What Happens At Zombie Prom...Probably Just Shouldn't Happen

This is very late post detailing my Halloween. But at least I'm getting it out there before Thanksgiving. :D

My friend asked me to DJ a party this year. Naturally, I said "yes." The theme of the party was ZOMBIE PROM. How awesome is that? I put together a perfect playlist of Halloween party hits, threw on an outfit that I would never be caught dead in on any other night of the year, and consulted my friends who are make-up artists for help in becoming ZOMBIFIED.

I spent the evening telling people I was an undead rock star. I think it was a semi-tasteful costume at first, but my fishnet stockings ripped a little bit throughout the night and dancing in a hot room made my make-up all smeary. I was a hot mess. A sweaty, undead, hot mess.

I meant to take a picture of myself before the party started but I forgot. And luckily, no one snapped a picture of me while I was doing the time warp again in a dark room with a bunch of other sketchy looking zombie people. I have to say - the phenomenon of Facebook photo tagging has made it almost downright unappealing to attend any sort of sloppy social gathering. But I do regret not having a picture of Zombie Lauren to share with you guys.

But the real story lies in my attempts to DJ this Zombie Prom.

Because my little hipster gnome friend that lives down the hall felt that he should also be the DJ. And the girl organizing the innocently told him that he could DJ it with me, thinking that it would be the best way to avoid conflict.

I was not thrilled. This particular hipster gnome is sort of like an annoying little brother to me and his music is usually awful. I did not want to get in a war with him though, so I agreed to let him open the party with a set of his music.

His music was worse than I thought it would be. It's the sort of music that makes you want to awkwardly lean against the wall and then eventually leave the party. Which is what people were doing. In fact, only one person was truly dancing to the music, and it was the guy who put it on. He had a smug little look on his face that seemed to say "Wow, this is great, my taste in music is fantastic!" Apparently he didn't realize that none of us knew how to dance to his weird hipster stuff.

I didn't want to be a bitch, but everyone was leaving. I went over to him and said "Hey, I love you man, but this music is terrible. Let me play some songs?" He started to protest, but I was already in the process of fading his iPod out. "You can come back on when we're in need of cool-down music," I said. I then proceeded to play "Hot Stuff" by Donna Summer.

And suddenly, all the zombies in the room started dancing...

...And stripping.

*facepalm*

I'm sort of glad Halloween is a once-a-year holiday.

This Is Halloween...

Ack. I am late! And my cartoons are fairly lame this time around. But, alas, here they are... (click to enlarge)

Stuck On An Island With The Yank!

So I'm stuck on an island? And I can bring five CDs?

This is going to be difficult, but I have it narrowed down to these five:

1. "The Hazards Of Love" by The Decemberists. It's a glorious rock opera about inter-species romance and an evil rake, complete with a chorus of dead kids. It also just plain kicks ass.

2. "The Rise And Fall Of Ziggy Stardust" by David Bowie. I'm pretty sure the meaning of life is hidden somewhere in this album.

3. "Music For Men" by Gossip. Because at some point, I'm going to want to dance on this island. I would bring Lady Gaga but I would probably get sick of her. It's difficult to get sick of Gossip.

4. "Who Killed Amanda Palmer" by Amanda Palmer. This one is just good for my sanity.

5. "Absolution" by Muse. It was hard to pick which Muse album I should take, but I settled on this one. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE all of that "uniiiiited states of euraaaaaSIA" crap, but I think I'm going to need to rock out to tracks like "Stockholm Syndrome" and "Hysteria" while stuck on the island.

As for movies, I would bring these five DVDs:

1. Little Miss Sunshine. My go-to feel-good film. Really, I always grin when I watch it.

2. The Producers. The original one with Zero Mostel and Gene Wilder. I've always thought this is probably one of the funniest films ever made.

3. Slumdog Millionaire. One of my favorite films. Also one of the few films that can get a range of emotional responses out of me - I laugh, I cry, I hang on the edge of my seat in suspense, I cover my eyes because I can't bear to watch the part where they blind that kid, etc. Great for breaking up the monotony of an island.

4. Donnie Darko. Again, a personal favorite of mine. And I know I'm capable of watching it repeatedly. If I was trapped on an island with it, I'd probably watch it until I thoroughly understood the whole thing. It would be wonderful.

5. The Darjeeling Limited. Come on, you knew I'd have to sneak some Wes Anderson onto this list. And this one has both Jason Schwartzman and Adrian Brody (a.k.a: my husbands). Perfect.

Oh no! I forgot to bring a Tim Burton film! Maybe Allison will be stuck on the island next door and I can borrow "Edward Scissorhands" from time to time.

As for books...

I would bring books 3-7 of the Harry Potter series. I figure the first two aren't necessary because I read them a lot growing up and it's just a lot of exposition. Truth is, I've never properly finished the last Harry Potter book, so being stuck on an island with it would be perfect.
I probably don't need to bring all of them, BUT I'M GOING TO. Don't judge me. Or judge me. Whatever. You're just jealous you didn't think of it first.

I'm nerdier than people give me credit for. :P

Anyway, that's all I've got. Peace.

Unorganized Thankfulness

So it's easy to get caught up with complaining about how life isn't exactly like I think it should be. I mean, I'm unemployed, I have yet to successfully break into the world of music, I still haven't quite figured out how to make a grilled cheese sandwich without burning it, and my favorite neighbors were recently replaced with a creepy old clown and a woman that smells like hamsters.

But the truth is, I have a lot to be thankful for. Here are a few of those things (in no particular order):

- I am not dead.
- I live in a part of the world where I am relatively free to pursue a lifestyle of music and creativity.
- Coffee. I am thankful for coffee.
- Tea can be on this list too.
- My family has always been supportive of me. The more time I spend in the "real world," the more I realize how rare that is and how lucky I am.
- Though they're not always in the same town/state/country as I am, I am lucky to have a variety of really great, genuine friends.
- Dave The Unicorn, my trusty KEYTAR. Playing my keytar is even better than ice cream.
- I am thankful for ice cream. Specifically anything of the chocolate peanut butter variety.
- MUSIC. It's sort of what my life is about.
- I'm college educated. Theoretically, that could get me somewhere, and it's a privilege that a lot of people in this world don't get. Though I didn't always like school when I was enrolled in it, I realize that I'm lucky to have that degree in my hand. (This is all starting to sound like Allison's list...too bad I don't have a picture of a Sex Inn to throw in here and sound a little bit like Tom's too)
- The blog world has proved itself to be fantastic. I've met a lot of fabulous people through it - including Tom and Allison, my fellow TASG members. So, yay blog world.

There are probably a million more things that belong on this list, but I think I'm going to stop here.

I just realized that even though I'm on time in MY time zone, I'm probably going to be LATE posting in yours. Oops. Silly Time Warp.
(It's just a jump to the left...)

Happy Thanksgiving, Canadians!
And to everyone else - Happy Friday! That's all from the Yank - peace out for now!

I'm also thankful for showers, running water, and the fact that I am not insane (though this picture may suggest otherwise)

Summer...

Oh hello. Just me again. I'm ba-aaack.

(And on time this time! Yowza!)

I loved reading about Tom and Allison's summer adventures and am stoked to get this TASG thingy up and running again.

That being said, I guess it's time to bore you with the things I did last summer.

Summer seemed to go by really fast. It wasn't a bad summer, though I don't know if it was the best summer of my life or anything. Here are some of the highlights:

- I (unintentionally) stalked the filming of "Portlandia" quite a bit and ended up meeting Fred Armisen as well as being an extra in the show.

- I learned how to play pool.

- I had a really good house-sitting job and recorded the vocals for my new album in basement while staying there.

- I spent way too much time in my room alone trying to learn this dance.

- I got a job writing trivia questions for pub quizzes and quickly got fired because my questions were "too obscure" (I felt like the world's biggest hipster...).

- I spent many nights sitting on the front stoop of my building with my friends. We would order pizza, watch the cars go by, drink PBR, talk about our various creative projects, contemplate the meaning of life, give each other misguided relationship advice, etc. These were some of my favorite nights of the summer.

- I started making my own greeting cards.

- I played some songs at a couple of garden parties.

- I went dancing a few times, mostly at cheesy theme nights (i.e: Soul Night, 90's Dance Music Night, etc.).

- I learned a valuable lesson involving leopard-print pants (a clothing item to be worn with caution!).

- I saw Imelda May perform at the zoo. The crowd was kinda dead, but she rocked it.

- I spent a lot of time stressing out over things like money, my E.P. album, the future, etc.

- I developed a mild addiction to The Bins.

- I got new glasses - the kind that look like I stole them from Woody Allen and cause everyone to ask if I have a real prescription.

- I started writing a sitcom based on my life in Portland.

There you have it - the highlights of my summer. I feel like I'm probably forgetting something, but I think that list is good enough.

And now... it's time for Fall. In a word, woo.

That's all I've got for tonight. See you next week, boys and girls.

<3,

The Yank

(awkward moment with street performers brought to you by "Portlandia")

We Don't Know How It's Ending

There are a few things I should point out before I jump into discussing The End Of The World As We Know It:

1) This post is late. Very late. *bows head in shame*

2) This is post number 100. Long live The TASG! *raises superhero ring to the heavens*

Now that those things are out of the way, I will continue with the regularly scheduled programming (which is not true - Allison is supposed to post at this point but Tom and I operate in our own personal time zones, so you're stuck with me...but I digress).

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't somewhat fascinated by the whole concept of the world ending. I have countless songs devoted to the topic. I even co-wrote a post-apocalyptic rock opera in college (it was synced with footage from "Night Of The Living Dead" and everything). I'm a sucker for any of that end-of-the-world zombie apocalypse crap and I even have several ideas of how I will fight for my own survival in an apocalyptic situation. So when everyone went crazy with the rapture hype, I couldn't help but use it as an excuse to think too much about the end times. And naturally, when the rapture scare was all said and done, I found myself in that strange state of existentialism that sometimes engulfs my brain when I think too much.

I didn't think the world was actually going to go all Biblical on May 21st. I paid attention in Sunday school growing up and I knew that Jesus probably wasn't going to tell anyone he was coming back - he was just going to show up. But the whole thing got my mind rolling. What if the world did suddenly come to an end? What the universe suddenly expanded to the point of breaking apart and everything ceased to exist? What if the sun exploded or the Mayans came back from the dead? What then? All we have accomplished on earth will become completely irrelevant and we will inevitably become extinct.

So what is the point of anything if we're all just ultimately going fade away into nothingness???

The day after the rapture was scheduled to happen, a man jumped off a ten-story parking garage and killed himself right outside my neighbor's place of employment. She was late coming home because the whole street was blocked off. I guess the guy was yelling about how he missed the rapture right before he jumped. I guess a lot of people tried to stop him but he was too upset with God and himself to listen to them. He truly believed that Jesus had left him behind and he would have to face the end of the world. It's an incredibly sad story that I wasn't entirely sure how to process. My neighbor mentioned it so casually in conversation ("They had to scrape a guy off of the sidewalk today because he missed The Rapture") and catapulted into a related story about how her coworker spent three hours trapped in a sushi place because of the incident. I was still stuck on the fact that a guy killed himself because of the rapture scare. He was so worried about the world ending that he ended his own world prematurely. If that's not dramatic irony in action, I don't know what is.

I think the only thing we can really know for sure is that we are alive and on this planet right here in this very moment. So we've got to live our lives to the fullest, keep our brains out of that abyss known as existentialism, and make peace with the fact that we don't really know how the world will end.

Anyway, this post has become awkwardly heavy. So I shall leave you with a song:



(Note: This video is very old, but the song is relevant.)

Ze Balance Scale

Hey, sorry I am late (again...)! Allow me to dump my favorite travel story on you guys. I actually wrote this for a class a while back but I've kept it in the archives because I like it. Enjoy!

The infamous lamp (I bought the base in the states)

It’s almost two a.m. in Cairo and an airport security guard is yelling at me in Arabic. It’s my backpack. It’s set off sensors. What the hell is in my backpack?

The guard grabs it. All twenty members of my group wait for me, too exhausted from the past three weeks of heavy traveling to fully grasp what is going on. I am completely flustered as the guard points to the x-ray of my bag on the monitor. I don’t understand a word of what he’s saying, but I can see that he is pointing to something small, round, and wirey in the bottom of my backpack.

I gasp. It’s that stupid, multicolored globe lamp I bought in the market place back in Dahab. I thought I was getting a bargain, but the vendor ended up selling it to me with two roughly cut wires on the end of the chord instead of a conventional plug-in. It was one of the many times I managed to get ripped-off in Egypt, but that’s beside the point. The crazy thing wouldn’t fit in my luggage with the rest of my souvenirs, so I had foolishly stashed it in my carry-on.

I really should have known better. The lamp totally looks like a bomb.

The airport security guard wasn’t going to let me get by easily. I stood frozen by his x-ray monitor, wondering how I was going to explain to my parents that shouldn’t come pick me up at the airport because I was stuck in Cairo with a crappy bomb-shaped lamp I paid too much for.

Niyar, our group’s wonderful tour guide (nicknamed “the nicest man in all of Egypt”), saw what was going on and was there to help me in an instant. “Lauren,” he says in broken English. “What is in your bag? Can you show the man what is in your bag?”

I dig the lamp out of the bottom of my bag and hand it to the guard. “Lauren, what is this?” asks Niyar, as puzzled as the guard. I explain to him that it’s a lamp. He turns to the guard and starts talking very fast in Arabic. The guard rips the lamp from its careful packaging and pokes it suspiciously. I stand there helplessly as Niyar and the guard exchange angry-sounding Arabic phrases. Finally Niyar turns to me and says “We will pack this in your luggage. I will help you.”

Without warning, he unzips my enormous luggage, unleashing three weeks worth of dirty laundry. Why was it a good idea to pack my underwear on top? I felt as though everyone in the entire airport was staring at me, the moronic white girl with flaming red hair, as I frantically shove loose bras back into my suitcase and covered them with a souvenir papyrus scroll. I transferred a couple of random, smelly clothing items to my backpack, dumped the lamp into my luggage, and proceeded to struggle with the zipper for what felt like an eternity.

When I finally joined the rest of the group, I was completely embarrassed. Members of my group asked me what had just happened and I told them I would fill them in later because it involved a word you can’t even say in an airport (“bomb”). I collapsed in a chair by our designated terminal and fished around in my bag for my last mango juice box. I slumped in defeat when I remembered that the guard had confiscated it shortly before the lamp incident.

And then I got on the plane.

I hate planes even more than I hate airports.

I love traveling, but planes make me nervous. Anxious, even. Sometimes, they go as far as to make me sick. Once I used five barf bags in a two-hour domestic flight, but that’s beside the point. The point being that I had narrowly escaped the Cairo airport with a suspicious lamp and I now had to endure 13 hours of flying.

I found my seat between a bubbly blonde girl and a middle-aged Egyptian man. The blonde girl was with my group and had a lifelong phobia of airplanes. As soon as the takeoff began, she began to hyperventilate. I offered her a stick of gum in attempts to calm her down. The Egyptian man politely asked if he could have one as well. I had just enough gum to get myself through the next couple of flights, but I like to act like I’m a nice person, so I gave him a piece anyway. This small gesture was enough to make him my new best friend.

After the plane was in the air, the blonde girl calmed herself down, put on headphones, and promptly fell asleep. Everyone else on the plane dozed off as well. It was past three in the morning. But my new BFF Abdul wanted to stay up and talk and I was too on edge to sleep anyway. So when the Dutch stewardess came by and offered us bad airplane coffee, we each took a cup.

Abdul was cleanly dressed in business attire. His English was wretched and he knew it. I managed to understand that he had been in Egypt for a month visiting his family and he was returning to his wife and daughter in Amsterdam. The conversation quickly went from normal and polite to bizarre and mildly reminiscent of the movie “Airplane.”

“Do you smoke?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“No,” I reply.
“Good.”
There’s a pause.
“Do you smoke?” I fire the strange question back at him.
“Yes. Yes, I enjoy Egyptian water pipe.”
“Oh. Cool,” I say, for lack of a better response.
“Yes.”
There’s another pause.
“Do you have boyfriend?”
“Yes.” I did have a boyfriend, but I’m pretty sure I would have said “yes” regardless.
“Does he smoke?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Yet another pause. I half-expect him to ask me if I’ve ever gone to a Turkish prison.
“You live with boyfriend?”
“No, I live with my parents…”
“Oh, your boyfriend live with you and your parents?”
“No, my boyfriend lives with his parents.”

Abdul was confused. He then embarked on a ten-minute monologue regarding how hard romantic relationships can be in Egypt because of the Muslim culture. “And that’s why Amsterdam is paradise!” he exclaims happily. “In Egypt, you want to do the sex with girlfriend, you no can. It is bad with the religion. But in Amsterdam, you can make love to girls you love!”

I start fumbling through my backpack for my headphones, but Abdul merely takes that as a cue to change topics. He randomly asks what month I was born and we discover we were both born in October. “Oh!” he says excitedly. “Are you ze…” he moves his hands up and down in attempts to nonverbally convey something he doesn’t know the English word for. I have no idea what he’s talking about. He continues to make ridiculous hand gestures. “You know…it like, weighs things…” he says, laughing.

The stewardess comes back to collect our coffee cups. Abdul rattles off a word in Dutch and asks if she can translate it to English. Stumped, she shouts the word to another stewardess across the plane. Sleeping passengers wake up momentarily to glare at us in confusion. “Balance scale!” the stewardess on the other side of the plane shouts in reply.

“Yes!” proclaims Abdul. “Balance scale!” The stewardess continues on her way down the aisle as Abdul continues to move his hands up and down. “I yaaaam ze balance scale!” he says proudly. “Are youuuu ze balance scale?”

I finally realize he’s attempting to talk about astrological signs. And he was going to sit there and ask me if I was the balance scale (otherwise known as “Libra”) repeatedly until he got a response.
I can’t hold my laughter in any longer. He also starts laughing, and the two of us proceed to have a strange laugh attack that wakes up half of the airplane. Meanwhile, he’s still making those silly balance scale-esque hand gestures. Once I’m able to breathe again, I tell him I’m Scorpio. He gives me a blank look and doesn’t understand what I mean until I turn my hands into scorpion claws and pinch the air.

We keep up this strange dialogue for most of the flight. Soon the Netherlands are below us. The blonde girl next to me wakes up in time to have a small panic attack during the landing. I was proud of myself for not even feeling queasy. Abdul gives the hyperventilating girl a look that seems to say “Wow, you stupid American” as he chews my last stick of gum. Lack of sleep is finally catching up to me. When the plane lands, I stumble down the ramp in a zombie-like state. I mumble an incoherent farewell to Abdul Ze Balance Scale. He smiles, happy to be back in the paradise of Amsterdam.

But I am still far from home. I spend the few Euros I have on overpriced coffee and crash on a bench, dreading the next romp through security sensors. I think about my gargantuan luggage and wonder if my bomb-lamp will make it all the way back to Oregon. Before I know it, I’ve fallen asleep on the bench, coffee in hand. A friend wakes me up in time to catch the next flight.

And so it begins again. I love travelling, but I hate flying.

Lauren of Arabia

Bad Habits...

Ground Control to Major Tom! Your circuits dead, there's something wrong! Can you hear me Major Tom?

Really, I don't know what happened to Tom this week. Maybe he's floating in a tin can far above the world. Planet earth is blue and he doesn't know what to do.

Anyway, I am alive and well in my corner of the planet. So I'm going to forge ahead and tell you about my bad habits. Prepare to be disgusted.

Lauren's Bad Habits:

- I have a hard time with deadlines and timliness. If you need an example of this, note how most of my "Friday" posts happen on Saturday or Sunday.

- I drink too much coffee. I've definitely cut back a lot since college, but I'm still way too reliant on caffiene.

- I pick at my fingernails. It's an unattractive compulsion that dates back to childhood.


- I believe that problems will go away if I ignore them. When will I learn that whether it's an awkward boy, a student loan payment, or a kidney infection, ignoring the situation will only make it worse?

I could probably go on but I'll make this list short.

Hope everyone is having a good weekend!

Coffee time...

Proof That The Yank Needs To Get A Job Or Something...

Okay guys, I got a little carried away with the super hero thing.  Read at your own risk.  Click on each section to enlarge it.  I apologize for my lack of artistic abilities.  Also, I should warn you that all of these cartoons happened late at night.  They're pretty weird, especially towards the end.  Enjoy!

Less Than Sober Moments With The Yank

Believe it or not, alcohol not one of my favorite things. I like to go to pubs and drink beer with my friends occasionally, but I usually try to avoid getting absolutely trashed. Maybe it's because I know I'm a lightweight and that if I have more than two drinks I become downright obnoxious. Maybe it's because my social circle lacks that person who can always hold it together enough to drive home so I end up attempting to act responsible. Or maybe it's the fact that hangovers are horrendous and I have never said to myself "Oh man, I am so glad I drank that much last night!"

But I do have a special list of things I do when there is alcohol in my system. Some are more incriminating than others. The list is as follows:

- Laugh loudly at things that aren't that funny. The time I drank vodka and watched "Labyrinth" with some friends was nearly a disaster. Sure, it's got a kitsch factor, but it's not worthy of a laugh attack every time David Bowie comes on the screen.

- Sing every song at the club. If I'm not careful, I can easily transform into that obnoxious person who exclaims "I LOVE THIS SONG" within the first few notes of every new track.

- Appreciate the music of Ke$ha. When I'm sober, I think the music of Ke$ha is appalling. But when there is alcohol involved, I just have to dance to it. I will even go so far as to sing along. Last time I went dancing, my friends found me singing "Tik Tok" in it's entirety with a random gay man. There were hand motions involved and everything. Horrifying.


- Dance as though I'm in a choreographed music video. I have no problem dancing when I'm sober, but when I've had a couple of drinks I tend to get really into it.


- Play charades on a friend's front lawn. Ladies and gentlemen, this is why I stay away from tequila. I stood with my arms extended and yelled the words "I AM A MAILBOX" to an entire neighborhood. I think I forgot that you're not supposed to talk in charades.


- Talk in a variety of fake accents. Usually I go back and worth between Indian and Eastern European. I've also been known to have really long, deep philosophical conversations entirely in a fake accent when under the influence of alcohol.

- Send incoherent text messages. Phones need to come with built-in breathalyzers.

- Email Tom and Allison to inform them that I have been drinking. Usually I put something really clever in the heading ("Drunk Lauren Is Drunk!").


- Wear a sparkly red cape in public. Even when going to a gay nightclub, cape-wearing is not a sober activity.

There's probably more but I will stop incriminating myself at this time.

You WILL Bow To My Statue!

In the future, all bouquets will be made out of wires...and I will rule the world!!!

So if I ruled the world...


-  Everyone would have a government-issued alarm clock in their home that would wake them up with "It's A Beautiful Life" by Ace of Base.

-  Drip coffee would be free in coffee shops.

-  Listening to Ke$ha would be illegal.

-  If you are male and you want to wear tight pants, you have to get a permit for that.

-  Scratch that.  I shouldn't be so discriminatory.  If you are anyone and you have the desire to wear tight pants, you have to get a permit for that.  If you exercise your right to wear tight pants incorrectly, you may find yourself at the mercy of The Muffin Top Police.

-  I don't mean to be narcissitic, but if I'm gonna rule the world...there really needs to be a statue of me somewhere. 

-  You can get a ticket if you're caught not dancing in your car at a stoplight.

-  If you are vegan, you have to sew a red "V" onto your clothing.

-  Chocolate would be issued to everyone for free by the government (like in Allison's world).

I feel like if I keep going, I'm going to end up creating a communist state in which I am the derranged dictator...

I think I'll stop while I'm ahead.

Happy Wednesday!  See you on Friday, Major Tom!  This is ground control, signing off!

The Mighty Rantasaurus

This is my disgruntled face

So I'm not really sure what happened to Tom.  I think the Internet ate him.  Hopefully, he'll spring back from the dead and tell us about his pet peeves.  In the meantime, it's already Saturday (which comes after Friday, Friday...), so I guess I'll go ahead and tell you guys about the things that irk me. 



Things That Annoy The @#$% Out Of The Yank (in no particular order):

-  When you offer to do someone a favor and then they get all demanding.  The prime example of this is the time I let a guy use my printer/copier one time.  He kept coming by to use the printer, which was okay except he was starting to use all of my ink and my paper with no intention of reimbursing me.  One morning, he woke me up at 9am to copy a whole stack of documents.  "I didn't want to go to Kinkos," he said.  If you expect me to be nice to you, you better not knock on my door before 11.  Noon to be safe. 

-  People who naturally assume that my truck exists for hauling around their crap.  I don't mind helping friends move, but when people that never talk to me are only nice to me when they need to pick up a couch, it gets a little irritating. 

-  People who don't understand my relationship with cell phones.  My stance on cell phones is simple:  If I am hanging out with someone, driving, dancing, playing music, or am just not in the mood to talk, I will not answer my phone.  This does not mean I don't like you.  This just means you should leave a message and I will call you back on my own time line.  It might not be in fifteen minutes.  It might not even be that same day.  Do not call me multiple times and leave me multiple messages unless it's really important.  This will just make me put my phone in my wall safe (next to my diamond necklaces and cocaine, naturally) and go hide in a tea shop.

-  Serious conversations/arguments over text messaging.  I have gotten sucked into way too many of these over the years and they are bad news every time.  Most arguments I've had over text messaging turn out to be miscommunications anyway because words can be interpreted a million different ways when there is no body language or vocal inflections to go with them. 

-  People that answer their cell phones in the middle of a face-to-face conversation.   Unless it's your mother or an emergency, you better boot that call over to your voicemail and keep talking to me.  As you can see, I have a lot of gripes about cell phone etiquette (or lack thereof). 


-  Vegans.  Okay, I don't care if you choose not to eat meat, cheese, and everything else that's interesting.  If you want to confine yourself to a life of eating creepy-looking meat substitutes, go for it.  What annoys me is the whole attitude that tends to go along with a vegan diet.  I accidentally found myself at a vegan potluck one time and was amazed at how annoying the whole experience was.  Not only did everyone have to go around and list off the ingredients in the food they brought (just in case somebody was allergic), but none of the food was even really recognizable.  And people were acting like eating polenta cakes drizzled in the essence of bean curd made them more intelligent than the rest of the world.  Newsflash:  Eating tofudles (noodles make out of tofu) does not make you superior, it just makes you weird. 

-  When I wake up in the morning and discover I'm out of coffee creamer.  I don't let this happen very often and I've definitely gotten better at handling it, but there's nothing worse than pouring coffee into your cup and thinking "Crap...I was supposed to go to the store yesterday..."  It happened this morning.  Luckily, there's a grocery store nearby.

-  Conversations with people I haven't seen in awhile in which I feel like I have to justify my "irresponsible" lifestyle.  Most of my friends from college now have jobs, practical life plans, significant others, etc.  It's gotten to the point where I avoid a lot of my old college friends because I can't deal with the raised eyebrows when I talk about my bohemian adventures.  I feel like I'm quickly becoming "the weird friend" or "the comic relief" for a lot of people and that doesn't make me feel that great. 

-  The song "Wonderwall" by Oasis.  Everybody has that song that grates on them and they can't even really explain why.  That song for me is "Wonderwall."  I don't really have a problem with the rest of the Oasis catalog, but that song just doesn't work for me.  Plus I have a lame boy-related memory attached to it.  So that doesn't help.


-  The way Facebook makes it impossible to just naturally lose track of people.  Facebook can be a great communication tool, but sometimes I'm nostalgic for the days where you could just meet somebody, enjoy their presence for a short period of time, and naturally part ways without having to subscribe to a lifetime of reading their status updates. 

-  Fabreeze.  It generally does not help a smelly situation.  It usually just makes it worse.  Example:  The staircase outside of Tweaked Out Elvis Costello's room.  It smells always smells like Fabreeze and drugs.  So, so gross. 


-  The fact that I can never make a grilled cheese sandwich without burning the bread before the cheese melts.  Then I eat it anyway and tell myself that a carcinogenic meal is good every once in a while.  And since I share a kitchen with a million people, someone is always around to witness said burning of the bread.  Dammit. 

Okay, ranting about pet peeves is fun, but I should probably stop before I become too incredibly bitchy. 

Hope everyone is having a great weekend!  And Tom - you better not be dead.

Lauren's Lucky Charms!

I'm not superstitious but...

- Whenever I enter a contest/drawing/raffle, I rub the ticket on my red hair first when no one is watching.  This trick has been known to help me win things.

Scarf that's traveled the world

- I always have to have my lucky lip gloss in my keyboard bag when I perform.  You think I'm kidding, don't you?


- I have a scarf that's travelled all over the world and I refuse to wash it.  It's seen a lot of different things and I feel that washing it would make it less cool somehow.

Pretending to be Moses in my lucky scarf on Mt. Sinai

- I have another scarf that I wore when I climbed to the top of Mount Sinai.  I refuse to wash that one as well.

- I still have the socks I wore to my first real rock concert.  Some stranger spilled wine on my arm and I wiped it on my sock.  I christened these socks "the wine-y socks of rock" and refuse to throw them away (regardless of the fact they are no longer wearable).

That is all.

It's Official - The Yank Is A Tragically Bohemian Hipster

I wake up in the morning feeling like P. Diddy.

Except not. I think it might have something to do with the fact that I'm
a) not black
b) not a man

Anyway, I turn on my lamp and make coffee.

Think about working on "Goat Man."

Look - I am a true bohemian! Except not really, because the typewriter is mostly decorative.

This isn't decorative though:

I'm trying to start a new band (long story). Right now, I'm the only member. But at least we have a name and a logo.

This is all pathetic. Time to drown my sorrows in Chinese Food.

Read something inspiring.

Go back to bed and dream about being an actual rock star.

The end.

I Wish I Was Special, You're So VERY Special

It's going to be hard to compete with Tom and Allison's posts this week (especially since Tom already wrote about the best Radiohead song, "Karma Police"). But at least my post is on time this week! Ack. Soon I'm going to be The Flake instead of The Yank.

Anyway...without further ado, I give you *drumroll* my favorite Radiohead song.

Rocking a mullet in my college dorm room

I discovered Radiohead during my first year of college. In high school, I had been able to survive my teenage "angst" by listening to R.E.M.'s Automatic For The People on repeat. But when I was a college freshman, my "angst" became something that Michael Stipe couldn't cure. I got into the band Muse because of their unique sound and cosmic, incomprehensible lyrics. On one fateful day in philosophy class, I was discussing music with the girl next to me. She was outraged that I loved Muse but had never listened to Radiohead. So she invited me over to her dorm for a listening party and burned OK Computer. Little did I know that this disc would not leave my CD player for weeks (those were the days when I still actively used a CD player).

Yes, I know, I was a bit late to the party on that. Eventually I caught up with the rest of the universe and listened to the rest of their stuff. It's all quite fabulous (in it's own melancholy sort of way, of course) but OK Computer will always be my favorite Radiohead album.

Shortly after I discovered Radiohead, I became a DJ on college radio. I actually had a show on Monday nights that ran for the duration of my college career and it gained quite the cult following. But in the days when nobody tuned in and I didn't know what I was doing, the show was everything you would expect from an amateur college DJ...

(A Radiohead song stops playing)
(A brief moment of dead air)
DJ Lauren: Um, yeah...that was Radiohead. Next is a song by...Radiohead.
(Another brief moment of dead air)
(Another Radiohead song plays)

I'm exaggerating a little bit, but probably not much.


But enough history lessons! Time for me to pick a song already.

Truth is, I'm a little bit torn on which song to pick. I'm so fascinated with OK Computer as a complete entity that I don't know which song to extract from it and call my favorite.

For inspiration, I did a little Wikipedia-based research and came up with this pretty great quote from Thom Yorke in regards to this particular album:

"The big thing for me is that we could really fall back on just doing another miserable, morbid and negative record lyrically, but I don't really want to, at all."

They say it's not a concept album, but it feels like one. There are a few tracks that seem to bleed into each other and complement each other. I think that's why I'm having a hard time picking a favorite.

I should probably just get off my OK Computer soapbox and talk about how "Creep" has been my theme song at various points in my life.

Cliche? Yes. But I've already told you all about loving Radiohead in college and overplaying them on my college radio show and being unable to pick a favorite track on OK Computer because I love them all so very much. I guess you can't really get much more cliche than all of that.

And I think everybody has felt like this at some point in time:

But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here

At least, I know Tom and Allison have felt like that at some point in time. After all, I think that was the song that started this whole blog collaboration.

I don't currently resonate with the lyrics as much as I have in various moments of the past, but it's still a great song. It's got all the right elements - Thom Yorke's haunting vocals, elegantly placed profanity, the way it plods along and builds into a driving anthem for angst-ridden youth everywhere.

Yeah, "Creep" gets an A+. Just keep all razor blades out of reach when you listen to it.

Ah, I'm beginning to get tasteless. I think that's a sign that I should wrap this up. So (if you've made it this far through my ridiculous rambling), I wish you all a happy Friday and hope everybody has a fantastic weekend! Peace.

- The Yank

Embarrassing propaganda I made for my radio show in college...I think I was over my Radiohead phase and in the middle of my eurodance phase...Also, I look 12.

Ridiculous Dinner Party!

Ack.  I'm late.  Again.

I will spare you the excuses and just launch right into this...

Here's the mystery topic I got from Tom this week:

Lauren: your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to arrange a
dinner party. This party will be attended by one character from a
film, one from a book and one from a song/musical, and one real live
human.  Who would you invite?

Myself and Allison are already coming, obvs. And Old Hippy Poet.

Brilliant topic, Tom!

Here's what my dinner party would look like:

One character from a film:
Johnny Depp's character from "Benny and Joon."  Maybe we could make grilled cheese sandwiches on an ironing board and I could die happy.

One character from a book:
Dumbledore.  Don't judge.  My dinner party needs some wizard action.

One character from a song/musical:
Roger from "RENT."  He's pretty and he plays the guitar.  The end.

One real live human:
Amanda Palmer.  She's one of my main musical idols these days, so she should totally come to my dinner party. 

Okay, I think I just created the best dinner party of all time.

I think we're going to eat Chinese food.  With ironed grilled cheese sandwiches as an appetizer, naturally.  Amanda and Roger will provide the after-dinner music and Dumbledore will cast a magic spell on the noodles and egg rolls so they are neverending.

And then Old Hippy Poet would bring out a pie and forks for everyone and we would all eat pie.  Allison would make a playlist for the whole evening and Tom would be wearing a special scarf for the occasion. 

That is all.