A Bad Night To Be A Hipster

Last spring, I had the privilege of seeing Kimya Dawson in concert.  If her name doesn't ring a bell, you might know her as the quirky hippy lady that does the music for "Juno."  Anyway, I might be romanticizing things, but that concert was a catalyst for all sorts of life changes.  Meaning I returned my business suit, started a blog called "TRASH ROCK TOUR" (which would later be known as "lauren vs. reality"), and decided to pursue my dreams.

That's a very simplified explanation, of course.  I can't blame Kimya for my entire journey down this bohemian rabbit hole, but she definitely played a part in my detachment from "balloon world."  So when I found out she was going to be in town playing at Backspace again last night, I called Ryan (a.k.a: Kimya's #1 Fanboy) and we bought tickets.  Anticipating another magical evening of inspiring folk music, we jumped on a MAX train after band practice.

The trip downtown took a little longer than we anticipated and the MAX was full of awkward characters (i.e:  a wannabe gangsta with a speech impediment, a woman who was going to pop out of her itty bitty tank top at any second, etc.).  When we finally got to Backspace, it was almost time for the show to start and there was a line of Kimya fans stretched out down the sidewalk.

Reluctantly, we got in line.  There were more boys in line than there were last time.  There were also more heterosexual couples.  Last spring, it was a bit of a lesbian festival. 

Anyway, as we got closer to the door, we noticed a few things:
1)  A sign that said completely different information than what was on the site we bought tickets from, including the start time of the show and the fact that Kimya Dawson was the opening act for a folk punk band.
2)  Kimya was already onstage playing "The Beer" (one of her best songs and we missed it!)
3)  We had missed half of Kimya's set!

I think it was at this point that I said something melodramatic along the lines of, "Ryan, if we don't get inside in time and miss all of Kimya's set, I might just cry!  I might just cry right here on the sidewalk!"

Fortunately, we made it inside before there was any crying on the sidewalk.  But the room was packed and there wasn't really a good place for us to sit/stand.  We settled on a spot near the bar.  People kept pushing to get past us and I could see the top of Kimya's poofy hair at best.

But the music was still wonderful, despite all of the disappointments.  "Loose Lips" still made me grin and "Walk Like Thunder" still gave me goosebumps.  I love how raw and honest her songs are.  I think I've said this before, but it's the kind of music that reminds me why I insist on playing the piano instead of getting a "real" job.

Her set was over way too soon.  I went to go order a drink to cope with my post-Kimya depression.  I quickly discovered that they were out of PBR.

It was a bad night to be a hipster.

On top of that, I kept losing Ryan because he took off in the direction of Kimya whenever he spotted her poofy hair.  The number of times he attempted to ambush her like an awkward fanboy was downright comical.  

Ryan in fanboy mode while I'm busy being an angry hipster

The punk-ish band took the stage and they weren't bad.  They were called "Defiance Ohio" and reminded me of Flogging Molly (but less edgy and not quite as wonderful...yes, I went through that celtic punk phase in high school along with the rest of the universe...don't judge...).  The music was fun to dance to but I probably won't run out and buy all of their albums.

Just watch, Defiance Ohio will become the next big thing and then this blog post will be right up there with the journal entry from the summer of 2004 in which I describe skipping band camp to go see They Might Be Giants at a music festival with my dad.  And I quote, "A band from Seattle called 'Death Cab For Cute' played before them.  We hung around for some of that so we could get prime spots for TMBG.  The place was packed so we didn't actually get to see Death Cab, but they sounded pretty good.  Finally, they ended and all these pierced punk rockers came pouring out.  All the nerdy, intellectual TMBG fans piled in!"  I then go on to describe how "beautiful" and "freak'n awesome" the TMBG show was.  Oh Teenage Lauren, you are so funny without even trying.  I think if I could relive that moment in time, I would put more effort into watching Death Cab.  I would also put more effort into removing the word "freak'n" from my vocabulary.

But I digress.  Back to things that are relevant.

I left to go to the bathroom in the middle of Defiance Ohio's set.  There are only two bathrooms at Backspace and they are both oners, so I found myself waiting in line for awhile.  The line was right by the Internet cafe part of Backspace.  It was also by an arcade-style game called "House Of The Dead 4."  Some guy in tight pants and a band t-shirt got in line behind me.  He wasn't completely gorgeous or anything, but he wasn't bad looking.  He starts talking to me and the conversation goes like this:

Guy:  I can't believe that people are back here on computers when there is a punk show going on!  What's up with that?
Me:  I know!  They really should be out there dancing.
Guy:  Yeah, for real!
*awkward silence*
Me:  Though are you sure you wouldn't rather be back here playing House Of The Dead 4?
Guy:  *laughs*  It's tempting, but I'm more of a House Of The Dead 2 type of person.
Me:  Personally I'm all about House Of The Dead 3.
Guy:  Rock on.
Me:  Yeah, House Of The Dead 3 is where it's at.
*awkward silence*
Me:  I'm kidding.
Guy:  What?
Me:  I'm kidding about House Of The Dead 3.  I'm not actually into it.
Guy:  Haha, yeah, you totally fooled me.
Me:  Yeah, I know.  Oh look, the bathroom is open!
*end of conversation*

Ugh.  When will I learn that trying to charm strangers with my neverending wit is usually a bad idea? 

The concert ended and we were able to successfully hunt down Kimya (I don't think Ryan was going to leave the venue until he was able to meet her).  We told her how much we loved her and snagged this wonderfully awkward photograph:

This is a happy picture.

I thought about taking a picture with her as well, but she didn't seem that into it and I didn't want to be too annoying.

So we left Backspace and ventured into the rain.  The trip home took longer than it should have because we lost track of where we were and we rode the wrong MAX to the wrong stop.

But that didn't stop us from dancing all the way home.

So last night ended on a high note.  I have always wanted to dance in an empty train car and now I can cross that off of my bucket list.

And that's all I've got for today.  Hope everyone is having a great Sunday!  Peace.

The Epiphany

Today I told my landlords that I would be moving out in May.
"My plans have changed," I said. "I'll be moving everything back to my parent's house."

My original plan had been to stay in this tiny town and look for a job in the Portland area. It seemed like a good idea at first, but it was merely a way to buy time for myself while I figure out my life. Truth is, there's really no reason to stay in a college town if you're not going to college. So after I graduate, I need to get out of here.

I need to travel. I need to make music.

It's strange how abruptly this epiphany hit me. Usually when I make decisions, it's over time and the answer is never really that clear. But this - this was like catching the bubonic plague or being slammed by a semi-truck or something.

I guess it started Saturday night.

Ryan and I took a band field trip to attend lesbian fest 2010 at the Backspace cafe in Portland. Oops, did I really just write "lesbian fest 2010"? I meant to write "a Kimya Dawson concert." Freudian slip. Anyway, it was one of those sit-cross-legged-on-the-floor-and-be-mesmerized-by-every-song type of shows.

There's Kimya and her guitar. I took this picture from my spot on the floor behind some woman (I think it was a woman...) with really intense hair. This hair is not hard to miss, especially considering it takes up about a fourth of the photograph.

I hadn't listened to a ton of Kimya's stuff before the concert. I knew all of her cutesy songs from "Juno" and a couple of tracks from her myspace page, but I wasn't fully aware of how honest and beautiful her music is. She plays the kind of music that reminds me why I love music so much. It's simple, raw, unfiltered, and makes me want to be a better person. I think I was grinning through the whole show because her songs were so refreshing. She sang about everything from love and death to giants and lemmings. And she kept coming back to this one theme: making music is what she has to do to be happy.

If you weren't there, it probably sounds like a load of hippy weirdness, but it totally inspired me. I even emailed her to tell her how much I enjoyed the show. I have not heard back yet, but she strikes me as the type of girl that doesn't check her email very often.

Ryan and I ran into one of our old drummers at the show. We seem to have a Spinal Tap-esque curse when it comes to drummers. When we finally find one, we have a difficult time keeping them around. This drummer was probably the best drummer we've had, but he only played a couple of shows with us because he was headed off to Tennessee for a bit. Hadn't seen him since we played Ash Street with him in July. But there he was, wearing his round black glasses and waiting for the world's most indie folk concert to start. He seemed happy to see us. We told him how we were about to graduate and get sucked in by the corporate world though we wanted to be rock stars. He told us that we rock and that if we want to do music, we should just get our name out there. It was cool hearing that from someone a bit older that I consider to be a pretty good musician.

We left the concert feeling inspired to write music and play music. But on Monday, we could only do one thing: go to class.

My first class of the morning is a memoir writing class. I'm taking it as an elective and I really like it, but I hate waking up before 10. I dragged my rock star butt to class though, just in time for Schtick Lit day.

Schtick Lit is that new(ish) genre of nonfiction memoir in which the author sets up some sort of experiment to undertake or manufactures some unique experience. Examples include that guy that washed dishes in every state and that liberal kid that went to Liberty University for a semester. The prof asked us to write about what we would do if we were to embark on a schticky style memoir. I sat there thinking, Dude, it would be so cool if I could just blow off my life to travel across the country and write about something in a way no one has before. The class was over before I could make these thoughts any less vague, however. It was time for work.

There was a new sign hanging up on the door in the office that said something along the lines of "If you knew your life was about to end, how would you live differently?" I clocked in just in time to hear my coworkers discussing it. "I don't think I'd change anything," they said. "I like the way my life is."

I stared at the sign, then at my coworkers. I realized that if my life was about to end tomorrow, I would change so many things. So what does that mean? I didn't want to think about it. I grabbed some copies that needed to be done and headed downstairs to the copy machine.

It was at the copy machine that I ran into one of my favourite literature profesors (I'm a work study student in the writing/literature office). I greeted him enthusiastically and we proceeded to have the conversation that made me realize this town is too small. I trudged back up the stairs with copies in my hand and a million thoughts in my brain. I can't stay here for the summer. This town's too small. This state is too small. For being such a big world, it's getting too small where I'm at. I need to go on an adventure.

I sat by Ryan in physics and expressed these thoughts to him on our ritual post-physics walk to the mail room. The mail check turned into coffee and two hours later, we were hooked on the idea of a rock tour.

It's a crazy idea, but the more I think about it, the more it just makes sense. The more I can't get it out of my head.

I don't remember the last time I was this excited about something.