Holy crap I have a new podcast, y’all. It’s called Love Will Tear Us Apart.

Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve been captivated by dramatic love stories.

When I first read F. Scott Fitzgerald in high school, I became obsessed with the complicated relationship between the author and his wife, Zelda, and how their relationship problems fueled their work.

At 14, I remember seeing Stevie Nicks on Vh1, singing her heart out to her former lover, Lindsey Buckingham. The song was “Silver Springs,” a Rumors-era b-side that found chart success in 1997 when Fleetwood Mac reunited for The Dance. That performance was the beginning of yearslong research into the decades-old soap opera that is Fleetwood Mac. I remember buying every Fleetwood Mac album I could find, carefully listening to Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham’s lyrics and then running to the Internet to read other people’s interpretations of their songs. (I still do this…shhhh.)

To this day I still gravitate towards the personal lives of famous people.

Were Gene Wilder and Gilda Radner truly soul mates?
Did Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera fuel each other’s work?
Was Mary Austin Freddie Mercury’s greatest love?
Did Courtney kill Kurt? (Joking… I have no idea.)
Just how horrible was Ike to Tina? (Answer: Pretty bad)
What’s the story behind Ernest Hemingway and Martha Gellhorn?

These stories are what inspired this podcast, Love Will Tear Us Apart.

I’m really excited about this and hope you’ll join me on my journey to uncover the complicated, passionate and sometimes scandalous stories behind our favorite couples.

Please take a listen to my trailer. I’d love to hear your thoughts! I can be found currently on Anchor, Spotify, Google Podcasts, Breaker, and Radio Public.

I’ll be launching the first episode on Gene Wilder and Gilda Radner soon.

The post Love Will Tear Us Apart: My Podcast on Famous Couples appeared first on Hipstercrite.

I contacted my hosting company, Bluehost, who said, “Sorry you missed a payment and your blog is gone-gone. Like, we totally put it on a row boat, set it on fire, and pushed it out to sea.”

Upon hearing that my blog was dead, a calmness washed over me.

I wasn’t angry or sad–I was mostly stunned.

I’ve had this blog for at least 12 years (I’m too lazy to see when I started it) and losing it felt like a little piece of me drifting into the ether. It is the digital record of my early days as a single, emotionally loud twenty-something assistant living in Los Angeles who moved to Austin to become a writer. It chronicles my slow evolution from working three part-time jobs seven days a week to becoming a working professional to meeting my partner (who I’ve now been with for 8 1/2 years) to writing a movie with him to becoming a full-time writer. The blog is also my repository of pop culture ramblings, thoughts on family & friends and life & death, and essays on anxiety. (There’s also a fair amount of posts on Jeff Goldblum and Rick Moranis.)

Though my blog never had a true theme and was never written in a way to garner legions of fans and copious amounts of money, I’m proud of it and it’s garnered me a lot of work and I love it and I love all the people I’ve met through it. (If you’re reading this, THANK YOU.) Even though I don’t write on this blog much anymore, the thought of it disappearing with the snap of a finger felt equal parts comical and devastating. And also like a major first-world problem. It feels remarkably dumb to be melancholic over losing a blog.

The night I lost my blog, I slept an uneasy sleep, mourning something I spent years creating but obviously never fully owned. I woke up to a phone call from Bluehost’s parent company apologizing for the inconvenience, saying my site was restored and that they would be comping me three months of hosting services. All of this happened because I bitched about it on Twitter. (Twitter is good for some things.)

So now my site is living and breathing again, and I figured I should write on the ol’ gal for Christ’s sake.

I know blogging in general is an antiquated practice (gosh I miss the blogging days of the mid-aughts), and I know I promise myself to write on here more often and I don’t, but I’ll try. I’ll try because I can’t quite let go.

The post My blog died & then it came back & I thought I should write a post appeared first on Hipstercrite.

You see, Los Angeles had taken my love for film — a love that includes forcing horrified friends to watch Last Tango in Paris at the tender age of 16 and being the proud owner of the first DVD release of David Lynch’s Eraserhead and putting photos of a shirtless Marlon Brando from A Streecar Named Desire on my college dorm wall and carrying around a ragged copy of Harpo Marx’s autobiography Harpo Speaks! — and completely squashed it.

Realizing that Hollywood was only marginally full of masters of art and creativity was one of my biggest heartbreaks as I entered adulthood. Instead of being immersed in the excitement and magic of cinema, I worked with producers, agents and lawyers — three types of common players in Hollywood who are often angry, greedy and downright skeevy. My love for film — and my sanity — was on life support, and after five years of living and dying in LA, I decided to pull the plug.

That’s how I ended up in Austin.

And my first two beacons of hope were Vulcan Video and I Luv Video.

It had been many, many years since I stepped foot in a video rental store, a place that was of great comfort in my youth. Walking through the aisles of both I Luv and Vulcan was the ultimate nostalgia trip, as I recalled the box art of so many films, some I still haven’t seen but will forever remember their covers.

For the first three years I lived in Austin, I was a regular renter at both businesses. When I met my boyfriend, a filmmaker and film professor at UT, we became patrons of only Vulcan Video, partly due to convience and partly because we were friends with several employees who also happened to work in film. We looked forward to renting at Vulcan, not just because we knew we could indulge in our whims of revisiting Penelope Spheeris’ Dudes or Jonathan Wacks’ Powwow Highway at any time of day, but we also enjoyed talking shop with our friends behind the counter. We could easily kill 30 minutes in the store, just talking about our favorite semi-obscure films and what pokers we all had in the fire.

To say that Vulcan Video holds a special place in my heart, and the hearts of so many film-loving Austinites, is an understatement. It pains me to think of a world without Vulcan Video and that’s why I’m asking you to donate to their GoFundMe to help stay afloat for at least the next 15 months.

If you love film, please support one of the last video rental stores in America.

The post Please help one of the last great video rental stores in America appeared first on Hipstercrite.

(Side note: Looking back at those articles, I want to barf.)

One of the cities I included on my next hipster city list was Pittsburgh.

Though I had never been to Pittsburgh, I had been seeing many articles about the Rust Belt city’s renaissance. (Barf X 2 that I wrote about a city I had never been to.)

I never would have imagined that five years later I would actually live in Pittsburgh.

So here I am–a Pittsburgher.

I now have a much clearer window into the city, and I can tell you: It’s not the next hipster city.

And maybe that’s a good thing.

Heinz Lofts in former Heinz factory

Pittsburgh is crumbling.
And it’s progressing (slowly).

There is a slew of empty storefronts.
But Google is here.

The air quality is some of the worse in the country.
But the area has made strides since the days when the sun was black.

There are people struggling financially.
But there is a diverse crowd of young, hip people making stuff.

The infrastructure feels like it hasn’t been updated since its industrial heyday of 1890.
Until recently, driverless cars were here.

In other words: Pittsburgh has the makings of the next big city.

BUT.

It’s still has a ways to go.

And that’s what makes it cool.

I don’t think Pittsburgh will ever get too cool, too monied, too developed–like the past two cities I’ve lived in: *Austin and Denver—and that’s ok because that’s what keeps this town authentic.

But also what keeps it from fully thriving.

You see, for all of Pittsburgh’s good–world-class arts & culture, beautiful nature, giant urban parks, friendly people, plentiful universities and charming neighborhoods–there is a lot of rough.

First, let’s dig into the good.

Andy Warhol Museum

1.) It’s got culture: Pittsburgh is often referred to as the Paris of Appalachia, which is spot on. This city was built by industrialist Andrew Carnegie, who is known for giving the majority of his income to society. Because of this, Pittsburgh has world-class institutions, from Carnegie Mellon University (the reason why we moved here) to the Carnegie Museum of Natural History and the Carnegie Museum of Art. The Andy Warhol Museum is here, as is the National Aviary. The Phipps Conservatory and Botanical Garden is utterly majestic, and the architecture dotted throughout the city will pique any creative individual’s interests. There is no shortage of things to do in 58 squares miles. If you’re bored, then you’re not really trying.

2.) The People are Grade A: Pittsburghers are very friendly. They like to talk, and that’s very appealing to a gabber like me. I’ve had endless conversations with strangers young and old, black and white, male and female, gay and straight. The people of Pittsburgh remind me of the people of Texas–open, personable and caring. And for an added bonus: They have their own language! It’s called Pittsburghese and it’s weird and delightful and difficult to understand, especially when they’re shouting, which is often. For example: gutchies = underwear, red up = to get ready, jeet jet? = did you eat yet?, nubby = nosy, and slippy = slippery. Of course there is yinz, which is the area’s lesser version of y’all. (Sorry, yinz just doesn’t roll off the tongue.)

Randyland

3.) It’s creative, it’s got character and it’s got history: I myself am from the Rust Belt (Central New York), and I’m a creative. These two traits mean that the landscape here appeals to all of my senses. Pittsburgh is stunning. It’s green and lush and hilly and sprinkled with incredible 19th century brick structures, some still intact and some crumbling. Tall houses–three or four stories high–are packed like sardines on the hillside and overlook the Allegheny, Monongahela, and Ohio Rivers. These were the homes of Andrew Carnegie’s steel workers. I’ve traveled a lot of America and Pittsburgh is high on my list of truly unique American cities. I often compare its individuality to New Orleans or Santa Fe–very territorial. Because of its distinctness, it’s a creative person’s Disneyland. I’m still discovering the indie scene, but Glitterbox Theater, Pittsburgh, Brillobox and Workshop PGH seem to be good starting points.

4.) It’s liberal and it’s diverse: While the majority of Pittsburgh is white, over 26% is black, 2.3% is Latinx and 4.4% is Asian, and the city is 5 to 1 Democrat (unlike areas surrounding the city). All of these facts are woven into the fabric of the city, making it a progressive and beautiful place. In areas like East Liberty, it’s possible to spend your dollars in black-owned businesses (something that was challenging in the area I previously lived in–Denver-Boulder, Colorado). When compared to other major cities like San Francisco, New York or Austin, the city lags in areas of sustainability, quality water and quality air (see below). I’m still not well-versed on why this is, but the way the city was built mixed with poor city management probably plays a role.

OK. Now that the good is out of the way, here’s the bad:

1.) The air quality is poor: Pittsburgh has some of the worst air quality in the nation. The American Lung Association lists it in the top 10 worst cities for particle pollution. It’s not uncommon for your weather app to warn you about venturing outside. You would never know from looking though–particle pollution leaves no visible smog. The culprit? The city’s long-standing history with steel factories.

2.) So is the water quality: The public water often exceeds the federal limit for lead. In fact, it’s worse than Flint, Michigan’s water. Geoff and I do not drink from the tap here, instead reusing a two-gallon jug we fill up at the grocery store.

This stairwell also happens to be a street.

3.) Infrastructure is crumbling: The streets, the streets, the streets. Oh, how do you describe the streets? Truthfully, I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s really a Mad Max free-for-all. Fortunately, most people drive slowly. The vary narrow lanes are riddled with giant potholes, and there are no shoulders. Cars often park in the middle of the road; some roads are still cobblestone. It oftentimes feels like you’re playing Mario Kart. Public transportation is not strong, unless you consider the city’s 700+ public staircases (seen above) as adequate. Oh, the city also has almost 450 bridges, so imagine getting stuck on one of those during rush hour. The fact that Pittsburgh has 700 public staircases and 450 bridges is pretty neat, but they’re also not conducive for modern Americans.

4.) It’s stuck in the past: There’s also this beautiful yet sometimes frustrating small town feel where many businesses only take cash, and they open and close at random times just for the hell of it. It’s surprisingly common to check the hours of a restaurant only to pull up and see a sign on the door that says, “We’ll open again on Wednesday,” or no sign at all.

Don’t get me wrong–this breakfast from Deluca’s Diner was delicious

5.) Unhealthy eats: Food here appears to be diversifying, but it’s very carb-heavy. There are a handful of exotic eateries–like the vegan Polish restaurant Apteka and the BBQ taqueria Smoke–but Pittsburgh is known for its pizza, pieorgies and fried foods. Veggies & fruit? HA. For example: A pizzeria we ate at offered a pizza with pickles on it. I asked the server if she liked the pickle pizza. She said, “Oh, I don’t eat vegetables.”  And you know what else? You can still smoke in bars. Just visit Squirrel Hill Cafe, or the Squirrel Cage, if you want the taste of ash in your meals.

Winter in Pittsburgh

6.) Weather is depressing: And lest we forget the weather. Pittsburgh is one of the most stunning cities landscape-wise in America, in my humble opinion, but it’s also very cold, rainy and gray. In fact, Pittsburgh has over 200 days of cloud cover, almost as much as Seattle. After living out west for 14 years, I’m finding myself turning into Jack Torrance.

7.) Prejudice: Pittsburgh is also not immune to prejudice–just last year the Tree of Life synagogue shooting occurred, where 11 people were killed by an anti-Semite, and an unarmed black teen–Antwon Rose–was killed by the police.

But listen.

My goal isn’t to shit on Pittsburgh.

I adore it.

I love it like you love your cranky, sometimes drunk, sometimes a little stinky, but always refreshing and inspiring great-uncle who can’t really drive anymore and plows his beat-up Cadillac from 1989 into parked cars.

When people ask me how I like living here, I give them the warts-and-all version.

“Wow, you’re really selling it to me,” they say.

But the warts is what makes Pittsburgh, Pittsburgh, and also makes it one of the most inspiring cities in America.

*(P.S. Austin I will always love you no matter how much you change.)

The post Pittsburgh: Not the Next Hipster City (And Maybe That’s a Good Thing) appeared first on Hipstercrite.

Walk like your life depends on it (literally)

This might see like duh, but I’m telling you: As a person who is chained to her computer for work, this changed my life — mentally and physically. Getting a Fitbit in 2013 made me realize how little I was walking, and my mindset shifted. Now, instead of driving everywhere, I challenge myself to:

• Walk to nearby errands/events/friends.
• Park the car in the back of parking lots.
• Take walks during work.
• Take the stairs when it’s an option.
• Walk after lunch and dinner.

These walks have given me more energy and strength. My muscles no longer ache after a short walk. I’m no longer winded. I find myself not getting that mid-afternoon sleep attack. A good walk improves a foul mood and helps me appreciate my surroundings and connect with my neighbors. Plus, I have a special walking fanny pack that makes me as cool as the silver-haired ladies I cross paths with.

The reason why I walk is because I can’t run. My back is too precarious to run, plus who likes running anyways? It was a sport invented by Satan. Many of us think that if we don’t run, what’s the point? But running causes way more exercise-related injuries than walking, and there is a lot of research on the health benefits of walking, including decreasing your risk of heart attack/stroke, dying early, dementia, diabetes, cancer…the list goes on.

Challenge yourself: Take every opportunity to walk throughout the day. Schedule walking meetings at work. Take your next work call while pacing your office. Park in the back of the parking lot. Take the stairs. Force the entire family to walk after dinner. These walks add up. You might not shed tons of weight (or maybe you will), but you’ll discover a new spring in your step.

Unfollow anyone who makes you feel bad

It took me many years to understand that social media profiles of certain friends, strangers and publications gave me negative emotions. It took me even longer to tell myself it was ok to unfollow or mute them.

Listen, you do you. You keep the stuff around that makes you happy. For example: Say you meet this really bubbly girl at a work convention. Her name is Madison. You become online friends. You soon realize she only posts about how #blessed she is to have the most perfect husband and perfect child. They’re all on #keto diets, including the five-year-old. Madison forages for mushrooms and makes an $80 one-ounce elixir that she sells on Etsy. Her skin and hair glisten like baby jellyfish. EVERY DAY IS ANOTHER STAGED PHOTO OF HER FAMILY WEARING FLOWY WHITE CLOTHING ON THE BEACH. She exists to make everyone else feel bad.

A global study conducted in 2016 with 35,000 respondents found that comparing yourself to others online and/or dwelling on things you see online (a picture of your ex, for example) can make you feel more depressed.

So, yeah, unload that shit.

Challenge yourself: Next time you’re thumbing through your feeds, ask yourself, “Does this person’s posts make me happy or sad?” If that answer is sad, cut it loose.

Read less news that makes you want to live in a cave

The news sucks, friend. And I don’t mean it sucks because the world has gone to hell in a hand basket (which it has); I mean because most of the major outlets and publications create content to scare you.

Often wonder why everything seems so bad? It’s because many outlets choose to only show you the bad, and they frame everything in a negative light like your Great Aunt Deborah who is the human equivalent of Eeyore. Personally, I find CNN.com to be just that. They prioritize who has slighted who, who has died, who has been tortured, who hates who. Before my grandmother passed away, CNN is all she watched. She would call me every day pleading, “Don’t leave the house. Don’t leave the house.” That’s what CNN and similar new sources want you to feel like: Afraid to leave the house. They do this because tragic news gets more eyeballs on it, which means more money.

A survey conducted by NPR, the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation, and the Harvard School of Public Health found that a quarter of the 2,500 respondents experienced “a great deal of stress within the month mentioned watching, reading, or listening to the news as one of their biggest daily stressors.” A more recent study conducted by the American Psychological Association found that half of respondents say the news “causes them stress, and many report feeling anxiety, fatigue or sleep loss as a result.”

Challenge yourself: If you find that watching/reading certain news sources only brings you down, drop ’em like a hot potato. That doesn’t mean you have to be blissfully ignorant about everything, it just means you get your news sources from less sensational publications. My personal fave is NPR.

Sing and dance your mother f’ing heart out

I often find myself listening to a little too much to NPR, which means I go days without listening to music. When I remember to listen to music, everything changes. My mood instantly brightens and I get my groove on in the driver’s seat (or while walking, or cleaning the house, or taking a shower). The release I get from singing and dancing is sometimes euphoric. Especially when I put on Purple Rain and pull out my (painfully white) sexy moves.

Singing and dancing is a lot like exercise but a lot more enjoyable. They help release endorphins, which makes you happy, and improve cognitive skills. Singing and dancing also helps lower blood pressure and improves memory. In one study, dancing helped ward off dementia in participants by 76%.

Challenge yourself: When you feel like you’re carrying the world on your shoulders, take a break to listen to music, sing and dance. Don’t just listen to it from your laptop. Pull out the ol’ record player — put on Stevie Wonder’s Songs in the Key of Life or The Isley Brothers’ 3+3 — and hook up those speakers. You need to feel the music in your bones.

Be intellectually honest with yourself (and everyone else)

You’re probably seeing this phrase popping up more and more often. It means being truthful when you already know the truth. In the Age of Rage many of us find ourselves joining Team #1 or Team #2 and losing sight of objectivity. When jumping on board with one team’s groupthink, we tend to fudge the truth to push our argument or the greater argument of our team’s. Separately but similarly, many of us also don’t do our research before speaking, and thus are spreading misinformation. This behavior is causing a deeper divide amongst Americans, friends, family and neighbors. We can point fingers at the media for capitalizing on this division, but we need to also hold ourselves accountable. Now, the funny thing about being intellectually honest is that sometimes you’re the bad guy/gal for going against the groupthink. This is a tough place to be in, but kudos for being stepping outside the box.

Challenge yourself: When you find yourself emotionally charged by an event or comment, instead of instantly putting on your Team #1 or Team #2 hat, take a step back and ask what your intentions are in responding, or if you’re even knowledgeable on said topic. If your intentions aren’t intellectually honest, do a little soul searching first. And for the love of God, please stop sharing unchecked political memes.

You’re not always right

Social media and our current political state has made many of us incapable of thinking we could possibly be wrong. I hate to break it to you — you’re sometimes wrong. And you sometimes need to acknowledge that. And sometimes you need to just say you’re sorry.

Challenge yourself: The next time you get into an online spat with someone and they say you’re being rude or insensitive, just say “You know what. You’re right. I’m wrong. I’m sorry.” It takes a lot of balls to admit when you’re wrong and to apologize. And even if the person doesn’t accept your apology, you can feel good knowing you made the effort to say you’re sorry.

Take a mother f’ing nap

I’m telling you — sleep cures a lot of things. Again, I’m not a doctor. This is all anecdotal, but when I feel like I’m getting sick? 50% of the time a nap makes the symptoms go away. When I’m PMSing and want to drive my car into a ditch? A nap makes me a somewhat normal person again. When I’m really down and don’t want to deal with the world? A nap helps me recharge and gain back energy.

But if my anecdotes aren’t enough for you, the research is indisputable. Naps help with fatigue, alertness, performance, stress and mood. Now don’t be taking three hour naps like I sometimes do. I wake up disoriented, angry and wanting to eat an entire tub of Cherry Garcia. The National Sleep Foundationrecommends 20–30 minute naps.

Challenge yourself: If you find yourself feeling like crud, find a place to take a quick nap. I’ve slept under my desk, in my car, in closets and on floors. Keep a pillow and blanket in your car so you can access it for an emergency nap. If someone has an issue with you taking a nap, point them to this guide I wrote and blame me.

Meditate however the hell you want to

I’m a high-strung Jew from Upstate New York who works from home, which means my brain is very loud and very anxious. It also means meditating is very difficult for me, and because it’s difficult for me I end up getting angry and silently cursing whoever the eff invented meditation. (Thanks, Hindus or Buddhists or whoever the hell came up with it.) Though I wish I was better at meditating, I also realize that I practice other forms of meditation, like going for a walk in nature without listening to music or talking on the phone, or sitting in a cafe and people watching without my computer or phone. People might think you’re a serial killer just sitting there without a device, quietly smiling to yourself, but that’s ok.

Challenge yourself: If you find yourself getting really worked up or anxious, step out of your setting. If you can mediate — GOOD FOR YOU — but if you’re like me, just go do something, ANYTHING, other than your daily routine. Like, go stand on the corner and wave to passing motorists.

Drink loads of water until you pee your pants

I used to never drink water. In fact, in my 20s, I was lucky if I got 20 ounces of liquid in my body a day. How I didn’t look like or feel like the dead body of Estelle Getty? I don’t know. Now if I don’t get at least 50 ounces of water a day, I feel like shit and that’s not even enough.

Experts and studies vary on how much water you should drink a day — from eight glasses (64 ounces) to drinking half your body weight in ounces. A 2018 NPR article recommended 91 ounces of water for women, and 125 ounces for men to prevent hurting you mental performance. Dehydration is no joke, friends. It can lead to: dizziness, confusion, kidney problems, seizures and low blood pressure.

For some reason, I’m way more likely to remember to drink water if I use a large glass bottle (like Starkey Spring Water) or overpriced water bottle. Maybe I’m bored with traditional glass? Whatever gets you drinking water more, roll with it.

Challenge yourself: If you’re drinking under 50 ounces of water a day, try to up your intake a little more. Sure you’ll have to pee a lot, and you’ll get to the point where you’re like, “OH MY GOD WHY I HATE PEEING!” but it’s better than having your kidneys shrivel up.

Tell carbs you’re only in a platonic relationship

This was a hard one. I’m from NY which means my children will be named “Submarine Sandwich” and “Bagels.” Not-so-surprisingly, my love for these carb-heavy meals meant I would often fall into a near comatose state, finding a floor to pass out on and going unconscious for about two hours. It took most of my life to realize that if I lay off the carbs at lunchtime, I don’t get the mid-afternoon zzzz. Somebody on Medium called cutting carbs a productivity hack, so let’s call it that because it sounds pretentious. Listen, carbs are delicious and they help you live longer. Just know that they’re probably making you tired because they trigger the amino acid tryptophan.

Challenge yourself: Go for the salad. I know salad sometimes feel like a side dish, but pile a BUNCH of shit on there — turkey, eggs, cheese, chickpeas, black beans, edamame, carrots, beets, shoe leather, dirt.

Reserve the drinking for special occasions, like dancing around in your underwear

I don’t drink anymore. At one time I did. At one time I was in my early 20s and I drank at home alone and took drunk selfies for a pretentious Lena Dunham-esque art project I envisioned doing years later, but thankfully I learned to deal with my stress in a healthier manner.

Because I began slowing down my drinking, the want to drink became less. And because my tolerance got so low, having one drink kind of made me feel ill. And then just the thought of feeling ill on one drink made me not want to drink all together. I still have a bottle of tequila in my cabinet for stressful days when I want to dance around the house in my underwear and do my Purple Rain non-sexy white person dance moves, and I’m a big believer that everyone should have this emergency bottle.

Challenge yourself: Cut down on your drinking.

Tell sugar you’re still in a relationship but probably won’t ever get married

Look, cutting out sugar is bullshit. Sugar makes everything better for about five minutes until you have a barfy headache. I love sugar. LOVE IT. So I’m not going to tell you to stop eating it; I’m going to share ways to cut down on so you’re not faced with health challenges such as obesity, inflammation, cavities, diabetes or heart disease.

According to the American Heart Association, women should consume 25 grams of sugar a day, while men should consume 37.5 grams. Unless you’re a health nut, chances are you’re surpassing 25 grams by breakfast. I was, and probably still am, but here are some “hacks” (← f*ck that stupid phrase) I try:

• I no longer buy soda because if I did, I would drink it like a 5-year-old with zero self-control. That’s why I try to keep a regular stock of seltzer water and 100% juice in the fridge. First of all, juice soda is delicious. Second of all, you’re talking about 10 grams of sugar vs. 40–50 grams of sugar per glass.
• Condiments — I love me some ketchup (3.7 grams), some salad dressing (0–5 grams) and some coffee creamer (2–6 grams). However, those little spoonfuls can really add up, and now I’m much more conservative in the condiment department. (However, I will always be a proud ketchup eater and I will not accept your condemnation.)
• Most yogurt is 15+ grams of sugar, so now I buy plain yogurt and mash fruit and a little bit of honey in it.
• In the morning I try to avoid sugar pitfalls like cereal, granola, waffles or bread, and instead try to enjoy an egg scramble.
• I don’t buy cookies or candy anymore because if I did, I would just stuff the entire bag in my mouth, plastic and all. I still enjoy them, but not at home.

Challenge yourself: Start looking at the labels and noticing how quickly you’re adding up to 25 grams. It happens real fast, friends.

Know it’s ok to live the life you want to live

Seriously, don’t let self-help Instagram photos or Medium articles make you feel bad about yourself. If your house isn’t Marie Kondo’d out, or you pig out on a Hershey’s bar after lunch, so what? If you’re happy, that’s all that matters.

Challenge yourself: Live the life you want to live and take what everyone else says with a grain of salt.

The post 13 Habits for Living a Perfectly Fine, Average Life appeared first on Hipstercrite.

It’s been a hot minute since I’ve written here, and I’m currently sitting on the couch, bloated after eating an entire pizza, and thinking, “Maybe I should check in, see how everyone is doing and let them know I’m bloated on pizza.”

So, friends.

How are you?

Me? I’m bloated.

But other than that I’m ok.

I mean, my grandmother died this year.

Any of you who have hung in here with me know I thought the world of that ol’ broad.

A good cry sneaks in every day, particularly when I see a Golden Girls-branded anything (Grandma was my Dorothy) or smell garlic. Shit, pretty much EVERYTHING makes me think of her.
Mothballs (the sweaters in her armoire).
Crumpled tissues (she used to stuff them in her sleeves and drop them everywhere).
Shoulder pads (the woman LOVED them).

My beautiful grandmother.

Grief is a very, very strange thing. Sometimes you can joke about your loved one being dead and you’re amazed at how well you’re handling everything and then sometimes your remember your grandma is actually dead and it overtakes you. It’s been a weird, challenging year.

I wrote a little about her death here and here.

Oh, I also moved to Colorado and then Pittsburgh, where I currently am. I put in almost ten years in Austin and miss it dearly. Hopefully we will find our way back there (we kept our house), but life took us on an adventure to Pennsyltucky. When I say “we,” I mean Geoff and I. He’s the dude I’ve been dating for eight(!!!) years.

John Denver territory

Actually, I’m super digging the Burgh. It’s rich in culture and diversity and history. The city looks like it’s being reclaimed by nature. Crumbling red brick buildings peak out of the lush rolling green hills. Pittsburgh is a combo of old money, tech and blue collar workers. Though the area is pretty hipster, it hasn’t jumped the shark like many cities have, and I’m not sure it ever will. Unlike where we came from–Denver/Boulder, CO–there is socioeconomic diversity here. Colorado is gorgeous, and I’m so thankful for all my nature adventures, but I just didn’t gel with the culture there. (I’m dying to make a joke about how everyone in Colorado is named Chad or Madison and is blond, enjoys skiing and lives for football, but I won’t.)

I think I like Pittsburgh because it reminds me of old Austin. It’s working class artists. It’s a lot of weird people. It has a Jeff Goldblum fest, a Furry fest AND a pickle fest. The other day Geoff ate pizza at a bar and dog sat like human next to him. The town’s main dish is pierogies. They have their own language, yinz! After losing Grandma, I’m also happy to be back on the east coast near family and friends for the first time in 14 years.

Outside of moving my ass all over this country, I’m still a copywriter. I’ve jumped back and forth between freelance and full-time work and am currently back to freelancing. I’ve been a huge slacker on creative projects. I’m trying to launch a podcast called Love Will Tear Us Apart where I tell in-depth stories about iconic relationships. And one day I hope to finish my book proposal about train travel. And write a screenplay about Robert Oppenheimer. But for right now, I’m a bloated slacker sitting on the couch with a former feral cat on her lap.

Have I told you I’ve become an obsessive cat mom? It’s weird how you get a cat and you don’t have children and then you start calling your cat “baby” and ooh and aah over every little movement they make. She’s on Instagram is you like following cat adventures with first-person narration.

Crazy cat people.

That’s it for now. I hope to post more on here. Blogs are kind of out of style, but I’m old and still enjoy CDs anyways.

Love to you all.

(P.S. I’m too lazy to proofread this blog post. I proofread all day and totally slack on my own writing. Please let me know if you see an error anywhere.)

The post Tap, tap: Is this thing still on? appeared first on Hipstercrite.

My emotions were stoked further when I read Owen’s response to this unsolicited revelation.

“There is no job that’s better than another job. It might pay better, it might have better benefits, it might look better on a resume and on paper. But actually, it’s not better. Every job is worthwhile and valuable.” — Geoffrey Owens

In the same People Magazine interview, and numerous interviews Owens has given since, he has asked us not to feel sorry for him. “I’ve had a great life. I’ve had a great career. I’ve had a career that most actors would die for. So no one has to feel sorry for me. I’m doing fine!”

I don’t feel sorry for Owens; like many of you, I feel admiration.

I see a man of integrity who takes pride in being a productive member of society.

I see a man who is an artist and who will do whatever it takes to ensure he can continue to create his art while providing for his family.

I see a man in a situation I’m all too familiar with.

I’m a writer. The majority of my friends are writers, filmmakers, actors, musicians and painters. Many of us are considered successful. We’ve premiered films at Sundance and have been featured in the NY Times. We’ve toured the country with our instruments and have been broadcast on NPR. We’ve created murals for urban businesses and public art for cities. We’ve published books and have had essays printed in major publications.

And all of us have day jobs.

While supporting myself to make my art, I’ve:

• Handed out free popsicle samples for a popsicle company
• Charged people’s cell phones at music festivals
• Worked as a hostess and server at four different restaurants
• Worked at the Apple store
• Worked at American Apparel
• Worked as an assistant to several producers and a lawyer

Today I work full-time in my preferred industry— writing — but it’s not 100% on my terms. I’m a copywriter, which I thoroughly enjoy and feel privileged to be, but the much needed job takes up 40+ hours of time I’d rather spend toward writing my book or another screenplay. Sometimes this fact makes me frustrated and forlorn, but I’m thankful I have a modest income coming in and I’m able to pay for a roof over my head and food to feed my stomach.

Because I was raised by a working class family — a single mother who made less than $20k a year — I have a strong work ethic and have been hustling since I was 15. If everything fell apart tomorrow, I would go door to door to find a new job and I would work any job that society deems “lowly” because when you’re born working class, it never leaves you. You don’t have the choice to not work, and the hustle mentality will always strong.

Coming from working class or middle class roots is what many of my artist friends share in common. They have to take day jobs because there is no trust fund, no family money, no patron of the arts they can fall back on because, believe it or not, non-famous artists don’t make a lot dough. In fact, their talents are criminally undervalued and underappreciated. I must admit — it’s challenging not to feel resentful towards artists who don’t have to work and can spend time honing their craft. Many artists of wealth find near instant success, money and adulation because they have the resources, connections and schooling to make it happen.

That’s not to say that artists of wealth can’t be talented— I’m a fan of Julia Louis-Dreyfus and Edward Norton, two celebrities born into wealth — and it’s possible these artists have worked hard without access to their dollars, but there’s something remarkably disappointing when you learn that a successful artist came from an affluent background. It’s near impossible to think their societal standing hasn’t helped them, and it’s near impossible to think the odds aren’t stacked against you as a working class artist.

But this essay isn’t to rip on the wealthy. It’s to say thank you to Geoffrey Owens for reminding all of us hard-working, struggling artists there is no shame in any job — whether it’s a day job or a day job turned forever job. No one should ever be made to feel less than because of the work they do.

So to all the artists and non-artists out there who work in warehouses, behind fast food counters, in Uber vehicles, at Trader Joe’s — I salute you. You are an important member of our society and remember what Geoffrey Owens says:

“Every job is worthwhile and valuable.”

The post To Geoffrey Owens —Thank You on Behalf of Working Class Artists appeared first on Hipstercrite.

I love my cat.

I love my cat in the way that most childless 30-something women do: whole-heartedly, unconditionally and a little creepily.

When I look at my cat, FatFace, a former feral with three teeth and mouth herpes, my heart bursts with pure joy. There are no cats cuter than my cat, I whisper to myself. Every pose she makes is pukingly cute and therefore must be photographed and shared online. In attempt not to overload my friends who look at me with great sadness in their eyes, I decided to create an Instagram account for FatFace from FatFace.

But her account was also born out of the bloody aftermath of the 2016 election. Tired of participating in and watching poop slinging from both the left and right and everyone in between, I decided that losing myself in the blissfully ignorant personality of my apolitical cat was a better place to be than the hell we humans had created for ourselves. The more I masqueraded as my cat and the less I added to social media echo chambers, the happier I became.

I was now free to share the simple things. Instead of being another angry voice shouting from the masses, I wrote about the love of cheese, stinky armpits and squirrels. I waxed poetic about belly rubs and shared videos of laziness. It wasn’t that I personally didn’t care about social issues. It’s just that for a short period of time, when I was pretending to be my cat, I could forget about it all. I didn’t feel the pressure to share my two cents because the only thing my cat feels passionate about is waking us up at 3AM and pouncing on our faces.

But that wasn’t the only mental health benefit born from becoming my cat — OTHER cats started following me. And dogs too. Even a squirrel. Maybe some birds. FatFace’s community became a network of other humans pretending to be their pets. We all hit like on each other’s posts, and left comments of positivity and encouragement. Instead of everyone calling each other names, we ooh’d and ahh’d over our respect animals. It’s actually quite f’ing beautiful.

 

Humans have difficulty interacting with other humans. We have emotions and heightened IQs (maybe) that complicate our thinking and interpersonal skills. We make assumptions and we let our ignorance and fear dictate our actions. With animals, there’s no guessing. Either you’re liked by them or your eaten. I think we humans crave animals’ honesty. Imagine if we lived in a society where we knew exactly where we stood with one another — friend or meat.

In pretending to be our pets on social media, we can live vicariously through their simplicity and the unconditional love they give (or seem to give when they’re hungry and they know we’re their food providers). We can shed the complexity of our human lives and relish in the fluffy, squishy, beautiful sweetness of their tiny lives.

If you have a pet and your anxiety level has reached an all time high due to the schism in America’s politics and citizens, I highly recommend creating an Instagram account as your pet. You will find that it will boost your overall happiness, reduce stress and make you want to abandon your human life and live amongst the animals.

(You can follow FatFace on Instagram here.)

The post The Secret to Enjoying the Internet: Pretending to be Your Cat appeared first on Hipstercrite.

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*As far as I can tell, these were all taken by my grandfather. I’ve tried to verify the accuracy of the photos as best I can. These photos were snapped with my iPhone, hence the added fuzziness.

This is my grandfather Carl. He was an airplane mechanic in the Army Air Forces during the North African Campaign of WWII. During the war, he had a pet monkey named Jocko, he was stabbed and he contracted malaria. Those were the only things he shared with my mother. He died in 1974, before I was born.

This is him with one of his favorite planes, 1943. (Possibly a B-25?) *I* wonder why it was his favorite…?

Here he is in the beginning of the war with some of his Army mates.

Here’s another. Grandpa is in the lower left corner. 1945.

Army mate working on an A-20. (I think it’s an A-20.)

A puppy named Peanuts at camp in Africa. I love the shadow in the corner.

This is Grandpa’s Army mate Weidzec. Grandpa updated the back of the photo when Weidzec was killed in action.

This is a cemetery in Fedala, Morocco, for American soldiers who fell during the invasion of Africa. Photo was taken a few months after Operation Torch (November 8th-16th, 1942).

This is a Nazi cemetery in Tunisia, 1943.

Here are downed Nazi planes in Tunisia, 1943.

Here are members of the Nazi’s Afrika Korps, 1943.

Downed Royal Italian Army airplanes in Africa, 1943.

Spaniards cleaning machine guns in Africa, 1942 or 1943.

Women’s Army Corp with the United States Army, 1943.

U.S. Navy airship, 1945.

British Hawker Hurricane that belly landed. Pilot survived.

Bombed out buildings in Tunisia, 1943.

Bombed out church in Tunisia, 1943.

Bullet-riddled church in Tunisia, 1943.

Snapshots of locals in Morocco and Tunisia.

This is a family in France that invited my grandfather to Easter dinner, 1945.

Children in Italy asking for gum and candy, 1945.

My grandfather, grandmother and mother ten years after the war.

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