:
Suzanna Choffel - This girl's voice is unlike anything you've ever heard....promise
DJ Car Stereo Wars
Pink Nasty
Best Fwends - It's hard to describe these guys...

The Band Name Your Parent Will Mostly Like Hate:
My Dad is Dead

The Second Band Obsessed with the Jonestown Massacre:
The Jim Jones Revue

Best Band Name That Sounds Like A Lifetime Movie of the Week
Dead Sexy Inc. 

The Band That Most Made My Ears Bleed:
Shit and Shine 

Somebody Loves Morrissey A LOT:
The Wave Pictures

The Band Where Their Sketch Comedy Counterpart is Way Better:
Kidz in the Hall

The Best Band I'd Be Afraid to Run Into In a Dark Alley Out of Fear They'd Kick My Ass:
The Coathangers

Bands I Checked Out This Morning That Didn't Make Me Scrunch Up My Face:
Coolooloosh- Imagine Earth, Wind, and Fire mixed with Puff Daddy.
Thunder Power
Plants and Animals- First band I listened to where I actually said, "Wow".
The Diplomats of Solid Sound- Someone with some talent!
The Brunettes- Coworkers think hesounds like Sufjan

Band With the Coolest Music Video:
We Are Wolves- Fight & Kiss

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Friday, January 22, 2010

Lunar Park Slope Pt. 3







Pt.1 and Pt. 2

I'm still crouching like an idiot underneath my desk waiting for Rob to walk in on his surprise party. After about five minutes of impatiently waiting, I shout out, "Where the fuck is Rob?"

"I'm right here!" A familiar voice says and with that, everyone kind of  stands up and mumbles something that sounds like "Surprise!" and I manage to knock over my coffee and spill it all over my computer keyboard, on my skirt, and over Rob's CD. I start screaming and swearing and everyone runs over to see what's going on with me and leaves Rob standing in the doorway, his surprise party blue-balled by me.

He walks over to my cubicle and offers to help me clean up. I shove his mixed CD in his hands and he says, "That's the third keyboard you've gone through this year. No more."

Chapter 2


I have to say that the cookies were pretty damn good. There was an even amount to go around, but I managed to snag two at a time while everyone was more concerned with Rob's gift unwrapping. I managed to get five cookies into my purse and figured I'd eat them for dessert tonight. I'm not sure I want to share them with Timm though. He can steal his own damn cookies.

Rob got a nicely framed copy of our first issue from Marty, a DVD collection of Jean-Claude Van Damme movies from Bradford, a knit beanie from Ginger, and a vintage cowboy shirt from Amy. I'm not sure what inspired Amy to buy Rob a cowboy shirt. There is nothing very "cowboy" or "vintage" about Rob which is one of the reasons why we wouldn't have worked as a couple.

The plan is to go to the The Bell House after work and I text Timm to see if he wants to join us. He texts back saying the band is practicing and he'll try to stop by later, but not to plan on him gracing us with his presence. I don't think he likes my co-workers much, but in reality Timm doesn't like anyone very much. At past work functions, he's mostly sat in the corner, not smiling, and talking about how the Earth is dying. In the beginning it used to really bug me that he didn't want to hang with my friends, but I had to remind myself that in having artists as boyfriends, comes the anti-social behavior.

I try to finish up my letter to Sad in Silver Lake before we leave. The assignment is due tomorrow and I don't want to be left with the daunting task of finishing up the assignment while drunk and/or hung over. The truth is, the letter bugs me. Every time I read it, it just makes me think of me and the advice I should be listening to myself. It's funny how you can regurgitate all the things you know that are best for you but you never truly believe it. It's like I just can't stop touching the hot stove.

Yes, I'm definitely drinking tonight.

At the bar, I pound back four vodka shots immediately. I drink two of them in the bathroom because I want everyone to think I'm going at the same pace as them. I start rambling on to Amy about how inconsiderate Timm can be and that my family and friends think I'm the punchline to the joke "What is a musician without a girlfriend? Homeless". Well, actually I wouldn't be the punchline but the point is I'm an enabler for his lazy behavior. What am I going to do? I've had a thing for musicians since I was twelve and discovered in my blooming sexuality that I got really turned on by Elton John's chest hair. Early Elton John. When his whole body didn't look one big pile of playdough. I then moved on to more normal crushes such as David Bowie and Lindsey Buckingham.

I can hear myself starting to slur a bit and I'm admant in telling Amy and the rest of the table that no one understands Timm but me. Even if he treats me like I don't even exist. I talk about how talented he is and how he's such an old, wise soul and I even as I listen to the words come out of my mouth, I know it's complete and utter bull shit.

Rob brings over another round of shots. I reach for one but he pulls it away.

"Woah, slow down there partner or you're going to be feeling it tomorrow."

"Rob, I've had one shot all night."

"Did you finish the column for tomorrow?"

"Mmm hmm."

"You know you have by noon tomorrow, right?"

"I know, I know. Oh, hey, did you like your CD?"

"Lauren, I haven't listened to it yet. It's still drying in the car."

"Yeah, well, it means a lot to me. I spent like, four weeks working on that."

"Thanks Lauren. No one makes a mixed CD quite like you."

I grab Rob's arm and stare him down.

"I'm serious, Rob."

"Serious about, what?"

I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket and it's Timm calling.

"Hi babe!" I scream much louder than I think.

"I'm driving up and down Hollywood and can't find any fucking parking. I'm going home."

"No, no. Did you try looking down Selma or Sycamore?"

"Yes, there is nothing. Look, I tried, ok?"

"Wait, I'll come out and meet you."

I grab my purse and an announce to the crowd that though I've had a blast, it's time for me to go. I miss a step off the bar stool and flop down on the poor intern. My face neatly smooshed into her ear, I whisper, "Katie, ssh...please stop wearing low rise pants, ok?"

Rob jumps from his seat and grabs my right arm.

"I'll walk you ouside." Rob says.

"No, it's ok. I'm fine."

"I know you're fine, but I want to walk you outside."

I don't like feeling like I'm being treated as a child, but I let him take my arm anyways.

We wait outside for a good ten minutes, sharing a cigarette, before Timm shows up. The conversation entails me explaining all 40 tracks of his mixed CD and the significance of each song. By the time I get to the last track, I hear a beep and see Timm's car stopped in the middle of Hollywood Boulevard and him impatiently waving me to get in.

Rob gives me a big hug and says, "Take care of yourself."

I can feel my eyes instantly fill with tears, but I hold them into tiny pools. Most of the time, I would have gotten angry at him, or anyone for saying that. I know how to take care of myself. I take good care of myself. However, at that moment, who was I fooling?

I turn away quickly so he can't see my eyes and jump into Timm's car. He peels off down the street and I watch all the lights of Hollywood blur into a line.

We pull into our driveway and I watch as Timm gets out of the car and goes into the house. I stay in the passenger seat. I'm too tired to get up and the warm wind coming down from the mountain feels so good on my face. I finally get out of the car, but trip on a stone lining the path to the front door. I fall into the front yard and lie on my back, staring up into the sky. I think about Sad in Silver Lake and I wondered what she is doing tonight. If she was thinking the same thing I am thinking right now.

I straggle into the house and walk over to my computer. Timm is making himself a sandwich.

"What were you doing out there?"

"Thinking about my assignment that's due tomorrow."

I can smell the mustard he's putting on his sandwich and it makes me want to throw up.

"Did you have fun tonight?"

I'm thrown by this question. It's been a long time since he asked me about my day.

"Yes, actually..."

"Holy shit! There's my wallet! Can you fucking believe that? I've been looking all over for this thing!"

"...it was a good night."

"So, check this. We practiced that new song I wrote. The guys seem to think it's a good one. Chad created a killer bass line for it. I think this one is going to be our song, you know?

I tune him out and pull up a fresh Word doc on my Macbook to finish my letter to Sad in Silver Lake.

Dear Sad in silver Lake...

It's Tuesday at 10PM, I'm drunk, and in the backgroundd, I hear my boyfriend rambling on and on and on and on about his music. I just fell in the front yard and he DIDN'T EVEN NOTICE for ten minutes. My boyfriend never asks me how my day went. Instead, I come home to him sitting on our bed, playing his guitar,     and the first words out of his mouth are, "Check out this new song I wrote." Then for the next hour I'm forced to sit there and listen to this new song he wrote and give him feedback on whether or not I think it's selllable and I pretend to be interested he accuses me of not being supportive and if I pretend to act interested, then I'm guaranteed another three to four hours of listening to him when all I really want is to push him out of a moving car and go to sleep. The end goodnight...

Thursday, January 21, 2010

TV- Jersey Shore Ends, Life Continues On



"I watch it for it's unique commentary on the current youth culture, particularly that of Italian-Americans born in and around New York City. The show is relevant because it reveals the overindulgence tendencies by the parents of Generation Y. Theses tendencies bring out primal emotions and behavior in their children and if you substitute the nail salon fingernails and big hair with claws and fur, you have yourself a show on Animal Planet".

This is what I have to say to people when they ask me why in hell I enjoy watching MTV's "Jersey Shore".

Even then they don't buy it because I'm spewing jibberish I learned in film school out of my mouth.... AND I MEAN JIBBERISH! (using the phrase "culturally relevant" over and over on film theory papers will always get you an A).

Why I watch "Jersey Shore" is a good question. Maybe it's because I like the drama; a Pollack piece of Bumpits, Affliction, and tanning oil. Or maybe it's because I myself used to vacation at the Jersey Shore as a child.

Yes, it's true.

If you're from New York state, you either went to the Island or to Jersey for Ocean getaways. My Grandma used to be half owner in a condo in Ocean City, NJ, which she illogically relinquished ownership of during the divorce of her husband who cheated on her. I'll never understand my Grandmother and her extreme dislike of confrontation at the expense of her own belongings. "Another Depression Era neurosis witnessed!", we'll all say, shaking our heads and laughing at the old woman.

After she sold her share in the condo, we would still vacation in Ocean City.
We'd rent a hotel room right next door to the condo.
I'm sure this choice to stay right next to the "dumbest decision of her life" had nothing to do with having been born during the Depression, but everything to do with her being a Jew.
My Grandmother can only enjoy herself when she knows she is suffering.
I'd look back at her walking down the boardwalk, pointing at the windows on the 21st floor saying, "Yep, there she is. You know, that used to be mine. Before John cheated on me and we got a divorce. Yep..."

So in honor of my memories at the Jersey Shore and the series finale of "Jersey Shore" this evening, I put together my best Joisy outfits and renamed myself "The Evaluation""The Hibernation", "Glitterpoops".

(If any credit should be given to the cast of "Jersey Shore", it's their ability to come up with dumb ass names for themselves. I've been sitting here for an hour trying to think of something.)


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Wednesday, January 20, 2010

Lunar Park Slope Pt. 2


Pt. 1 here

John the intern is adorable. He is in his third year at journalism school and takes his job here very seriously. I'm sure he had three tasks today; stock the fridge, take out the mail, and be on the lookout for when Rob gets back from lunch so we can surprise him. And I'm sure he accomplished all three with admirable conviction.

My co-workers scramble under their desks to hide, which seems like wasted effort to me as we're all respectively enclosed by cubicle walls as it is. There are eight of us in the bull pen: Amy, our office manager and resident struggling actress, sits at the front door, Kyle, our style editor and resident struggling musician sits in cubicle number #1 a.k.a. "The Love Den", Bradford, our field writer and resident struggling screenwriter, sits in cubicle number #2 a.k.a. "Deathstar", Ginger, the one who does a little bit of everything and is our resident struggling t-shirt designer, sits in cubicle #3 a.k.a. "The Gingerbread House", and me, the advice columnist/pop culture reviewer and resident struggling human being sits in cubicle #4 a.k.a. "Pee-Wee's Playhouse". Julie, our layout designer, works against the back wall in between Marty and Rob's offices. Julie really isn't struggling at anything. She's worked for Vogue and Playboy and has a beautiful graphic designer husband, and a mohawked baby from Taiwan.

The two interns, John and Molly sit at make-shift desks in opposite corners of the office. I made their desks myself out of saw horses and doors and one can read about my little DIY project "How to Make a Desk on a Budget" in issue #4 of our magazine. The only two enclosed offices are Rob's and Marty's. I should have an office considering I've been with these guys since the conception of Sin Magazine, but until we can afford a bigger office, I'm stuck out in the open. Marty's office has four walls and a door and a view of Prospect Park. My office has three walls, no door, and a view of our intern's butt crack when I turn around. Sometimes I'll bring blankets into work and turn my cubicle into a fort and demand that everyone say "the secret word of the day" to enter. The only good thing about my cubicle is that it's in direct eye sight of Marty's office. When I'm bored, and Marty is on the phone, I will position myself so that I'm staring directly at Marty. He'll try to shift his chair out of my aim, but to little avail. He had to buy one of this remote control door shutters because of me.

I open my desk drawer and pull out the mixed CD I made for Rob so I don't forget. I know when Rob's birthday is. It's October 13th. I'm always good at remembering people's birthdays months ahead, but not the day of. I put a lot of time and energy into making their gift. When the date actually arrives, I completely forget, then notice about a week later their gift sitting in my desk drawer. It has nothing to do with forgetting their birthday, but everything to do with forgetting what day/month/year it is. I often find myself writing the date 1985 or 1992 on documents. I was five in 1985. Must have been a great year.

Rob is technically my superior, but considering I a.) was friends with him before we started working at Sin Magazine and b.) I know what kind of faces he makes during sex, there isn't much I find superior about him. I make sure and let him know that. He then reminds me that he can fire me at anytime. Then I gladly remind him that I have nude photos I got him to send me one night while he was super drunk and lonely while backpacking in India and that I will blow them up and put them in the front hallway at work.  He then mentions all the dozens of naked pictures I've emailed/texted him over the years that he could blow up. We then realize that our entire office would be filled with blown up shots our crotches and the idea just seems gross.

So, this year I was thinking of giving him a framed picture of his balls for his birthday, but I thought that wouldn't fly well with the boyfriend. Most of the time Timm acts indifferent about me, but the few times he's felt threatened, I had to deal with him disappearing for two days, then drunk dialing me from his bandmate's house crying and asking me never to leave him. I then tell him that the stranger who winked at me on the sidewalk meant nothing and I go pick his ass up. These are the times we have the best sex, where he thought he lost me when really along, I was right in front of him.

Rob's CD has been ten years in the making. I've made mixed CDs for him before, but this is a milestone. An epic mixed CD to end all mixed CDs. Our friendship has endured: two sexual relationships, two break-ups, three drunken hook-ups, one back shaving, several wrestling matches, and innumerable late night calls drunk, crying, and wondering where shoes went.

It's a double disk and starts with the song that played when we first met. We were at some lame freshman party at college. All I remember about the party was that it was dark and I wanted to be home watching "The X-files" instead. I went because my roommate dragged me along and constantly made me feel like a loser for sitting in the common room on Friday nights with two or three dudes with over-sized heads that wore black t-shirts, hemp necklaces, and chains on their jeans. Somewhere in the midst of the "Now That's What I Call Music" CD that some sadistic person put on repeat, a Talking Heads song came on and I nearly shat myself. I left whatever conversation I was having with someone I probably didn't really give a shit to talk to, and walked over to the speakers. I went into instance David Byrne trance and started singing all the words to "Psycho Killer". This is where Rob comes into the picture. I notice a tall, somewhat gawky kid with thick bangs heading my way. I closed my eyes and thought hopefully we won't intrude on the only four minutes of solace I've had at this whole party.

"Hey."

Shit. Maybe if I keep my eyes closed, he'll vanish.

"You like Talking Heads, I see?"

I open my eyes. He's wearing a "Pixies" t-shirt. His bangs don't look as disproportionate to his head as I thought.

"Yeah. They're my favorite band."

"They're my fourth favorite band."

"What's your first?"

"The Cure."

"Oh, I can't be your friend. Sorry."

I close my eyes again.

"Hey, want to go outside and talk?"

"Not really. I'm listening to my song."

"Ok."

"Fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa..."

I crack open an eye and notice that he's gone. My Mom would have said that was bad form. That I would never get a boyfriend by acting that way. I didn't want a boyfriend. I wanted to listen to Talking Heads.

He was kind of cute though.

When the song ended, I hunted him down. He was sitting on the patio talking with some of the kids in my drawing class.

I walked up to them and punched Rob in the shoulder.

"Oh, now you want to talk."

"Sure."

"Well, what if I don't want to talk to you now?"

"Then I'll tell everyone here that you dress up like Robert Smith and dance around your dorm in your underwear."

"Naked. I dance around naked."

That was it. With that statement I decided this guy wasn't too bad and we hung out til 2AM that night and have been friends ever since.  Except for the year after he dumped me and I stopped talking to him, then we got back together and I dumped him out of spite and he stopped talking to me. That was just one year though.

The rest of the songs on the CD represent various milestones after that: the song I listened to on repeat when we first broke up ("Precious Things" by Tori Amos), the song we listened to on repeat up the entire California coast ("Don't Stop Believin'" by Journey), the song we sang at the bar the night we celebrated the first issue of Sin Magazine ("Purple Rain" by Prince). There are 40 tracks in total. He better freaking appreciate this.


To be continued....

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Fashion- But Where is the Kings of Leon Snuggie?

Word on the street is that the Followill Dynasty designed some pretty expensive clothing for the Parisian clothing line/creative agency Surface2Air which will be sold exclusively at the Copenhagen boutique Paris Texas. For $1150 you can buy this jacket:



Or you can buy this flannel for I don't know how much, but probably a friggin' lot for something you can buy at Goodwill:



Also part of the collection? Jeans and fedoras.

Nothing about this line says new and exciting. In fact, Austinites have been wearing this shit for years, Followill Clan (except for the fedroas...the only people who wear fedoras are Britney Spears circa 2005 and 2006).
Maybe that's why you decided to sell your clothing in a European clothing store called Paris Texas, right? RIGHT?

What is it lately with the rock star clothing line trend?

Weezer recently designed ("designed" being used loosely) a Snuggie for the release of their not highly anticipated album "Raditude".



Bono and his wife, Wife Bono, created an eco-friendly clothing line called Edun, after his great-great-great-great aunt, the famous Irish River Dancer, Edun Bono.



Beyonce's has a line called House of Dereon, in white I want to call House of Derriere, because it sounds a lot better.



And then these guys, who I'm too lazy to write about or include pictures for. I care that little.

Will.i.am's strangely titled I.Am Clothing 

Gwen Stefani's L.A.M.B.

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Lunar Park Slope




Dear Lauren:

I am 26 years old. I have a good job at a talent agency, a boyfriend of three years, a rent controlled apartment in Silver Lake, supportive friends and family, and an active social life and yet I wake up every day feeling like something is missing. I feel guilty and somewhat narcissistic about being unhappy. Normally a very happy person, I've been feeling restless and moody all of a sudden. I know I should feel lucky for all the things I have, but yet my psychiatrist seems to think that I think I don't deserve to be happy. I fear that I suffer from Grass Is Always Greener Syndrome. I'm afraid that I'll never be happy and that scares the hell out of me? Can you please help?

Sad in Silver Lake

Dear Sad:

First of all, I'd like to say that I'm flattered that you came to me after your psychiatrist didn't do the trick. Who's to say that a 24 year-old college drop out with less credentials than a hotline psychic can't help?

Secondly, I think you read my mind today. Have you ever stopped and thought maybe your life isn't as perfect as it seems? Do you actually like working at a talent agency? It's often easy in this town to get swept up into the notion that you're nothing unless you work someplace glamorous. Does your job actually bring you fulfillment? What about your boyfriend? Are you happy with your boyfriend? Does he treat you well or are you settling? Do you like living in Los Angeles? While we're at it, do you even like your friends? These are all serious questions you should ask yourself. More often than enough, us twenty-somethings adhere to a lifestyle we think we should have and never really stop to ask if it's what we want. Just because your life may seem perfect on the surface, doesn't mean it's perfect for you.
Just today I was telling my friend....Oh, I smell cookies! No, Laurel, focus. You have to have this column finished for tomorrow's run.


I can't stand it anymore. I push my chair away from my computer and pop my head over the cubicle wall.

"Who's got cookies!?"

I hear Amy's feet shuffle up behind me. She smacks me on the back of the head.

"Ssh. Shut up! These are Rob's surprise party cookies! Don't you remember?"

I didn't remember. I vaguely recall giving Amy ten dollars last week but I obviously didn't question why. When my bank account is fat and happy, I will pass out money without question. I trust that my friends only ask for reasonable hand outs and I'm happy to share the very little wealth when I can. If I'm in the red, then I become a raging cheapskate and try to persuade everyone around me to donate to my cause. I'm not always good at it though. I should take a fundamentals course from my boyfriend. He always manages to leave his wallet at home. I'm still not sure if he's lying or if he actually doesn't know where his wallet is most of the time. Last week I found his wallet in the fridge. I left it there to see how long it would take him to realize this. For all I know it's still there, turning blue-green with everything else. The last time I saw cash in that wallet was when he took me out on my first date and he paid for his half of the meal. I miss those days. Going dutch seems so generous now.

I on the other hand never leave my wallet at home and have difficulty lying. Say I'm at dinner with a friend and the check arrives, I will stall as long as I can to see if my friend reaches for the bill. When a half an hour or more goes by and they still haven't reached for it, I feel guilty and end up offering to pay for the whole thing. I wonder if my friends know this and they are playing me the entire time I think I'm playing them.

Today I have $12 in my checking account that will need to hold me over for the next week. A flush of panic surges through my body. Maybe I can recoup my ten dollars.

"Is that what I gave you ten dollars for the other day!?" I shout at Amy.

"Yes."

"How expensive are those cookies? Ten dollars times ten people...$100 cookies! What the hell?"

"They're supposed to be amazing. They're from that bakery in East Village."

"Oh! So one of us had to waste time and money just to get over on the east side to pick up friggin' cookies?!"

"No, they were delivered."

"Oh! That makes sense." I start to climb up onto my chair. "Have you not been reading the news about our country's current financial state? Have you not seen how much gas costs nowadays? Aren't we supposed to be a progressive paper? Don't we encourage kids to sell their cars for bicycles, boycott corporate America, and minimize our indulgent ways? This behavior is against everything we represent! I want my ten dollars back!" I put my hand out towards her her.

"You're broke aren't you?"

I gradually sit down.

"Yes."

I retract my hand.

"You better give me my ten dollars in cookies, assface."

Our intern, John, comes running past.

"Quick! Rob is parking. Everyone hide!!!"

To be continued....

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Monday, January 18, 2010

Excuse Me, Do You Know You Look Like a Mess?

"Can I tell you something?" A voice says from behind my right shoulder as I wait in line at Baja Fresh on Sunset Boulevard.

The rule in Los Angeles is if someone voluntarily talks to you and you have yet to make eye contact, it is a-okay to 100% ignore them.

"Miss?"

Maybe I can pretend that I'm deaf?
But then I would have to produce pretty convincing sign language once I get to the counter. Which I have no idea how to do. Unless I want to tell the cashier that I love him over and over I probably won't be able to get away with it.

"Ma'am?"

Man, this guy has something really important to say to me. Chances are it's going to be a.) someone claiming to be a "producer from "The Valley" who would "love it if I can stop by "his office" sometime and audition for the role of the "love interest" in a "feature film" he wrote/directed/starring in or b.) something about how God is going to kill everyone in Los Angeles because The Devil created Hollywood c.) a Stepford looking woman Scientologist offering to give me a "stress test".
Those are the only people that stop you on Sunset Boulevard.

I turn around and smile.

"I can't believe how much you look like Courtney Love," he says. "It's uncanny really. Oh, and I'm friends with her so I should know!"

My smile slowly fades and I turn back to face the register.

Realizing that the line did not go over well, he begins back-pedaling.

"No, I mean, like when she isn't cracked out of her mind. When she was dating Edward Norton."

"Yeah, yeah. I get it." I mumble.

"You know, right after she got the plastic surgery."

I shoot daggers through him.

"I get it, man. Thanks a lot. You've ruined my day!"

The cashier motions that I am next.

"Do I look like Courtney Love to you?" I stammer out as I walk up to the cashier.

He thinks about it for a moment.

"No. But you know who you do look like? Sarah Jessica Parker."

I collect my purse.

"You know who you look like? Someone who is surprised that I'm about to tell them to shut the hell up and walk out of this joint."

___________________________________


I get told I look like famous people a lot. I'm told that I look like Scarlett Johansson all the time.
By my mother.
Once, in high school, I was told that I look like Elizabeth Hurely. I'm not sure why. If there was any time in my life that I DID not look like Elizabeth Hurley (and more like Anne Ramsey), it was high school.
I once was told I could look like Zooey Deschanel if I changed everything about my face.

But I get told I look like butt ass ugly aesthetically questionable celebrities the most.

For example, the person I most hear? Sarah Jessica Parker.
Fingers, toes, and leg hairs can't count how many times I've been told I look like her. I've been told by actors, friends, strangers, doctors, you name it! If you really want to put me in a bad mood, tell me I look like SJP. TELL ME!

Of all people on this God forsaken planet.




Maybe is she had a somewhat interesting filmography, I could get behind it. Maybe if she wasn't married to a man more bloated than Alec Baldwin and a dead fish combined. Maybe if she didn't play one of the most obnoxious television personas in contemporary television that made me regret ever being born with a vagina, I could say, "Hey, yeah, SJP, she seems like an interesting chick, that's cool that I look like her." I've heard she's really nice and she seems very hard-working, I'm just not a fan.

I'm pretty sure if you gave me a time machine at five years of age, told me to go into the future and pick THE ONE person I'd least likely want to be told I look like, it would be Sarah Jessica Parker.

I'd take Courtney Love over SJP any day. At least you know she's got some street cred. You wouldn't want to run into her in a dark alley.

Sigh...

I think I'm going to go call my mother.

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Thursday, January 14, 2010

To Serve Man

This is what happens when you're in a bad mood, stressed, and have writer's block.

_________________________

8:45PM

I declared this week "What is Love?" week on my blog, which was really a dumb ass idea. Since I obviously have no idea what love is, I can't really talk about it then, can I? Huh? HUH?

There are only so many posts (one, really) where I can a.) talk about how I've never been in love and b.) realize that I have no idea what the hell love is.

This really makes me want to write a post about how I'm going to turn into "that woman". You know, the one that you see in the supermarket with dream catcher earrings, talking really loud to herself, then directing questions to passersby, laughing hysterically before the passersby even finishe a sympathetic answer, loading up the cart with 25 cans of Chicken Corn Chowder soup which she will eat at home alone later that evening while watching a Monk marathon.

But then I realized I've already written that post. About four times now.

Fuuuucckkk....
Am I really that boring?

That I not only have no idea what love is, I also have nothing to write about?

Great. So now, this leaves me sitting here in my underwear, with a tumbler of Jameson, the Tivo on pause for the last 30 minutes while I not only contemplate writing, I'm contemplate my whole existence.

Oh, I know!

Maybe I'll text a couple of ex-boyfriends and see if that does anything. I'll be right back and keep you updated....

___________________

So needless to say, I AM that boring. The only texting I did, was send my recent ex who I still talk to every day, a photo of my reflection in the bathtub metal nobby thing (what the hell is it called?) because I looked retarded in it. Then I went to bed at 10:30PM.

I was going to put the picture up cause it's PG, but I look like the bad dude in that Twilight Zone episode, "To Serve Man". You know, the one where these aliens come to Earth acting all nice and E.T.-like, telling everyone to move to their paradise-like planet, but what they really want to do is use their cookbooks called "To Serve Man". Yep, you got it. They are going to eat YOU and that just freaks me out way too much.

Imagine this dude looking back at you in the tub. IMAGINE IT!

F it.
Here it is.
SEE?
Look!
LOOK AT IT!
I look like I'm secretly tricking you into moving to my planet so I can eat you later on.
That smug grin...


Happy that "What is Love?" week is officially over. I obviously can't handle it.

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