How To Have a Hipster Thanksgiving

I know I said that I would stop using the word, "hipster". You're tired of it, I'm tired of it, WE'RE ALL F'ING TIRED OF IT! However, I couldn't think of a better name for this post. Something about, "How To Have An Ironic As Shit Thanksgiving" just didn't sound right. So will you please forgive me and let me have this one more usage?

When I think of Thanksgiving, I don't think of hipsters. Unless I'm thinking of the movie, Pieces of April. Something about a dark Thanksgiving comedy taking place on the Lower East Side just screams pretentiousocity. Something about Katie Holmes makes me think of nothing at all though. Most of us will be having your pretty run-of-the-mill turkey dinners with the family: wearing that one Gap dress we bought in college and only pull out for dinners with the family, remembering why we pay $500 a month to go to a therapist, and getting drunk off of Grandpa's stash of whiskey hidden in the floorboards.

If you're interested in spicing things up and bringing a little of your creative, young urbanite ways to the dinner table, then follow these steps below:

1.) Take the Train- Because something note-worthy and creepy will most likely happen to you on the train and you can tell everyone in stunted breaths about your near-death experience once you arrive. So what it may take you two days sitting in an up-right position to travel 400 miles? Putting yourself in harm's way of flashers, machete-wielding flashers, machete-wielding flasher clowns, or any other weirdo that often rides the train, will be good for your art. Also, you can finally live out your fantasy of wearing your top hat and pretending that your an old-timey president traversing the American landscape. Here is an interesting article from GOOD Magazine about riding the train for the holidays.

2.) Bring Field Roast to Dinner- Unless you inherited vegan ways from your hippie-turned-yuppie-turned-huppie parents, chances are they love meat, and chances are they will put a lot of work into making a beautiful turkey dinner that you suddenly refuse to eat because you decided that you want to be the voice of all the silenced turkeys everywhere. If you really want to drive the point home, whip out a PowerPoint presentation of graphic photos of turkeys being slaughtered on your Mac at the dinner table. Chances are you'll finally have that fist fight you were always hoping for with your uncle Ellroy who watches Fox News.

3.) Canning- Because that part of you that listens to Bruce Springsteen's Nebraska while watching Terrence Malick's Badlands while wishing you were a 1920's housewife living on the Plains really really wants to put things in cans. Or that Jewish part of you wants to put everything in vinegar and pickle it and swim in it. Learn all about the wonderful art of canning here.

4.) Adhere to Amy Sedaris' hosting etiquette book "I Like You: Hospitality Under the Influence"- If you're hosting Thanksgiving dinner and hoping to get drunk and hit on your boyfriend's dog, then this is the book for you! Sedaris' book is chock full of hosting etiquette, redneck recipes, and funny anecdotes to hosting the most awkward and kitschy event ever! Here is a snippet:

"Hello, and I like you." This is what you're saying when you invite somebody into your home, without having to hear yourself say it out loud. This colorfully illustrated book (see pictures) is my attempt to share with you something I take very seriously: entertaining in my home, my style. It may not be the proper way, or the most traditional, or even legal, but it works for me...Even though the word "entertainment" is commonly used today, to me it sounds charmingly old-fashioned, like courtship or back-alley abortion...I tend to live my life like a deaf person. I communicate with my actions: the way I dress, the way my home is decorated, and the gifts I give all speak for me. I take this to heart when I entertain. My food, my party decorations, the games I create, and the music I play are all personal expressions. This is what will make your party special, sharing a piece of you, a feeling. It's not a competition. You don't have to be the perfect host, just the prettiest."

5.) Make A Lot of Felt Shit- According to Readymade Magazine, Thanksgiving is not complete without making a bunch of felt objects like you did in 2nd grade. What do those mushrooms up there represent? I have no idea. Other than maybe symbolizing when you'll get stoned and talk an hour to the cranberry sauce about what you are thankful for. P.S. The more googly eyes and tiny smiles the better. Your DIY felt object guide can be found here.

The Day I Realized I Was a Hipster

Not that long ago, I received an email from an Austin-based musician very eloquently sharing with me the day he realized he was a hipster. His words were poignant, describing his realization as though he was suddenly inflicted with an incurable disease- Hipstermystalacosis.

I related to his story and I think you will too.

When I was thirteen and running around in suspenders and non-prescription eyeglasses, I knew there was a name for me. For years I fought the label, but gave up my denial of being a hipster when I christened the name of my blog Hipstercrite.

Now when someone calls me a hipster, I shake my head in agreement. I am a hipster and probably always will be.

Hipsters, stand up tall! Unite!

Dear Lauren,

I've been an admirer of your page for a few months. I was linked through "TapeBombs," a music blog run by an acquaintance of mine.

Like you, I am dangerously preoccupied with hipsterism and spend a good deal of my day confronting the issue. The reason I am mailing is because I think I represent an interesting case study: a person caught in the paralyzing fear of his latent hipsterism and shocked into his true identity by a harrowing event.

Here is my account:
I was riding my bike down Duval and the sun was out. At this point I believed firmly in my individuality. Of course, my handlebar wrap matched my brake housing, and the same with the metal cages that held my water bottles; all were red. I wore purple shoes and no helmet. The memory of a triumphant sexual encounter arose quickly, then left.

I was pleased with my performance and didn't dwell on the details, didn't analyze a thing. I only recalled the sensations and sounds that make good sex memorable. The day was warm. Readjusting my fingers on bar, I found them to be quite cool; I hadn't begun to sweat. The best part of the ride.

In the first few seconds of what would be the minute and a half that changed my life, I didn't recognize the origin of the rumble, growing closer, rapidly becoming a roar, like the slow onset of a far off thunderclap. The sound came from the twin tail pipes of a Chevy Diesel truck. Suddenly, they were upon me. As I turned down a steep hill near 51st and Lamar, I was forced against the curb. The huge wheels of the truck kicked up dust and rocks and I was struck by a few of them. A large white male leaned out of the passenger window, ejecting a thimble-full of spit across the front of my shirt. A beer bottle whizzed over my head. I felt like a frightened Russian Hussar riding against Napoleon, holding out my hand as if to protect myself from the zip of bullets and the whistle of passing artillery.

At this point, about a foot separated my handle-bars and the side of the truck. After a few more terrifying seconds, the truck sped up quickly, finishing the descent and pulling into a parking lot at the bottom of the hill.

I knew what they had in mind. But remember, I was not some pussy hipster. I was not androgynous. I was a man. That archaic sense of honor strengthened me. Four men stepped out (the type of men who buy their groceries at the county feed store). They came at me from thirty yards away, not running, but at a kind of a trot, like this was a leisure activity.

I lept off of my bike and approached them in the middle of the lot. I put my dukes up, lithely shifting from side to side with the assured stance of an experienced boxer.

I think they sensed my confidence, baseless as it was. They stopped about ten feet away. I held my ground. Each wore what looked to be an Ed Hardy tee. Only I didn't sense the danger then. I was like a cornered puma, fiercer because death clears away the vale of fear. Underneath the decorated tees, the four mens limbs were taut and ready. One word, one altered expression would have uncapped that explosive energy. But there was silence.

The crack of bat, followed by childrens laughter, echoed from the top of the hill. We measured one another. It was the leader who broke the silence. His followers relaxed.
The engagement was apparently broken off, or at least postponed for a moment.

He said, " Fuck you, limp dicked hipster."
His friends didn't laugh, but chimed in. "Pussy! Hipster! Faggot!"
I didn't reply. I had relaxed my stance. The passenger side agitator spat at me again, but missed. Twenty seconds later the truck was gone and I was left alone in the bright sun.

My world view was completely fucking shattered. What passed through my mind as I gingerly pedaled home was not so much the glorious afterglow of a manly confrontation, but the providential nature of my lot in life. I knew that, so far as the outside world was concerned, I was a hipster. Whatever innate qualities I possessed were in dichotomous opposition to a certain portion of society, whose hatred of my "type" acted as a form of self-actualization. This tension was absolutely necessary, and in a larger sense, determined my ultimate role in history.

I still have not recovered, not fully. Now, when I listen to my own music, songs like "Don't Try and Take My Guns," "Burning Panties," and "You Should Start A Band," I do not hear the voice of myself, but someone who struggles to hide the mark of an old wound. And while I am ashamed and at times it all seems clownish and sad, I remember that this is what makes good art - that is, fear and its poignant beauty, like a shivering mouse you've caught in a beam of light.

My story is that of the reluctant hipster. In your word, "pretending we're not hipsters is what we do best." In this way, I am surely the most resourceful of hipsters. But, unlike so many others,
it has enriched my art and given me a new purpose; or more nearly, an enhanced clarity of vision.

Sincerely,
Marshall Galactic
of The Frontier Brothers

Marshall Galatic is from the Austin-based band The Frontier Brothers.

You can catch them during SXSW at these shows:

Mar 16 2010 8:00P
Chupacabra Cantina - From the Mind of Adi Showcase w/Peter and the Wolf
Mar 18 2010 1:00P

21st St Co-op Dayparty w/Motel Aviv, Black Taxi, and Federal! State! Local!
Mar 18 2010 5:00P

Good Danny’s Dayparty @ Mi Casa Cantina w/Low Line Caller, Brass Bed
Mar 19 2010 9:00P
Hyde Park Grill South - CitizenMusic Presents: A NYC Mixer w/Outernational, The Bloodsugars
Mar 21 2010 2:00P

Domy Books - What by Whatever Party w/Eastern Sea, Black Taxi, and BLSH

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)

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

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....

Hipster Gift Guide Pt. 2

Yesterday I showed you how to custom order a DeLorean or buy a t-shirt with dried cum on it.

Today, we have even more goodies for you to bestow the lovable scenester/trendster/geekster in your life.

Are you having trouble finding a gift for your NYU Film School dropout girlfriend who is unemployed and spends more time sewing that having sex with you? Well, we have just the thing for her! What about your homeless bike mechanic named Steel? Or your attention deficit friend that has a tattoo of a unicorn jumping over the Milky Way? We have gifts for them too!

Take a look....

1.) Ever get that urge to break into a rap about masturbation? I know I do. And so does Crispin Glover. Why not give Glover's Big Problem Does Not Equal the Solution. The Solution = Let it Be to that special auto-manipulator in your life? Or for $30, you can surprise him/her with signed copies of his books "Rat Catching", "Oak Mot", or "Concrete Inspection".

2.) The most pretentious gift on this list is this stupid ass USB drive in the shape of horn-rimmed glasses.

You can't even wear them.

This is a good gift to remind that that extra special hipster in your life how ridiculous they are.

3.) Start the day by listening to David Lynch give the weather report for a city you don't live in all the while sipping his richly brewed coffee. Part of the proceeds go to his film scholarship (which sadly has nothing to do with his transcendental meditation foundation).

4.) Amy Sedaris' hostessing/crafting/cooking for a lumberjack and the elderly book, "I Like You: Hospitality Under the Influence" is a must for any DIY hipster/friend with an imaginary boyfriend in your life.

5.) Though I was hoping she'd have something interesting on her website, something along the lines of the female equivalent of Vincent Gallo selling his sperm, the best I came up with is Miranda July's book, "No One Belongs Here More than You". Don't read it before giving it to your hipster friend. It will just make you angry and want to de-friend all the hipsters in your life.

6.) Here are your friggin' space and moon t-shirts.

These ones have cats!

Wonderful, wonderful cats.

7.) Since Lord Hipster discontinued their mustache ski mask, you can get a delightful one here.

8.) For the self-proclaimed culture jammer/freegan in your life, get them the holiday classic, "What Would Jesus Buy".

OR

It is an excellent way to tell your over-consuming friends that they are assholes and should feel bad.

The Shopocalypse is upon us!

9.) When you want your honey to look like Aristotle Onassis in the bedroom- The Aristocrat

10.) Zappa, Paul Reubens, and David Byrne dug it, so why not ordain your friend a minister of the Church of the Subgenius?

Bob wants you to.

Hipster Gift Guide Pt. 1

Ok, we all hate hipsters, even if we are one, but there is no denying that hipsters have good taste in movies, music, art, and clothing.

Or maybe they just tell you that.

Anyways, if you're having difficulty finding a gift for that adorable little hipster in your convoluted life, then you're a shitty friend.

Here is a list of some stuff you can buy them.

1.) Nothing says I love you in a homo-erotic way than a Tobias Funke sock monkey with exposed balls.

"Those are balls."

2.) A Spinal Tap t-shirt that doesn't reference the number 11?

Or maybe just give them a shit sandwich for Christmas.

3.) In case you were trying to subtly tell your friends that you're a homicidal maniac that has a thing for Oliver People glasses and Huey Lewis and didn't know how to say it.

4.) For only $150 you can get your honey Vincent Gallo's dried cum on a t-shirt. For substantially more, she can carry his offspring.

How 2004....

5.) Thought DeLoreans were a thing of the past? Well think again. For only $57K you can finally reenact the ending scene of "Back to the Future" like you've always wanted to and have been waiting for your entire life.

6.) Customize a Republic bike for that hipster biker in your life. Make sure you get them a fucking brightly colored bike cap too.

(If I could eat this photo and magically morph into it, I would)

7.) To satiate the unbridled Rick Moranis lover in your life, get them a copy of Moranis' country album "The Agoraphobic Cowboy" at Rickmoranis.com

8.) Just in time for the holidays! A box set that will not only blow your friends away, but your parents too! Everyone needs the sweet sounds of Daryl Hall and John Oates in their life.

EVERYONE.

Make sure you throw in a pack of fake mustaches too.

The Evolution of a Quasi-Hipster

DAMMIT!

I just read Paste Magazine's "The Evolution of the Hipster" and realized that I'm not really a hipster!

That means I'm going to have to change the name of this blog again.

Or maybe I am.

I don't know.

I came up with a scorecard. What do you think?

Am I hipster?

TELL ME WHO I AM!!!

Hipster Scorecard

1.) I wear non-prescription glasses, suspenders, and ties (bow included) (-1 for wearing glasses THAT I DON'T FUCKING NEED)

horn rimmed glasses + tie = dumb ass hipster

2.) However, I've been wearing non-prescription glasses, suspenders, and ties since I was six years old and didn't even know what a hipster was (+1 for being the coolest kid ever, even though I was called "dyke" on a daily basis in middle school)

3.) For having a car as my main mode of transportation (+1 for not being environmentally conscious)

4.) I'm always six months behind on what the hot new indie band is (+1 for still loving, and I mean loving, Fleetwood Mac)

5.) I don't wear pencil jeans, I'm not a size zero, and I typically smile (+1 for not being an emo kid disguised as a hipster)

6.) There is a picture or two of me wearing a fake mustache (-1 for having penis envy)

7.) I live in Austin, TX (-1 for living in the town where 1 in every 4 people wear a neon bicycle cap)

8.) At least I'm not in Williamsburg (+1 for being smart enough not to be broke in New York City)

9.) I don't walk/stand like I have polio in my legs (+1 for having good posture)

10.) I work for a company whose name is an exclaimed adjective followed by an exclaimed adverb in a warehouse on Austin's Eastside (-1 for trying to be so LES 1977)

10.) You will never catch me wearing a t-shirt or sweatshirt with any of the following on it 1.) wolves 2.) moon 3.) wolves barking at moon 4.) horses galloping towards moon 5.) moons making love to moons (+1 for just not getting the whole moon/wolf/horses obsession)

11.) I don't wear flannel (+1). Except this one time....and it's an American Apparel photo shoot (-10,000)

12.) I worship David Byrne (-1 for loving the ultimate hipster)

13.) I don't drink beer. Or PBR. Or Sparks. Oh wait! Sparks tasted like candy, didn't it? Mmmm.... (+1 for priding myself on not having a muffin top)

14.) I don't wear Tom's (+1 for having jacked up feet and knees)

15.) I would totally carry around a Diana or Holga if I had one -(-1 for mistaking low fidelity as artistic talent)

16.) I once stayed at the Jupiter Hotel in Portland and didn't get it. Could have been because I was with my Mom who thought that the Ikea aesthetic and condom on the nightstand wasn't worth the $100/night. (+1 for never once looking at Elliott Smith's mural in the five years I lived in L.A.)

17.) I wear American Apparel (-1)

18.) I work part-time at American Apparel (-4,000,000)

Jesus Was a Hipster

My friend, Johanna, over at FashionJargan, shared with me a delightful new website called Hipster is the New Homeless.

You can pretty much guess what it is.

I was going to post some images from the website, but realized that I had so many of my own wonderful pictures of to chose from! I have not asked a single one of my friends below if it's ok to use their image. Not a one. I'm not sure what they will be more offended about- me saying they look "homeless" or "hipstery". Probably will lose some friends over this. Yep.

are those two 40's in there or are you just happy to see me?

fuck off, this is MY hot dog

come to think of it, jesus was the first homeless hipster, wasn't he?

no caption necessary

whaaa do you mean i pissed mmmyself?

we really should have hopped that train to Santa Monica

east side 4 eva

someone come up with a caption for me, i can't think of anything

this is what begging for change in Austin looks like

please sir....

What I Learned While on Vacation With My Mother in Oregon

1.) I smirk like Michael C. Hall. Not in pictures, not to people, but in those little self-gratifying "a-ha" moments which typically occur in public and most likely make me look smug. The problem is, I hate that smirk. I hated when he did it on "Six Feet Under" and I hate how he does it on "Dexter". Why did I develop this problem? Why?

2.) This is the first time I've seen my mother in 9 months and I was confused and disappointed to discover that the phrase, "Cool beans!" comes out of her mouth after each excitable moment. I casually mentioned to her that it's not 1998 anymore but she says she can't help it. I love her nonetheless.

3.) Some breed of fly has taken over coastal Oregon. They swarm onto you by the dozens and stick to your body. It makes you realize what rotten fruit must feel like.

4.) Oregon is way too clean. Look, I lived in the state where three of the dirtiest beaches in the country are located. I'm used to a little poop in my drinking water. My first introduction to Venice Beach? Digging up a syringe in the sand. Now, that is a beach! Forget all this no cigarette butts and crystal blue water shit.

5.) I don't want to get old. We had to be the only people under 70 traveling the Oregon Coast this week. It was an enigma. Every single place we stopped at had a bunch of blue hairs with brightly colored placards draped around their neck so they wouldn't stray too far from the tour bus. They all walked very slowly and looked angry. I want no part of it.

6.) Trendy boutique hotels in top-rated hipsters cities are not suitable for mothers. It wasn't the condom sitting by the bedside that bothered her, but the Ikea furniture, box-like sauna of a room, and lack of elevator. Yeah, but Mom, you can go drink a Pabst Blue Ribbon with a bike mechanic named Spider downstairs at the bar.

7.) The people who own what is affectionately known as "Mikey's House" from Goonies are really cool. They invite you to come up their drive-way and gawk at their house.

8.) I've seen heaven and it looks like a giant cheese factory off the coast of Oregon.