The Busy Life Of A Hipster...

Here we see Lauren The Hipster in her natural habitat

People naturally assume that because I don't have a steady job or go to school, I have a lot of time on my hands.  And it's true - my days are structured differently than a lot of people I know.  But that doesn't mean I don't do things.  I fill my days with projects.  Sometimes I go on adventures.  When I am at my best and being the most productive, I lose track of the days entirely.  I sleep weird hours.  I become engulfed in the music that I am creating, the stories I'm writing, and the people I'm interacting with.  I need Rebecca Black to remind me what day of the week it is.  It gets to the point where I wake up on Sunday morning and realize that I was supposed to update The TASG two days ago.  I'm sure you guys have noticed this.  Yet again, I apologize for my general lack of timeliness. 

I was extra busy a couple of weeks ago because I was trying my hand at event planning.  Now I know why all booking agents smoke.  I spent way too much time sending emails to bands and performance artists with the hope of making a profit off of live shows.  The whole plan fell apart before I could make much more than $12.  I ditched that whole routine and went back to focusing on the most important thing right now:  my E.P. 

When the E.P. is done, I will focus my efforts on getting a job.  Who knows, maybe I'll end up working at the Plaid Pantry at that point.  But I'll worry about that after the E.P. is done.  I've got a game plan and I'm sticking to it. 

Gah, what a boring post.  I apologize.  There's no way to describe "my busy life" without sounding irresponsible on some level.  Hmmmpfh.

Anyway, hope you guys are having a great weekend.  This is The Yank, signing off.  

Coffee Is My Lover

Ack.  So this is late.  Again.  And I am exhausted, so it will probably be short and not very sweet.  But here it is - the letter to the love of my life:

Dear Coffee,

You're the first thing I want to see in the morning.  I just can't get enough of you.  You are my inspiration, my elixir of life, my love.  You energize me.  You comfort me.  You're black and strong and @#$%ing fantastic.

I just want to pour you in a cup and take you everywhere.  I want you.  All the time.  Yes.

Longer letter later, my love.  I need to go track you down if I want to continue to be awake.

Love,
The Yank

(Embarrassing photo to come)

I Can't Live Without Coffee And Dancing! (Or Can I???)

Isn't funny how no matter how broke you are, there are always a few, "non-essential" things you are willing to spend money on? I put "non-essential" in quotes because these are usually things that you could live without but wouldn't want to.

These things are different for everyone, of course. I was talking to my neighbors about this one night and everyone had something different that they considered "essential." One man confessed that if he felt he needed to get another tattoo, he would make it a priority and give up eating for a little bit if he had to. One girl told a funny yet slightly unnerving story about the time she spent the last of her money on a six pack of PBR instead of a sandwich.

The conversation got me thinking about what those things are for me. I realized that I can usually always afford the following things when necessary:

- Overpriced coffee drinks. I don't buy these as often as I used to, but sometimes the only thing that can properly improve my day is a double shot vanilla latte from The Bipartisan Cafe down the street. Also in this category: overpriced chai lattes from my favorite tea shop over in North Portland. These are extra special because it's in a different neighborhood and there is a little bit of driving involved in getting there. When I'm having a bad day, am in need of inspiration, or just need a change of scenery, I'll drive over there (while listening to my favorite songs, of course) and camp out for a couple of hours. It's a good place to write, the tea is fantastic, and there are usually cute hippy boys working there.

- Dancing. Even if I don't drink when I get inside a club, I can always come up with enough money to pay the cover charge and make it past the bouncer. I totally am that stereotypical white hipster who can name where all of the good 80's nights in town are. I have a few friends that always invite me along whenever they go out and as I result I go to the occasional dub step show or Bollywood themed dance night.

Really bad hair day

- Getting my hair done. I learned my lesson the hard way right after high school: Great Clips coupons will lead to a mullet, which will lead to bleaching it in someone elses' sink, which will lead to homemade hair cuts, which will lead to trying to dye it blue in the dorm bathroom, which will lead to green/gray hair, which will lead to going to an cheap Asian hair salon and hacking it all off, which will lead to something I lovingly refer to as "the dyke haircut." To avoid these bad hair days/months/years, I have gotten into the habit of going to nice salons and paying a lot for stylish hair. I justify this by only going once or twice a year. It's so much better than risking another Great Clips catastrophe.

- Shoes. This one is self-explanatory.

Those shoes are mine, betch!

Anyway, this list could probably go on to include even more frivolous things, but those are some of my favorite ways to spoil myself.

And now I'm all in the mood to go drink chai tea and go shoe-shopping. Maybe get my hair done and go dancing afterward. Hi, I'm slightly ridiculous.

That's all I've got for today. Happy Friday! This is The Spoiled Yank, signing out!

Lauren Vs. The Dollar Bill

I feel like this topic could not have been picked at a more appropriate time. 

Every time I walk into the kitchen at the commune, someone is freaking out about how they have no job/no money/no means of paying rent.  Some of us are worse off than others, but money is definitely a concern for all of us starving artists.  The reality that money doesn't grow on trees becomes a little scarier every time somebody talks about it. 

I'm doing better than the guy that got his bicycle stolen in the rain and has $40 to his name, but I can't live off of savings forever and it's beginning to make me a bit paranoid.  I keep myself busy with my writing and music all the time, but since I'm not making any money off of it I probably look like a lazy, idealistic, hipster freak to the untrained eye.  I need to start making money off of my creative pursuits (which would involve learning how to market myself) or get a real job.

Unfortunately, I can't just go out and get a real job.  Trust me, I have tried.  The economy is horrible. 

This is all really depressing.  I apologize.  I agree with Tom and Allison that a world without money would be a really nice place.  Money is one of those things that I try to avoid thinking about.  Maybe that's why it took me so long to write this post.  I kept putting it off all week.  I set aside time to write it yesterday but I ended up having car problems and spent too much of my evening dealing with a tow truck driver.  I then went to go dancing with some friends (because no matter how broke I am, I can always afford the cover charge at 80's night) but the boy that was going to come with me totally ditched.

My friend Old Hippy Poet summed it up nicely this morning:  "No wonder you're kind of down today.  The rent is due, your car broke down, and the cute boy didn't want to go dancing with you.  Sometimes, everything just happens at once."  He then spent an hour under the hood of my car and fixed it, which was exciting.  But I digress.

Fortunately, my rent is cheaper than usual this month because of all the days I went without hot water.  And hopefully I can pull the "look, I have no job" card and get my student loans delayed some more. 

I only wish that money could solve silly boy problems, but the world doesn't work like that. 

Anyway, that's all I've got.  I feel like this post is less interesting and more dismal than usual.  I apologize.  I think I will go back to bed at this time. 

Love you guys!

- Lauren a.k.a:  The Yank

My bandmate and I on the one night we got paid for our music

I (heart) Sleeping Till Eleven! (A TASG Production)

This vlog isn't nearly as wonderful as I hoped it would be.  I had all of these magnificent plans for it, but then I procrastinated/got sick.  So it's below the Lauren standard of excellance.  I apologize. 

Anyway, here is my take on national stereotypes:

Congratulations if you made it through the whole video.

See you next week!  :D

The Part Of The Show Where We All Eat Croissants...

It's Friday, which means it's time to hear about Lauren's perfect day.  Tom and Allison's fabulous global adventures are pretty hard acts to follow, but here it goes:

Morning:  Paris, France

So there I am, wearing a fur stole and a beret, drinking some fancy, over-priced, French latte, and walking down the street at an hour that is totally unrealistic for me to be awake (here in Portland we all sleep till 11).  And then suddenly, I see that Tom guy that sometimes sends me drunk emails from across the globe.  And I'm like, "Holy shit!  You're that Tom guy that sometimes sends me drunk emails from across the globe!  Want to hang out and eat croissants?!"  And Tom is like, "Oh my gawd, I LOVE CROISSANTS!  Actually, I just ran into Allison and she was eating a croissant."  This blows my mind. 

Me:  "Allison is here too?!" 
Tom:  "Yeah, but I think she's on a date, I don't think we should bother her."   
Me:  "Oh come on.  We should totally bother her."
Tom:  "Okay, if you insist."


So we find Allison.  Her fantasy boyfriend Francois has just left to go wash his hair again, so we show up in time for leftover croissants.  The Eiffel tower is in the distance and I think Pink Martini's "Sympatique" is playing somewhere.  We have a lovely little visit before the time comes for us all to go our separate ways.  Allison vows to make a playlist next Tuesday in honor of the event and Tom lets me borrow his iPod so I can listen to Ace of Base on the way to my next location.

Afternoon:  Easter Island

I'm not entirely sure why, but seeing these weird tiki heads has always been a strange ambition of mine:

There are also some really sweet caves on this island to explore.  And in this fantasy, not only am I a spelunking champion, but I am accompanied by a handsome Chilean archaeologist who knows the layout and history of the caves.  Huzzah!


Evening:  The Egyptian Sand Sea near Siwa, Egypt

Unlike the other two places, this is a place I have been before.  It's actually one of my favorite places in the world, which is why I chose to include it in my perfect day. 

I am riding in a white jeep with an Egyptian man named Abdul and a couple of European tourists.  We stop on the top of a large dune to watch the sunset.  Abdul starts a fire and makes tea.  The red glowing ball known as the sun descends into the horizon and everything in the universe feels right. 

Evening:  Whichever European country has the cutest boys and the best discotheques

This one is fairly self-explanatory.  I am dressed to kill and dancing like there's no tomorrow.  Perfect end to a perfect day, right?  :D

Of course, there is a tomorrow.  I awake to the sound of a knock on my door.  I answer it reluctantly and it's the building manager telling me the water is down once again.  Disoriented, I realize I'm back to my life in Portland. 

And that concludes today's edition of The TASG.  This is The Yank, signing off!

Embarrassing Photo:  Exotic Edition

Dear 2011, Bring It On!

Shortly after midnight on January 1st of 2011, somebody asked me what my plans for the year were.  And in my fairly drunken slightly tipsy state, I replied with the following:

In 2011, I am going to:

1) Finish my rock opera
2) Do more shows
3) Stop putting up with shit from other people
4) Land a record deal
5) Be really @#$%ing famous

I think the person that asked me that was a little bit surprised at my response.  Actually, I think I was even a little surprised at my response.  For once, I hadn't spent a lot of time calculating my New Year's Resolutions and therefore didn't have a rehearsed, choreographed answer. 

I don't really expect to become really @#$%ing famous in the year 2011, but I do hope to make some progress in my "career" as a writer/musician/creative nut job.  I also hope to do a bit of travelling.  Location is not important, I just want to go somewhere.  I also have a silly goal for the rock musical I'm writing:  I want to have it produced somewhere this summer.  This could be anywhere from Broadway to my basement. 

Anyway, I'm pretty excited to see what this year brings.  I'm going to continue to live life the way I've been living it for the past few months and see what happens. 

I'm also excited to see what happens to the TASG in 2011.  Yay team!

Alright, that's all I've got.

An embarrassing photo was taken of me on New Years but it's on someone else's camera.  I'll track it down and post it up here later.

Cheers!

I Was Supposed To Post This Last Year...

Oy!  It's me - Late Lauren.  Happy New Year, amigos.

Aaaaand now it's time for my round of best TASG posts!  :)

Best Overall Post:

Allison - F%#k it, I'm Just Going To Get A Bunch Of Cats.  It was a tough choice because the Canuck  is infamous for churning out quality posts week after week, but this one definitely caught my attention.  It's honest, it's funny, it comes with song recommendations and has pseudo swearing in the title.  How could you go wrong?  

Tom - Can I Phone A Friend?  This was also a tough choice because the Brit charms us with his wit on a weekly basis, but his introductory post is definitely a great read.

Funniest Post:

Allison - I'll Leave You Alone Forever Now.  I especially love the strategies on how to escape awkward moments, complete with pictures!  

Tom - Ground Swallow Me Up, ASAP.  I agree with Allison on this one - the x-rated tale of exposed genitalia is possibly one of the funniest things that has happened on this blog so far.  

Best Title:

Allison - Caught In A Landslide, No Escape From Reality.  Bohemian Rhapsody lyrics generally beat everything else.  It's like pulling out a grenade in a game of rock, paper, scissors.

  

Tom - Yesterday, all my troubles weren't so far away, I was just too drunk to notice them.  Honest, hilarious, fabulous.

Best Embarrassing Photo:

Allison - Captain Planet!  Though it's more bad ass than embarrassing.  

Tom - Top Hat Tom, The Aspiring Button Designer!

So there you have it - Best Of The TASG 2010.  Can't wait to see what 2011 brings for our little transatlantic support group!

And hopefully none of us will ever have to see that awful New Wave Teddy Bear picture again.  Hahahahaha...

Cheers!

Things About Christmas...

I have such a love/hate relationship with Christmas.

Things I don't love?

The materialism.  The push towards consumerism.  The obligation to buy people presents and not having a clue what to buy.  The crowded malls.  The over-played Christmas music.  Realizing that the only things I want for Christmas are fairly impractical things that money can't really buy (a record deal, a man that's not a total train wreck, consistent hot water in my apartment...).  Leaving my Christmas shopping until the very last minute and then getting everyone significantly lame presents.  Becoming melodramatically nostalgic and remembering every Christmas I've ever lived through, a mental activity that often leads to hours of drinking tea and thumbing through photographs of people I no longer communicate with.

But the things I love?

The traditions.  The festivity.  Walking around downtown and looking at the lights with friends I haven't seen all year.  Going home and seeing my brother's life-sized Yoda wearing his Santa hat and beard.  Listening to Alan Sherman's "Twelve Days Of Christmas" and singing along every time he says the words "a Japanese transistor radio!"  Watching abysmal Christmas specials with people I love (i.e: "Santa Claus Conquers The Martians" with my best friends from high school and "The Pee Wee Herman Christmas Special" with my family).  Getting Christmas cards in the mail (I'm looking at you, Allison - seriously, your card made my day).  Making paper snowflakes with my hippy family while drinking glogg, a warm Scandinavian drink that has to be lit on fire before being served.  Making enough snow flakes to completely bury one of my neighbors.  Eating Chinese food at Nanny's house on Christmas Eve.  Waking up early on Christmas morning to snoop around the tree with my brother.  Realizing that I am very lucky to have so many people in my life that I can celebrate the holidays with.  I've got my family that has done nothing but support me and all of my wacky ideas for 23 years.  I've got my friends from high school and college who have remained loyal despite the fact they don't always understand the rock and roll lifestyle I am pursuing.  I've got a commune full of my newfound hippy family - a group of people that tell me I'm a rock star on a daily basis and cheer me up by bringing me coffee and inviting me to plant trees.  And last but certainly not least, I've got all you fabulous blogger friends that I've met in ye olde blogosphere this year.  Naturally, this includes the members and readers of The Transatlantic Support Group.  This blog is grand and I am thankful for it's existence.  Tom and Allison are also quite grand, and I am thankful that they put up with my quirkiness, my reoccurring lack of timeliness, and my occasional drunken emails.

Anyway, there is a lot to love about Christmas, and I hope all of you have a really freaking merry one.  

And now it's time for the picture montage of sorts that goes along with that monster paragraph of things I love about Christmas:

Huzzah!

That's all I've got.  This is The Yank, signing out and wishing you all a... *drumroll, puh-leeze...*

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

I Grow Old, I Grow Old, I Shall Wear The Bottoms Of My Trousers Rolled...

I still feel like I'm 14.

I don't care if the world says I'm 23. I don't care if people around me are getting married and having children and selling their souls to corporate entities in the name of comfort and convention. I still feel like a young, awkward teenager most of the time.

I've talked to various people about this feeling. Most people just laugh it off. Some people were born 35 and therefore have no idea what I'm talking about. But the "old" people in my commune get it. They tell me that they feel the same way - like they've stayed the same age for years while the world around them grew up. They tell me that the feeling of being 14 will never go away. I don't know if that's good or bad.

I do know this: Growing up terrifies me.

When I was in high school, I thought it would be terribly romantic to become really famous in my mid-twenties and then die a tragic death when I'm 27. It worked for Kurt Cobain and a whole bunch of other people. And when you're 15 or 16, 27 seems like a long ways off. But now I'm 23 and that concept is no longer appealing.

Actually, I decided I want to live to be 90something after watching this movie:

And if I actually live to be 90something, I hope I'll still be laughing at dumb jokes and playing loud rock music.

Anyway, that's all I've got for this week. Happy Friday, amigos.

This is the yank, signing off.

Me when I actually was about 14.

Food food food! (for lack of a witty title...)

Oops. It's technically Saturday. Let's use our imaginations and pretend it's still Friday, shall we?

Like most people, I like to eat. But I don't always like to cook. I generally surround myself with people who like to cook so I don't have to.

For those nights when I am faced with the challenge of cooking on my own, there is a magical place called The Canton Grill.

Pure magic, I say

Seriously. It's my standard go-to place for decent Chinese food. I've been eating there since the dawn of time and I think I've ordered a Number 3 since I was twelve.

Long live #3!

Very few meals can top the comfort of a chow mien recipe that has literally been the same for years and years. And the fried shrimp is the best in town, if not the best in the world (I'll just stick with saying it's the best in town - claiming that an American Chinese food restaurant makes the best Chinese food in the world seems slightly ignorant/insensitive...).

But there are nights when one of the following is true:

a) I'm feeling cheap.
b) I don't feel like leaving the house.
c) I'm not in the mood for Chinese food.
(I just remembered that I'm ALWAYS in the mood for Chinese food.)

On one of these nights, I may attempt to cook something spectacular.

Like scrambled eggs:

Dammit. These were supposed to be eggs...

Maybe I'll search for leftover food in my fridge but become offended by notes from my past self instead of finding anything good to eat:

Living with myself is so difficult sometimes

On a night such as this, I may break down and cook one of the few things I can confidentally say "Why yes, I've got a pretty bad ass recipe for that up my sleeve." It's the ultimate comfort food and I can eat way too much if I'm not careful.

What am I talking about, boys and girls? Nachos. I am talking about nachos.

I did not make the nachos in this picture. But that doesn't stop them from lookin mighty fine! If those nachos were a man, I would...oh nevermind...

I can't let Allison be the only one with a recipe, so here's my bad ass recipe for nachos.

Lauren's Bad Ass Nacho Recipe:

Things you need:
- A bag of tortilla chips (I recommend those ones that come in the red bag)
- A jar of salsa (I'm into salsa verde these days. Don't let the fact that it's green scare you - it's delish)
- A can of black beans
- Chicken (Because I'm lazy, I always buy the little bag of pre-cooked chicken next to the lunch meat in the deli, but you're totally welcome to grill up some chicken and season it however you want)
- A can of olives (pre-sliced, unless you want to slice them yo self, foo)
- Cheese
- A pan that looks like this:

If this tray could talk, it would be saying "Make nachos on top of meeee!"

- Disco music (It will enhance the nacho-making experience. Trust me.)

This is what you do:

1. Before you do anything involving food, make sure the disco music is playing at a respectable volume. And by respectable, I mean loud enough that Tom can hear it in London (unless you live in London - then aim for Allison in Canada).
2. Lay the chips out on the tray.
3. Put beans on top of the chips. You don't need to use the whole can, but you are welcome to if you are feeling really enthusiastic about beans.
4. Allow the chicken to colonize on top of the chips and beans. Break the chicken up into bite-sized pieces and evenly distribute it all over.
5. Dump salsa all over the chips, beans, and colonies of chicken. Use a spoon to avoid a giant mess.
6. Grate cheese and throw it on top of the whole affair. Don't be stingy - cheese is the best part of nachos!
7. Sprinkle olives on top!
8. If you're feeling extra hungry/feeding multiple people, you may want to add another layer to the nachos. If this is the case, pile more stuff on. If this is not the case, it's time to put the nachos in the freaking oven.
9. I should have told you to preheat the freaking oven. I forgot. Turn it on to 350 degrees Farhenheit (or any other degrees, as long as it's Farhenheit).
10. Dance to the disco music while you're waiting for the oven to heat up.
11. Put the nachos in the oven. Set a timer for 6 minutes and keep a loose eye on them. Cook them until the cheese is melted and the chips look all crispy and excellant.
12. Pull it out of the oven and EAT NACHOS!

Nachos get two thumbs up from The Yank

There you have it - Lauren's Bad Ass Nacho Recipe.

Okay, so posting a recipe for something as obvious as nachos is mildly retarded now that I think about it. But that is my comfort food of choice! Well, besides combo numba 3 from Canton...

Hi, I'm slightly pathetic. :D

Aaaaand that concludes this week's episode.

This is The Yank, signing off!

Lauren's Embarrassing List Of Guilty Pleasures

Okay, here we go.  THIS should be a fun post.  I think half of the things I like could probably considered guilty pleasures.  There are even some things that I should be ashamed of that I have loved for so long I no longer feel any guilt (i.e: Lady Gaga, reruns of "Sabrina the Teenage Witch," 90's eurodance, etc.). 

But anyway, I'm going to attempt to boil this down into a cute little list.

I'll call this list "Lauren's Embarrassing List Of Guilty Pleasures."  The list will begin at this time:

*drum roll*

LAUREN'S EMBARRASSING LIST OF GUILTY PLEASURES
(in no particular order)

- Reality Television.  It's trashy, predictable, and an overall train wreck - but I can't look away. 

- The "Twilight" Movies.  These are possibly the worst films ever made, but something about them draws me in.  I make fun of them the whole time I'm watching them, of course, but the whole time I am secretly fascinated by the whole werewolf-vampire-human love triangle.  CONFESSION:  Somehow, I ended up with tickets to an exclusive pre-show of "New Moon."  A friend and I told everyone we were going to a rock show and snuck off to go watch "Twilight" in a room full of pre-teen girls and their mothers.  ANOTHER CONFESSION:  I have been to Forks, Washington.  I was on my way to Canada, but there were other routes I could have taken.  I went to Forks on purpose.

- t.A.T.u.  Remember those Russian lesbians that did that song "All The Things She Said" when we were all in middle school?  I never did take them off of my iPod... 

- The Black Eyed Peas.  With lyrics as simplistic and stupid as "let's do it, let's do it, let's do it, let's do it, let's dooooo it," I'm a little ashamed to say that The B.E.P.'s are one of my favorite things to jam out to in my car.  CONFESSION:  I secretly wish I was Fergie. ANOTHER CONFESSION:  I know all of the words to "Imma Be."

- Trashy late night advice talk shows on the radio.  My favorite radio station recently changed it's programming schedule and "Loveline with Doctor Drew" is no longer on weeknights at 11.  Discovering this shouldn't have made me as sad as it did. 

- The Food Network.  I don't cook, but I love watching other people cook. 

- Eating peanut butter with a spoon.  Out of the jar, naturally.  It's disgusting and I know it, but it's something that occasionally happens anyway (usually late at night).

- B-rated horror movies.  Actually, I've loved these kinds of movies for so long that I no longer really feel shame, but I thought it was worth mentioning.  CONFESSION:  My shelf of DVDs has two layers to it.  The outer layer is all the Wes Anderson films and things I feel as though I am allowed to like as a sophisticated film geek and a pseudo-hipster.  The inner layer is mostly b movie crap.  "Bela Lagose Meets A Brooklyn Gorilla," anyone?  Don't tell my hipster friends.

I feel as though I could make this list go on for a very long time but I am going to stop.  I think I have embarrassed myself enough for one week...

*scuttles away* 

Being Realistic Has Never Been My Thing...

So when I was a little kid, my perception of reality was even worse than it is now.

In other words, I wanted to be Darkwing Duck when I grew up.  Actually, I didn't want to wait to grow up to be Darkwing Duck.  I wanted the transformation of identity to take place as soon as possible and I went around insisting that everyone addressed me as "Darkwing" instead of "Lauren."  I was four so I got away with it.  However, I still cringe whenever I revisit this vague memory I have of correcting a Sunday School teacher when they dared to call me by my non-cartoon-superhero name. 

After my fascination with Darkwing Duck, there was a brief period where I wanted to be Teddy Ruxpin.  I saw a commercial for him one time when I was experiencing my daily of dose of "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles" and wanted to adopt his personality.  So I began insisting that people called me "Teddy."  For the record, I never actually owned a Teddy Ruxpin doll.  They are pretty frightening things.  I think my parents realized this and got me Creepy Crawlers instead. 

Once I emerged from my "I-wish-I-was-a-creepy-animatronic-bear" phase, I grasped onto an idea that was a little more realistic:  I wanted to be a "librarian hippy Elvis."  Now, I'm not really sure what that means, but I imagine it involves acting like a rock star while living in a commune and reading the occasional book.  If that's the case, I think I am what I wanted to be when I grow up.

Of course, as I got older, the dream got more specific.  I started taking piano lessons when I was eight and it wasn't long before I wanted to be Horowitz.  This ambition was fueled by a moment in a piano shop when I was in about the fourth grade.  My family was shopping for a new piano because the one we had was an octave short of a full keyboard and I was already unexpectedly outgrowing it.  So we went to this one particular piano shop where Horowitz's piano was on display and the shop owner was nice enough to let me play it.  I don't even remember what I played, but I do remember that ten-year-old Lauren was very, very happy.

My desire to be a crazy concert pianist when I grew up didn't really fade until late high school.  There was even a point in time where I would get up a couple of hours before school to practice my scales and arpegios, sneak into the band uniform room to play Chopin on a gross piano during lunch at school, then come home and spend a good portion of the afternoon/evening learning torturously difficult classical pieces.  I even got up the nerve to compete in a couple of piano competitions and always lost to crazy Asian kids.

Julliard had been on my mind as my number one college choice since I was a little kid that wanted to be Horowitz.  But when it came time to actually apply, I realized I'm not really concert pianist material.  I like to have a life outside of practicing the piano six to eight hours a day.  I like to play with other people.  I like music that has a recognizable beat.  I like to dance.  I like to rock.  I think I've always been a "librarian hippy Elvis" at heart (though I still don't really know what that means).

And with that, I shall wish you all a happy Friday and sign off for the week.  Happy Friday, amigos!  Stay tuned next week to hear about the guilty pleasures of the TASG.  I'm sure it will be a delightfully embarrassing week for all of us. 

Anyway, live long and prosper, homies. 

Lauren out.

Yes, I am the whitest kid I know.  And no, I did NOT steal my hat from Jay and Silent Bob...

Maybe I Should Just Be A Nun...

It's taken me forever to write this post. I think I'm the one that came up with this topic in the first place, but it's proven fairly difficult to write about. I don't want to come off as too bitchy, too whiny, or too psycho-feministy. I apologize in advance for the cynical word vomit you are about to read.

I think I've spent a long time wondering if there's something wrong with me because I can't seem to maintain a healthy, functional relationship of the romantic variety. But lately I've begin to think that there's just something wrong with them. Or maybe I'm just only attracted to men that are emotionally unstable (and potentially homosexual).

Really, I think the next time I go on a date, I'm going to hand him an application. I'll let him buy me dinner and I'll eat it while he fills it out. Then I'll conduct an interview over the remainder of dinner. The date will end, I'll contact a few of his references and review his application, then either send him a flirtatious text message to keep things going or delete him from my phone entirely. Sounds like a fantastic way to stream line things, doesn't it?

I think part of my application might look a little bit like this:

Check all that apply:

- I live with my mother.
- I have a bossy sister who controls my life.
- I'm a recovered porn addict who is now a religious fanatic.
- I have a girlfriend that God told me to marry, but I'd rather not tell you and spend several weeks leading you on.
- I don't like to touch girls.
- I'm only going to call you when I'm involved in a social situation that requires me to have a girlfriend.
- I'm Pentecostal.
- One time, I tried to start my own cult.
- I'm going to act like I'm completely not interested in you and then years after you've moved on I'm going to get drunk and tell you how attracted I am to you.
- Sometimes when I go out to eat, I keep the menu in my hand while I'm shovelling food into my mouth just in case I want to order more food.
- I think it's okay to call you my "gal pal."
- I'm on a cosmic quest to find the "anti-soma" and do a lot of "science experiments" in my room.
- I don't know you exist.
- I will make you feel terrible for never going to church.
- I'm gay.
- I liked X-Men 3.
- I'm going to let you fall completely in love with me, then totally distance myself from you. Then when we finally break up, I'm going to blatantly remind you that we're never getting back together every time you slip up and contact me.
- I'm going to try to be the drummer for your band, but all I really want to play is "Don't Stop Believin."
- I'm not interested in you at all, but I will constantly tell you how hot your friends are.
- I look really good in women's clothing.
- I can't dance.
- I'm always going to make you listen to loud Scandinavian metal in my car.
- I'll make you watch geeky science fiction movies and then leave right when they're over.
- I'll say I'm making you a nice dinner and then cook instant mashed potatoes with a side of Hamburger Helper.
- I haven't cleaned my bathroom since 2006.
- Whenever I go to a sandwich shop, I eat a lot of pickles and then I don't brush my teeth afterwards.
- I'm obsessed with myself.
- I 'd rather hang out with my friends on a Friday night than hang out with you. You can join us though. It's only a group of like 20 million generic, uninteresting people that enjoy having bland, surface-level conversations while drinking Mountain Dew and playing Rock Band.
- I will never understand your music.
- I won't understand your writing either.
- I won't read your blog, but you can read mine.
- When you text me late at night because you're lonely, I'll tell you I need to sleep.
- When you open up to me about stuff that's been going on in your head, I'll politely listen, but then I'll tell you to leave so I can get eight hours of sleep.
- I'll let my hair grow into obnoxious, mullet-esque lengths.
- I'll guilt-trip you into going to my awkward family reunions.
- I'll make you go camping even though I know you hate camping.
- For Christmas, I'll burn you DVDs of pirated TV shows that won't work on your DVD player.
- I'll write you a song...about transvestites.
- I'll whine about my job all of the time even though you're unemployed.
- I'm just an asshole in general.

Um...yeah, that theoretical application is not based on personal experience at all.

Okay, it totally is.

On second thought, I think I'm going to scrap the whole dating application idea and just NOT DATE. Maybe be a nun. Or maybe just a really bad ass independent chick who doesn't need a man.

After all, if the rock star thing works out, having a boyfriend (serious or otherwise) will only get in the way.

And I'm still recovering from the latest relationship fiasco. Dated him for almost a year, which is both a long time and not a long time simultaneously. Broke up a couple months ago. It was a mutual break-up, but he kind of evolved into a cold-hearted jerk after that. I had let myself become wrapped up in the idea that we would be together for a long time, so when he was "just not feeling the same way about you anymore, sorry" two weeks after the break-up, it was a little devastating. But it's no use being all hung-up over it. Being single really isn't that bad most of the time. Actually, it's a little bit liberating.

The good thing about having terrible luck with men is that I have an infinite amount of sitcom material and songwriting inspiration. Some of my best songs have been written in response to stupid boys being, well, stupid. Lyrics inspired by said boys include:


"Think I'm working over time trying to make you happy/ But all you do is whine/ Then get all weird and sappy."

"There's something wrong with you/ Don't try to give me an excuse/ Or sit and yell at me/ I do not want to hear it anymore!"

"I am an iceberg/ I am a glacier/ you are a green house gas and you're eating/ through the ozone layer/ so now I am melting."


"I'm not your mannequin! You're not my man!"

These are all pretty great songs, so I really should thank those stupid boys for being so stupid.

Unfortunately, the one love song in my band's repertoire was written for my most recent ex-boyfriend. It was a crowd favorite, but it's permanently off the set list because I cannot sing the lyrics "Night turns into day/ and you still haven't gone away" without becoming a little bit like Adam Sandler in "The Wedding Singer" when he sings the song he wrote for his ex-girlfriend (I'm sure you know the scene, it's kind of infamous).

Anyway, that's all I've got for this week. I should stop before I get completely bitter and bitchy. As hard as it was to write about this topic, it felt pretty good to throw all of that out there. Hopefully it even made you laugh a little bit. I'm laughing as I'm rereading this mess.

Ah, boys! Why must you be so dumb?

Oh well. I've got myself. That's all I really need in this crazy world, right?

With that, I shall say "farewell." Happy Friday, friends!

Time to hide behind ye olde pillow...

An Open Letter To My Neighbor

Dear Neighbor,

It's two in the morning.  Why on earth are you listening to such awful music at such a horrendously loud volume?  It sounds like Native American chanting mixed with bad folk music or something.  At first, I thought you were just having sex with the guy down the hall again.  That's annoying too, but I was prepared to ignore it.  I was prepared to just tune it out and eat my traditional piece of two a.m. existential cheesecake while surfing through the "missed connections" on Craigslist.  But then I noticed that it had a melody.  Or at least, it's trying to have a melody.  Really, that music is wretched.  I don't understand why you would play it at all, let alone at a high volume in the darkest hours of the night/morning. 

Maybe it's just karma getting me back for all the noise I've made in this room over the past couple of weeks.  Perhaps the universe is finally condemning me for all those late night jam sessions, one-person dance parties, and keytar shredding sessions.  But I don't really see why any of that would deserve karmic punishment.  I mean, I generally keep my noise at a semi-reasonable volume.  And my noise usually sounds like actual music, not like an owl being shoved into a miniature trash compactor.

Seriously, why does that music need to be on right now?  What are you doing in that room?  Are you having a seance or something?  Are you conjuring up the spirits of all the old people that died in your room?  I know it's cool that we live in a building that was formerly a retirement home, but please, stop whatever you're doing. 

You're not having sex with the guy down the hall again, are you?  I thought I heard his voice but maybe it was just my imagination.  I hope that's not the music you listen to when you have sex.  Actually, I don't care.  I just want you to turn that damn music down.  Or off.  Yes, turning it off would be nice. 

I bet you're really high right now.  That would make sense.  I know you smoke pot out of your window a lot.  You told me once.  You probably forgot.  I would know even if you didn't tell me.  There's a freaking mushroom cloud of marijuana smoke emanating from your doorway half of the time.  It's worse than the creepy stoner stairwell (at least they've figured out how to cover it up with Fabreeze a little).

I like you, Neighbor.  I think you're a nice person.  You have interesting taste in fashion and fun stories about Burning Man.  Once you even invited me to go to a sketchy bar in the middle of the night.  I went because I had nothing better to do and I will admit that I had a good time.  But this music?  It needs to go.

I swear, it's only gotten louder since I began writing you this letter.  It's been on for an entire hour now.  Give it a rest already. 

Maybe it's not even coming from your room, Neighbor.  Maybe it's coming from somewhere else.  Maybe I should go out in the hallway and investigate.  I really don't want to do that.  I am all snuggled into my nest of blankets.  I am wearing my pajamas - the ones with the grizzly bears on the pants.  I do not wish to catch anyone in the midst of a seance/tribal celebration/mating ritual.  I guess I'll just siphon some decent music into my ears via headphones and fall asleep. 

I know I signed up for this sort of thing when I agreed to live in a commune, Neighbor, but please, JUST KILL THAT DAMN NEW AGEY MOANING MUSICAL SHIT! 

Peace and Love,

Lauren (The Yank)

Blogging: People IRL Just Don't Get It

I made a new friend IRL last week (IRL stands for "In Real Life," in case you didn't get the memo).  We met at an event that was going on in the basement of my commune and instantly bonded over music.  We've been hanging out a lot.  We stay up too late writing songs, listening to obscure progressive rock bands, and having profound discussions about the meaning of life.  I've known him for about a week and a half, but it feels like I've known him longer.  So a couple of days ago, I foolishly decided to share a secret with him.

"So I have this blog..." I say.

He gives me a suspicious look.

"Actually, I have two blogs..." I say.  "I have one blog where I just ramble about my life and another blog where I give advice in the form of a song to people I've never met." 

There's an awkward silence. 

"That's cool," he says, adjusting his big black hipster glasses.  "But I don't really give a shit."

He sees the disappointment on my face and attempts to sound like less of an asshole. 

"I mean, I've got you right here.  You're right in front of me.  You're like a whole collection of blogs.  I don't need to read about the version of yourself you put out there on the Internet for the world to see.  I don't give a shit about that, girl."

I've found that a lot of people IRL have that reaction to my blogging habit (though most don't articulate it quite like that).  I used to post the URL to my blog on facebook and then feel slightly unloved when only two of my 300something friends took the time to read it (my mother and my bandmate, naturally).  Then one day I realized that I didn't really want all of my facebook friends reading my blog.  I took the link down.  I joined 20sb.  I immersed myself in the blogosphere and found people from all parts of the world that could understand and appreciate my blog in a way that my friends IRL could not. 

Originally created to document a rock and roll tour that never left the ground, my blog has become a cozy little place to share stories and thoughts with people all over the world.  Sometimes I get paranoid about people I know IRL reading it and finding a way to get offended.  I also worry that my ex-boyfriend is reading it (I have no desire to keep him up on what's going on in my life).  But then I remember that he didn't even really read it during the year we were together.  And I realize that I have nothing to worry about. 

The moral of the story:  Only people that blog will really care about your blog.  The rest of the world doesn't give a shit.  But I'm totally okay with having it be like that.  It turns the blogosphere into a sacred hiding place of sorts. 

Anyway, I raise my cup of coffee to you, my darling blogosphere.  Here's to a great escape from all things IRL.

And with that, I shall sign off.  This is The Yank wishing you a totally supercalafragi-bad-ass Friday.  Keep on rockin in the free world. 

From The Floorboards To The Flys, Here I Was Fated To Reside...

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It is Saturday and I am posting what was supposed to go up on Friday. I fail at timeliness.

Tom and Allison had some great things to say about the way music can evoke certain memories and emotions. I love that music has the power to cheer me up or remind me of a specific time that is completely unrelated to the lyrics themselves. Sometimes, music is really the only thing that makes sense to me. This is probably why I became a musician.

I put off writing this post for a long time because I really don't want to come off as being obnoxious or pretentious. I've played piano since I was 8 and had my first paying gig when I was about 16 (Smokey Bear's birthday party!), but that really doesn't give me any authority on music.

When I was in high school, I told my piano teacher that I wanted to be a professional musician. I thought he would be excited. Instead, he just frowned and told me that if there's anything else I could be happy doing I should do that instead. He told me that if I chose to be a musician, I would be choosing a hard life. "Only pursue music if it's really the only thing that can make you happy," he said.

I remember being discouraged by that conversation. But here I am, seven years later, living in a commune and crying whenever I hear "I Was Meant For The Stage." Few songs capture the way I feel the way that song does.

Call me cliche, but that song is my national anthem.

I think I've fantasized about being a rock star for as long as I can remember. It's not that I really want to be famous or share some profound message with the world or make everyone love me or live a life of intense irresponsibilty. It's just that music is something I want to create and share. I need to make music to keep myself somewhat sane.

And when I'm playing music - whether it's alone in my room or onstage in front of a crowd - there's nothing that feels more natural.

To reward you for making it through this post (and to make up for the fact that I posted it on Saturday instead of Friday), I will leave you with my drunken cover of a song by The Proclaimers.

That is all.

Attack of The Yank

Hello, my name is Lauren and I don’t know what I’m doing with my life.
 
(All together now:  Hiiiii, Lauren.)

Yesterday I saw a bumper sticker that said, “I always wanted to be somebody.  I should have been more specific.”  I feel like that’s the story of my life right now.

What is the story of my life, you ask? 

Wonder no more, I shall tell you!

I was born at a very young age, though I did not feel the need to talk or grow hair until I was approximately four years old.  People not only thought I was retarded, but they thought I was a boy (regardless of how much pink I was wearing).  “What’s wrong with him?” people would ask my parents.  “Shouldn’t you do something about this?”  But my parents stood by the fact that Einstein didn’t talk until he was four and they let me be silent and bald for as long as I wanted to.  To the left is a horrifying picture from my childhood (shortly after I decided to start growing hair).  I was enrolled in a dance class and we had a routine called "New Wave Teddy Bear" (hence the putrid brown leotard and the abysmal sparkly ears).  Don't judge - it was a long time ago.

But enough about ancient history.  Let's fast forward to my present state of misery.

(Ground control to Major Tom - you were so right about this being a difficult question to answer!)

I just graduated from college in May with degree in Cinema/Media Communications.  Going into college, the idea was to study film in hopes of becoming some notable movie director - the modern day Woody Allen.  But when college was all said and done, I wasn't even sure if I wanted to be a part of the film industry.  I have a passion for screenwriting and an interest in writing sitcoms/sketch comedy, but that's kind of a difficult thing to get plugged into right away.

I always return to wanting to be a rock star.  Most people think I'm kidding when I say that.  I'm not.  In everyday life, I'm pretty quiet and reserved, so it always throws people off when I tell them I'm the lead singer/keyboardist in a band.  It throws them off even more when they come to a show and see me shredding on a keytar while wearing one of my infamous "rock star uniforms."

And as you can tell from the picture - I also have an unhealthy interest in vintage fur coats.  Don't tell my environmentalist friends.  I live in Portland so pretty much all of my friends are hippies that don't need to know I have a coat made out of an entire alpaca.

Which leads me to what I'm doing right now - living with hippies.  That's right.  I spent the summer floundering around, living at my parents' house and trying to figure out what I'm even doing with my life.  I saw an ad in the paper for an artist's commune with cheap rent and applied on a whim.  I moved in last week.  The other night I witnessed some guy eating granola out of a teapot because he didn't have any bowls.  It's a marvelous place.   

The plan was to have some sort of job by the time I moved out of my parents' house.  That didn't exactly come together like I thought it should and I'm still searching for some sort of employment.  Rent here may be abnormally cheap, but a girl's still gotta eat!  I'd be lying if I said unemployment wasn't stressing me out a little.

Also, the feeling that I should just leave town entirely and have some grand adventure in another city/state/time zone/country/continent/planet is getting stronger by the minute.  But we'll see what happens.

So that's me - The Yank.  I hope this post hasn't been too horribly depressing or anything.  Next week I get to write about the love of my life (music) so I'm sure it will be more uplifting.

Anyway, this is Lauren signing off and wishing you a happy Friday.  Peace!