Ever since I was a little girl, I loved nerds.

The thicker the glasses they wore, the better. Even more attractive than coke bottles was social awkwardness. At eight years of age I loved my men weird and near-sighted.

When most of my peers were carrying notebooks featuring the profiles of NKOTB, I was doodling the name, “Mrs. Emmett Brown” over and over in my notebook. A few years later, I would lay my plastic figurine of Jeff Goldblum as Dr. Ian Malcolm on my pillow and whisper made-up paleontology talk in his dog-nibbled ear. At sixteen I would catch myself losing complete control of my bladder while watching David Byrne dance in the concert documentary Stop Making Sense. Every time he would flail his arms around or choreographically trip, I’d seal clap in delight.

Even now, my boyfriend is what I describe as a “nerdy cowboy.” Social discomfort is not something he suffers from, but what he lacks in awkwardness he makes up for in his math degree and his desire to move to space. He never leaves home without a pen in the pocket of his pearl snap shirt. I love it.

Before I met my nerdy cowboy, I used to dream of marrying Rick Moranis. When it wasn’t Rick, it was Harold Ramis. When it wasn’t Rick and Harold, it was Pee-Wee Herman, which kind of goes into a whole new territory of parental concerns for their child’s future.

CONTINUE…

Sweet potato tater tots with chipotle mayo. Think about it for a moment.

Found here.

For those of you familiar with the tragic New Year’s Day death of Esme Barrera or read about it on my blog, the police just announced that the prime suspect in her murder was found dead of an apparent suicide on January 12th. You can read more details at the Statesman or The Chronicle.

The suspect was implicated in several other attacks and sounded like one terrible piece of shit. I’m glad he won’t be able to harm anyone ever again.

I’m so happy that the city of Austin has some sort of answers and I can only pray that the police are right and this will help the Barrera Family have some closure.

I’ve written a few times on Hipstercrite about how going freelance has improved my career confidence and has been mentally rewarding.

I’ve jokingly talked about how going freelance has made it difficult for me to remember to change my underwear or socialize with humans and not feral cats.

What I haven’t mentioned is that going freelance has amplified my anxieties and worries and at some point I’m concerned I will become agoraphobic.

This all sounds like wonderfully neurotic writer behavior but it is neither fun or helpful. It takes a lot for me to leave the house to socialize and when I do, I’m finding it increasingly difficult to pay attention or engage in conversation. I’ve mentioned this before, so I will not rehash too much. This behavior, which began before I went the freelance route and had decided to take my writing more seriously, has caused me friendships. When I started to stay home at the attempt of being more productive, it angered a few friends. One in particular told me that I was being selfish. I explained to her that I didn’t care about her any less and that she should please give me some time while I work through this period of creative self-discovery. This friend, who is in her early 30′s, did not believe me and promptly deleted me as her Facebook friend. Though other friends who are more mature than this did not react in such a manner, it’s fair to say that not seeing them for months at a time has certainly put a strain on our friendships. Friends rarely ask me to go to a show or a party because they know I won’t go. The only energy I have these days is for small gatherings with close friends where we play Settlers of Catan or Rock Band.

When I think about how sad it is that I’m not the social butterfly many of my peers are in Austin, I do not regret having buckled down on my work for it has paid off and I figure that enjoying small gatherings over loud bars, parties or shows is more of a sign of my age. This doesn’t prevent me from thinking that if one day I write a book or movie that becomes successful it will have come at the cost of friendships and no one other than family members will show up at my funeral.

Becoming a social idiot has concerned me, but the enhanced behavioral quirk that I’m most concerned about these days is my worrisome nature. Whether I’d like to stop worrying or not, I’m a full-blooded Jew and my kind are very good at developing diarrhea in the middle of the night while worrying about things like 2 inches of snowfall in the forecast or day trips to Philadelphia. This comes from a long lineage that each generation tries with all their might to break. My grandmother has reached an age where she does not recognize that her anxiety-riddled behavior filled with sleepless nights and bubbling anger is anything other than normal, but both my mother and I have tried to fight it within ourselves. I give my mother credit for she finally realized in her 50′s that dwelling on even the slightest negative possibility is not good for your mental or physical health. Regardless of how hard we’ve both tried to minimize this neurosis, it is still in our blood and we both find it creeping up at different times for different reasons.

Since I’ve gone freelance, I mostly work from home which means I have a lot of solitary time to dwell on my life and begin worrying about things that when I verbalize later to friends or my boyfriend, I realize sound ridiculous upon leaving my lips.

Lately I have plenty of time to sit and read the gritty details of plane crashes thus causing me to take shots of whiskey before boarding a plane and having the look of utter terror while taking off and landing that make other passengers extraordinarily uncomfortable. And even though a nice gal told me yesterday that more people are killed by donkeys than plane crashes every year, it still does not stop me from assuming I will have the same fate as everyone on Pan Am Flight 103 over Lockerbie.

Last year I developed a concern that every night someone was trying to break into the house. Just as I was getting over that fear, a peer was murdered in her home nearby with subsequent break-ins into young women’s houses. The police have no leads whatsoever. In addition, the other night we caught a man canvasing our house to break-in. When I used to feel that Austin is a safe town- and statistically it still is- I’ve begun to believe when out in public, every person has the potential of doing bad.

I worry about offending people through my writing. I worry that I have a blood clot in my neck and I will be one of the young women you read about on CNN reports that have strokes at young ages. I worry about my parents’ health. I worry about my boyfriend wanting to move to space.

I find myself, much like my grandmother, with a lot of solitary time at home having nothing better to do than worry. Even when my own life concerns are minimal, I begin taking on the bigger picture of what the futures holds for the world. Will we run out of water? Will the super volcanoes erupt? Will we all want to move to space?

Do I worry- SEE!- that in the long run going freelance and following my goals has been counter-productive for me? Do I fear that I need more work structure in my life to prevent myself from spiralling into an abyss of constant concern? Maybe. But, this is the route I wanted to go and I better fucking learn to deal with it.

I’m reaching an age where it takes a lot for me to stay focused and interested in contemporary independent film and music.

I’m reaching an age where unless a film has a point or a song is originally written, displays some sort of individual talent and doesn’t sound like a band I heard back in the 60′s-90′s, I fall asleep, turn it off, or get up and leave.

This sort of behavior does not make it easy for me to go to the theater with friends or listen to music recommendations. Because of this, I’m absolutely not in the know on what is indie-urban popular, because, well, most of the time I think it’s absolute shit.

This goes against the idea of being a “hipstercrite”, I guess. I really can’t go on and on about how I hate Lana Del Rey, talk about what movies are currently hot at Sundance or manifest Ryan Gosling memes.

The alternative, the irreverent and the ironic is my bag, but lately I’m finding a lot of it forced and showing lack of skill. More often than that, I’m finding that all of it seems like a constant rehashing of other’s work. The awkward jokes I’ve heard before, the mumbling true-to-life dialogue is overplayed and the beats sound like everything we listened to back in the 80′s.

I can not fall into the group who says they loved Bellflower even when I didn’t. I just can’t.

This discovery has become very disheartening to me because the independent spirit is the only mantra I want to live by.

A film I recently watched that helped me to realize my apathy towards independent contemporary work is Tiny Furniture by Lena Dunham.

If you’re not familiar with this film, it is the more than loosely-based story of the now 25 year-old filmmaker’s post-collegiate life. From what I’ve read- because I could not get through the entire film- I don’t think much happens in the story other than a early twenty-something making bad choices and asking the question, “What do I do with my life?”. The film stars her mother and sisters as their film-counterparts and Dunham acts as herself, sans make-up, with unflattering clothing choices and all.

Dear God I wanted to like this film. When explained to me and then while watching the trailer, I was convinced this was going to become my new favorite movie. I loved that Dunham wasn’t trying to become some glamorous actress but rather said, “This is me! Cellulite, pimples and all!”

I loved that this was going to be a story I could relate to.

I loved that a young woman wrote and directed it.

What I found instead was a story completely unrelatable with a filmmaking technique, that though popular with others, I find skillfully questionable. The heroine drifts through her twenty-second year going to art shows, living in her artist mother’s TriBeCa loft and having witty “Gilmore”-esque battles with her sister. Though the dialogue could often be clever, I found that the script was a Juno-”Gossip Girl” hybrid that made it impossible for me to find a side to latch onto. I found myself thinking something critics stated that I didn’t want to think- The character was whiny and annoying.

But I wanted to like her! This was to be my story too!

The shots in the film were stationary, which though many scenes were filmed in interesting locations (mother’s loft, East Village fire escapes) and therefore looked like a photograph, I often find such shots ineffective at propelling the story along. This idea can work when you’re Wes Anderson and have a cast that consists of seasoned talent, which are two things this film did not have.

After turning off the movie, I had to have a sit down with my self and ask, “Lauren, are you just not a fan of this movie because you are jealous? Because you want to be a 25 year-old indie darling?” After much though it was then I realized that I could no longer relate to many of the work coming out of independent cinema and music.

Many others liked Tiny Furniture and I’m glad that they did. The film won festival awards and Dunham has since landed a deal with HBO to create and star in a similar mumblecore story about young women living in New York City called “Girls“. A TV show that I feel my cultural make-up should like, but I ultimately won’t.

Lately I’ve found myself enjoying more conventional film and music and I want to throw myself off a bridge.

What happened to me? Has independent art drifted into an area I can no longer stand behind, or am I just growing up?

On my CultureMap column, I’ve written a number of posts about how wonderful Austin is and how much I love this adopted city of mine. For this, I’ve received comments telling me to “go home” and that “I’m the problem with Austin’s recent changes.”

These comments make me think of a conversation I had with a waitress at relatively new neighborhood restaurant here in town. The restaurant does not stay open late and caters towards respectable diners, but that hasn’t stop a disgruntled neighbor from chasing down patrons who park in his neighborhood with a hammer.

I think it’s fair to say that some Austinites don’t like change.

The only other town where I saw physical opposition towards not just newcomers, but visitors too, was Marfa, Texas, where a man in a cowboy hat stalked us down Main Street giving us a sermon about the evil city dwellers from Austin, New York and LA.

Change can suck ass. No ifs, ands or buts about it.

I’ve been here 3 1/2 years and even I can remember East 6th Street before there was a bar on every corner and parking became non-exisent.

Lately, I’ve found myself experiencing the same road rage I had in Los Angeles. Traffic like this shouldn’t be happening in Austin, right? That’s reserved for the asshole cities.

Construction is ridiculous. The skyline looks like a poorly performed polygraph test. Crime is up. Something stupid happened with the parking meters downtown. One time I stepped foot into the W Hotel and felt like I was at a cattle show.

But what would happen if we said “TAKE A HIKE, JERKFACE!” to all the non-Austinites who moved to our town?

What would Austin look like?

CONTINUE…

Yesterday, I asked my father, a pianist and music lover, if he was familiar with Warren Zevon’s music. Considering that Zevon was a classically-trained musician, popular in a pivotal decade of music for my father and featured piano in many of his songs, I figured he was a fan.

“Sure, I used to listen to him back in the day. Has he come out with anything new lately?”

“Dad, he’s been dead for eight years.”

“Oh, wow. Really? I guess I haven’t listened to him since “Werewolves of London”.”

After my Dad said that, I figured he never actually listened to Warren Zevon at all. “Werewolves of London” is not a song you bring up if you’re a fan.

At one point that was the only song of Warren Zevon’s that I knew as well and I kind of hated it. It was on every Halloween compilation my mother owned and it would get played over and over during the holiday. After each howl, I swore off Zevon more and more.

I spoke of Zevon a bit on my recent CultureMap post about being indie-ignorant and diggin’ my old timer musicians and I wanted to expand more.

Recently Geoff got me more closely acquainted with Zevon. I’m surprised I didn’t notice Zevon’s charm and electricity sooner considering he was a popular late 70′s rocker much like my cherished Fleetwood Mac (who were friends with Zevon and played on many of his records). I also played piano for over twelve years of my life and it’s in my blood, so Zevon’s penchant for the piano means a lot to me. It’s an instrument you don’t hear as prominently featured anymore.

There is an essence to Zevon that could be labeled as cheesy though it’s that feature that makes him stand out. Similar in a way to Billy Joel, Zevon was an epic storyteller, sharing the stories of headless Thompson gunners, serial killers, the occupation of Veracruz, hillbilly Southerners, or dudes stuck in Honduras. Though Zevon had his personal songs, many were stories of people living desperate lives. A quote from Associated Press found Zevon stating, “I always like to have violent lyrics and violent music, the knowledge of death and fear of death informs my existence. It’s a safe, kind of cheerful way of dealing with that issue.”

Of course there were poignant songs too. Songs you couldn’t help but feel were windows to his complicated heart. My favorite song of Zevon’s and one I relate to in a wistful way is “Desperados Under the Eaves”, a song about a man lost in Los Angeles:

I was sitting in the Hollywood Hawaiian Hotel
I was staring in my empty coffee cup
I was thinking that the gypsy wasn’t lyin’
All the salty margaritas in Los Angeles
I’m gonna drink ‘em up

Zevon had his battles with alcoholism, drugs and partying. He was also a husband and father. He had many subjects to write about, but maybe the most difficult topic he ever had to broach was his impending death. In 2002, at the age of 55, Zevon was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. Taking the news like a fucking champ, Zevon decided to record one last album, The Wind, before he died. How can you not love a dude who covers “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door” right before he dies?

Even when faced with death, Zevon joked on his last public appearance with David Letterman that, he had made a “tactical error in not going to a physician for twenty years.” Zevon died in 2003 and won his first Grammy for The Wind. He continues to inspire people today most notably the writers of Californication.

You’re maybe thinking, why, why should I care about this guy that I know so little about?

Because they don’t make them like him anymore. They don’t make the bad boys and the reformed bad boys you actually want to be like.

The guys who did their own thing always and forever.

Zevon was a musical genius disguised by a bad ass facade.

On a side note, he also had some mad style.

And on another side side note, there is a new biography of Zevon in the works! Can’t wait!

Zevon’s last performance, less than a year before he died…

As I’ve mentioned before, back in September, I went the freelance writer/social media marketing route.

It’s been such a rewarding and educational experience. To do what I want to do, finally, for the first time in my adult life has been so incredible. Going freelance has given me the confidence in knowing that I’m capable and have something to offer.

However, this time has not come without its down moments. There have been many somber times of me standing by the mailbox waiting for a check or lying awake at 3AM thinking about what kind of taxes I’m going to owe.

Luckily, the work keeps coming in- with the ebb and flow that freelance work does. Sometimes I’ll hear nothing for a few weeks, then a bunch of offers coming streaming it at once. Sometimes the offer is big, sometimes it’s little.

When thinking about the work I’ve received over this time, it dawned on me that most of my work I received through the powers of social media. Facebook, Twitter and my blog. I’m still learning how to utilize LinkedIn to its fullest capacity. I also just created a Hipstercrite brand page over at Google+. If you’re on Google+, come say hi and I’ll circle back.

Occasionally people will ask how to get freelance writing/social media work. I always tell them, “Blog, tweet and share the living shit out of everything.” They typically look at me like I’ve drunk the Kool-Aid, but it’s true. Staying active on social media and blogging is time consuming, sometimes annoying and often exhausting, but it definitely pays off.

Here are a list of my current freelance jobs and how I got them:

Job #1: Writer, on-going, paid, Austin-based- I got this job through my blog. I contacted them to become involved and they said they were already aware of my work and planning on talking to me. We met, the interview went well and I’ve been writing for them ever since.

Job #2: Writer, on-going, paid, not Austin-based- I actually can’t quite recall how I got this job, but I believe I saw a Craigslist ad for it. I sent my resume/writing samples/blog link over, talked with them on the phone and was hired. What initially started as small work, turned into more as I showed them I was reliable.

Job #3: Social Media Marketing, four month gig (ended), paid, Austin-based- I got this job because of my extreme love for social media. I was at party and totally geeking out about Twitter and the owner of this company was impressed by my knowledge and hired me to help with their social media/marketing/PR.

Job #4: Writer, on-going, paid, not Austin-based- I was contacted by them because they did a search of Austin bloggers.

Job #5: Marketing, on-going, paid, Austin-based- I was a fan of the company and talked about them to obsession-like lengths on Twitter/Facebook. They liked my enthusiasm and I liked them, so we decided to join forces.

Job #6: Writer, various gigs, paid, various locations- The more I’ve marketed myself as a freelance writer/social media manager, the more one-time or long term offers I get. People will recommend me, people will search Austin bloggers or they see me on Twitter or Facebook.

None of these jobs happened over night. I’ve had my blog for almost three years now and have been highly active on social media for almost two.

I’m not sharing all of this with you to toot my horn, but rather trying to show you what social media networking and blogging daily can do for you if you’re interested in going the freelance route. I have found that just sticking with it has paid off.

Another important aspect is if you receive an offer you can’t do or see an offer that you are not right for, don’t be afraid to recommend a friend or share with others. Going the freelance route means you’re now part of a community and helping each other is key.

Have you found work through social media or your blog?

• (art) Who doesn’t love recycled art? Who? WHO?! TELL ME!!! Various creative artists came up with some interesting reworkings of billboards. My favorite is the billboard swing, though it seems kind of terrifying. Like the sort of thing that you think would be a good idea to try after you had five Rumple Minze. (via WebUrbanist)

• (lifestyle) Don’t know why this surprises me, but Texas is NOT the #1 most drunken state. Oh wait, I know why it surprises me, because EVERYONE IS DRUNK ALL OF THE TIME IN AUSTIN. Can you guess which state is the drunkest? (via Happy Place)

• (fashion) Some dudes in Austin were featured in Conde Nast’s Menswear for their style icon-ess. I know one of the guys, but I made a promise not to talk about him, so I’m not sure exactly what I’m talking about right now. (via WWD)

• (technology) This news came out last week, but do you know that they’re making an electric DeLorean? Like, the DeLorean needs to be anymore cool. It’s so cool, I can’t fucking taking it. Like absolute zero cool, Doc. <–Wow, that was bad. (via DeLorean)

• (film) When finding difficulty getting distribution for you film, get creative! Filmmakers in Austin tried the first of it’s kind- a movie available only on iPad. Curious if it will work or not, but I like their noggin usin’. (via CultureMap)

• (fashion) The world is Ryan Gosling’s runway. Seriously, this dude must dress this way for attention. Who the hell wears cardigans on the plane? My flying attire consists of holey Old Navy sweatpants from college and a neon green Ramones t-shirt someone found on someone’s front lawn.  (via Buzzfeed)

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